“I know you don’t yet consider me one of you, my lord,” I said, struggling to maintain a polite tone, “but I’m only trying to help.”
“I agree with Howel,” Wolff said. “It’s an outrage, and I’m glad someone else is saying it. Clarence agrees with us, don’t you?”
Lambe nodded, his pale hair falling into his eyes. “It’s a shame when families are separated.”
Everyone stopped talking. Uncomfortable looks were passed around the table. I was confused until Wolff explained. “Only sorcerers who favor the Church of England may remain inside warded London. My family follows an older religion, so my parents had to leave for the country.” He pushed his knife and fork aside; evidently his appetite had vanished. “Once I’m commended, I’ll have to live outside the ward as well.”
What a hideous practice. “Surely it’s important to protect everyone,” I said to Agrippa.
Agrippa nodded. “We can discuss this further after you’re commended.”
Blackwood coughed. Really, I was worried about the failure in today’s lesson enough as it was. My breaking point had been reached. “Do you have a cold, my lord?” I said, rounding on him.
“No, Miss Howel.”
“Do you dislike the idea of a lady sorcerer?”
“As I told you yesterday, that would mean my going against the Order.” That was another clear attempt to not answer the question. I didn’t care if I was wearing the bloody gown he had purchased.
“Are you against the Order?” I asked.
His eyes widened in surprise. “I stand with the Order entirely.”
That answer was sincere. “I’m sorry, I’m just upset.”
“It’s all right. Compassion for the poor is admirable.” That tone. I would’ve gladly given the topic up but for that condescending tone. I rapped my fork against the side of my plate, to calm and focus myself.
“Admirable, but not practical?”
“In this case, no. The ward protects Her Majesty, and, of course, the high sorcerer families. If we fall, England falls.” He sounded almost as if he regretted it, but what could he do? “The most exceptional individuals are also the most necessary.”
“Have you ever considered that you were lucky to be born into circumstances that made you such an exceptional individual?” I breathed slowly to keep myself from yelling. “Rook, for instance. He might have done as well as you if he’d been born to a wealthy family, sent to the best schools, educated by the best people. But he’s the orphaned son of a brick maker, and Unclean, so whatever he might have been is unimportant.”
“I don’t think this is very good dinner conversation,” Cellini said, sounding irritated. I got the feeling it would be more comfortable for everyone if I gave up the topic. But we were in this argument now, Blackwood and I.
“Of course Rook matters,” Blackwood said, as if explaining to a child. “I don’t believe it’s fair that some receive everything and others nothing, merely by the luck of being born. But it is the reality.”
“So the reality is that the poor should be sacrificed to protect you?” This was what the Earl of Sorrow-Fell truly believed?
“You’re twisting my words, Miss Howel.” He was right; I was twisting his words, but his manner infuriated me. He’d lived behind the ward all his life. How could he presume to know how other people suffered?
“Have you seen a village destroyed by Familiars? Have you ever met children with their limbs torn off, their bodies covered with scars just like Rook’s? Do you know what it’s like, as part of your school charity, to travel to the site of a battle and nurse the wounded and dying? Have you ever been attacked with nothing to protect you? The first time I glimpsed a sorcerer, in eleven years of war, was when Master Agrippa came to my school hunting for the prophesied one. Eleven years. What were you all doing in that time?” I stared right into Blackwood’s eyes. “What were you doing, my lord? Riding and playing country sports on your estate?”
Agrippa cleared his throat. “That will do, both of you,” he said.
“In fact, I was preoccupied with my studies. I wanted to be useful. Isn’t usefulness your chief interest?” Blackwood’s voice was silken coldness. “I did not see much use in a girls’ school.”
Magnus set his glass down, eyes flashing. “We found our prophesied one at that girls’ school, didn’t we?”
I had to put my hands in my lap; they were beginning to spark. “It’s good to know how little your responsibilities at home matter to you. It explains why Brimthorn has been open to violence for so long!”
“Sorrow-Fell protects your school, Miss Howel. You said yourself, in eleven years you had never seen an attack.”
“Some monsters wear human faces. You kept out the Ancients, but you allowed a cruel, violent man who should never be put in charge of another living soul to run Brimthorn. Where was your protection then?” The whole table stopped eating. Magnus’s eyes widened. Blackwood grew still, but I could see the fury flickering inside him.
“You said that if only Rook had been born into my position, we would be exactly alike,” he snapped. “Well, you’re wrong. We are fundamentally different.”
“If you’re so certain,” I said, my voice rocky and low, “that the poor are born inferior, then all the shame in the world on you for not protecting them. If people are born generation after generation into poverty and deprivation, it is your duty to look after them, not sacrifice their lives to save your own!”
I threw down my napkin and fled from the table. I raced up the stairs and into my bedroom, where I struggled to tear myself out of my dress. My fingers burned so badly that I had to stop to perform the calming exercises that Agrippa had taught me. I breathed in and out to the count of four, imagining a cool stream of water running down my hands. Slowly, the fiery pain left, but I still trembled with rage.
There was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” I asked.
“Lilly, miss.” She entered and surveyed my crumpled state with a sad eye. “They said you’d gone to bed. Let me help you.” She moved to unlace me, when there was another knock.
“May I speak with you?” a familiar voice asked. Lilly opened the door. Agrippa stood upon the threshold. He cast a quick, miserable glance around his daughter’s old room. How often, if ever, did he come inside? “Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m sorry.” Agrippa didn’t deserve people screaming at his table. I kept my eyes on the floor. “I can’t believe I said those things.”
“Don’t apologize. When you’re commended, you’ll also be the founder of the Howel line. Part of your responsibility as a seal bearer will be speaking up in Order assemblies. Besides, I was pleased.” Surprised, I looked up. He made as if to enter but stopped. “What you witnessed tonight was sorcery’s ugliest face. Many believe that common men and women are inferior. I hope,” he said, lowering his voice, “that you can do more for this country than help destroy the Ancients. There are minds that need changing.”
“I can’t imagine that’s something Lord Blackwood will like.”
“Nonetheless, it’s what I believe. Don’t fret, and don’t think too harshly of George. He dwells on his responsibilities to a punishing degree. I’m sure he’ll brood on what you said for the next few days.” Agrippa glanced about the room once more. My stomach lurched at his obvious sadness.
“Do you wish me to change rooms? I can’t stand how much pain my being here seems to cause you.”
“No, this is as it should be.” Agrippa closed his eyes. “I’ve gotten to avoiding this wing of the house. This room needed a new occupant, and I’m happy to find a lovely young lady living here again. Now get to sleep.” With that, he was gone.
Lilly took my dress off, put it away, and unlaced my corset. I pulled the pins from my hair, cursing Blackwood under my breath. I got into my nightdress and stared at my reflection in the mirror, feeling bone-weary.
“I don’t know how I can face them again.”
“I think the gentlemen are more with y
ou than not,” Lilly said. “ ’Least that’s what Jimmy told me, the first footman. Says Mr. Magnus in particular is on your side. Apparently he had some strong words for His Lordship after you left.”
“That’s good to know.” The thought of Magnus berating Blackwood was pleasing. I was sure he’d done an excellent job.
“You should rest now, miss. Gram used to say it looks better in the morning.”
“Thank you, Lilly.”
She stopped at the door. “Miss, Jimmy told us downstairs what you said to Lord Blackwood.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I come from Potter’s Borough, south of the ward. Thank you.”
She left before I could respond.
—
I WOKE FROM A DREAM OF Gwendolyn lying beside me, silent and rotting in death. I didn’t think I could go back to sleep after that image. Outside, it was pitch black. I lit a candle and stepped, shivering, onto the thin rug beside my bed. I hastily threw on my wrap and headed downstairs. Candle in hand, I retraced my steps to the library. The fastest way to calm down after a nightmare was by reading history.
When I crept into the room, the fire was, surprisingly, still lit. My hands were cold, so I moved before the hearth. I craned my neck and looked at Agrippa’s portrait. He’d been younger when it was painted, his hair black. What must it have been like to have Agrippa for a father? For a moment, I selfishly wished my own father hadn’t been William Howel, a faceless phantom I’d never met.
There was the picture of that great estate again, the gleaming white one hidden in a dark valley. I turned to it, entranced by its serene and somehow terrifying beauty.
Someone coughed, startling me. Blackwood was seated with a book open on his lap. He appeared as bewildered as I.
“What on earth are you doing here?” He stood hastily. He had not been to bed, never taken his jacket off.
“I wanted something to read.” I didn’t know where to look. Just seeing him again made my stomach cramp.
“Ah. Anything in particular?” Even his voice irritated me. His eyes brushed the length of my body, and then he looked away.
“I hadn’t given it much thought.” I pulled my wrap even closer around me.
“Might I make a recommendation? This is a basic introduction to the Ancients. It’s been instrumental in drawing up plans to attack them.” He offered me the book in his hand, The Seven Ancients: Theories and Observations by Mr. Christopher Drummidge. The book was slim but handsomely bound. I opened to a sketch of R’hlem the Skinless Man. His exposed muscles almost glistened on the page; whoever had painted this had done an excellent job.
The first chapter was titled “Origins.” “Do they know where the Ancients came from? I’ve only read one book on the war. It said the Ancients were demons from hell, but I don’t know that I believe it.”
“Drummidge makes a case that perhaps they are monsters summoned from the planet’s core.” He sounded amused. “I like his work, but I don’t agree with all of his ideas.”
“Thank you.” I pressed the book to my chest and stood there, silent, while a log crackled in the fireplace. The clock struck three.
I was about to make a hushed exit when he said, “What did you mean about the headmaster?”
“Pardon?”
“That he was cruel and violent. What did he do?” God, how could one go about describing Colegrind in any decent way? I flushed, and that was all the answer Blackwood required. “I see.” His eyes widened. He looked younger, almost sad. “I’m sorry that happened to you. I wish…” He turned away so I could not see his face. He straightened his shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you, but it couldn’t be helped. That’s the one thing you refused to understand at dinner.” That condescending tone had returned. He didn’t look at me, though.
“It’s nice to know it’s all down to my lack of understanding.”
“You have a right to be upset, but you don’t comprehend my situation.” He turned, took my candle, and led me to the other side of the room. Portraits gazed down on us from above. Blackwood gathered the candle flame in his hand, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it to float up, up to a portrait that hung several feet above our heads. The fire held there, and the light revealed the image of a man, young and handsome and just like Blackwood. No, not just like. There were subtle differences in the face; the eyes crinkled at the corners in some secret merriment, and the full mouth rested in a comfortable smile.
“That’s my father, Charles Blackwood, eighth earl of Sorrow-Fell.” His voice was soft, somehow bitter. “He was one of the most tireless workers in the war against the Ancients. That’s why his picture hangs in this room.”
“Of course.” Why was he telling me this?
“My father was a great sorcerer,” Blackwood said, running a hand through his hair. “He believed that we, the Blackwood family, had a responsibility to rid England of these monsters.”
“Why your family?”
“We are the most powerful members of our society, Miss Howel.” He paused, as if struggling with what to say. “We have been the most blessed, and therefore, we must be the most cursed.” He stepped closer. I could feel a need for understanding coiling off him. “You must realize how seriously I take this war. From the moment my father died, the only duty I had on earth was to destroy these creatures. I neglected my other obligations, Brimthorn included. I have no time for games, or sports, or love. My whole being belongs to this cause,” he said. “Sorcerers should be bent entirely to the task of saving this land, not attending parties and taking carriage rides through the park.” His face twisted in anger. I finally understood his resentment of Magnus. “How much do you know of the rest of the country’s struggles?”
“I know very little.” I racked my brain. “The Ancients have Canterbury?”
“They have held Canterbury for three years. Three years! Manchester and Liverpool are on the verge of collapse as well. Up north, the textile works and the coal mines are attacked on a regular basis, to keep us from having fuel and goods. The workers, many of them children, are slaughtered.” There was real fury in his voice now. “Some sorcerers have gone to aid them, but most of our energy is spent keeping up the ward. We’re not fighting. We’re hiding.
“Yes, we must protect the ones most capable of doing something, but only so long as the strong prove themselves worthy of that protection. And I don’t believe the powerless should be left entirely to their own devices. One of the greatest legacies my father left was the creation of that colony for the Unclean in Brighton. It allows those unfortunate people to live with peace and dignity.
“I wanted you to understand how deeply I care,” he said. “And I wanted you to understand why I won’t address you or bow to you the way the others do. Until you are proved to be a sorcerer, beyond any doubt, I can’t address you as such. I need certainty.” His eyes seemed to gleam in the firelight. “Do you understand?”
I thought about what I’d seen of Blackwood so far. He rarely smiled or laughed. And he trained by himself every morning before even coming in to breakfast. He assisted in every one of my lessons, unlike Cellini or even Wolff and Lambe. Here he was, reading long into the night.
Yes, he took his responsibilities seriously.
Everything he had said he meant—I could see it in his eyes. Perhaps we could finally be honest.
“So you’ve no objection to a woman fighting?”
“The prophecy declares that a woman will rise to fight the Ancients, and I will give my allegiance to that woman.” The way he said it forced me to speak her name.
“Gwendolyn Agrippa. You believe that she was the prophesied one.” Blackwood blinked in surprise. “Lady Eliza told me this afternoon. Did you all think you could keep something like that a secret?”
“The Order doesn’t want complications,” Blackwood said. “When they found the Speakers’ tapestry, Gwendolyn had just become an Incumbent. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was chosen, and so all of Agrippa’s efforts went into training
her. She was fantastic.” His eyes softened. “Nothing was a challenge, not for her. Her commendation would have been a triumph the likes none has ever seen.” His expression twisted in bitterness. “And she died of a fever three weeks before the commendation ball.”
“She wasn’t the prophesied one, though,” I said, checking his reaction. “According to Agrippa.”
He winced as though I’d struck him. “Don’t you dare say that of her.”
“You made up your mind before you ever laid eyes on me, didn’t you?” I stepped toward him. “I was an impostor. And if Gwendolyn was truly the chosen one, she’s dead, and all your hopes died with her. You would choose that certain doom over the possibility that I might be the one. Why?”
“Who are you exactly?” He nearly spit the words. “Gwendolyn was from one of our oldest and finest families; glory was her birthright. I don’t hate you for your low birth,” he said as I opened my mouth to give him the greatest hell he’d ever know. “But tradition is all that our society stands upon. You are an outsider, and you cannot change that.”
It was as if a door had slammed shut in my face. I almost dropped the book. “It’s a wonder you’ve helped me at all, hating me as you do.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You do hate me, because you hate how I was born.” His profile in the firelight was beautiful, marred only by the cold expression he wore. It is amazing how, under any other circumstance, I would have thought him beguilingly handsome. He was beautiful in the way a Roman marble is, hard and inhuman. “Your stupidity is terrifying.”
“This is what I believe.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that too truthful for you, Miss Howel?”
“I respect truthfulness. It’s always good to know who isn’t your friend.”
“I said I don’t hate you.” Then, with a strange air of weariness, he said, “I fear you, perhaps.”
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