by Wendy Knight
The spell failed.
Before Christian could even blink, he got hit. The pretty little spell scalded him like someone had attacked him with a fire poker. He winced, but refused to make a sound, glaring at Richard. The man just looked amused, but otherwise ignored him entirely. “Do it again.”
Ada sobbed.
“Wait. I have an idea.” Christian strode across the dirt floor to Ada’s side, blocking Richard from her view. Keeping his voice low, he said, “You are focusing too much on the fear, Ada. Focus on using this to protect Charity. Pretend, up here—,” he tapped her temple gentle and she gave him the barest hint of a smile, “—that we are being invaded again and this is the only spell you can use.”
She bit her lip to keep it from trembling and nodded, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. Christian stepped back to give her some room. She dropped her head to her chest, breathing hard, and when she raised it she had the same steely determination he recognized so well.
Ada would not fail this time.
She jerked her hand up and flew through the spell — wide, sweeping movements. The curlicue burn sizzled in front of her, nearly as big as her entire upper body. With a growl growing at the back of her throat, she shoved it forward. It raced the length of the dungeon and smashed into the wall, leaving bright scald marks in the rock.
“I did it!” she squealed, clapping her hands, the warrior gone and replaced by the little girl he’d grown up with.
“It’s about time. Now do it again.” Richard sighed, sounding bored and, if Christian wasn’t mistaken, a little disappointed.
****
They both survived the training, although it was the cruelest form of torture he’d ever been through. He, luckily, caught on to the new spells quickly, and only forced by Richard to hit Ada a few times. But Ada was a slow learner, and every time she had to attack him, he could see her heart breaking a little more, her spirit crushed under Richard’s fine leather boot.
“I cannot do that again. I won’t,” Ada whispered as they wandered the dirt path to their pond. She hugged herself tightly, and even in the darkness Christian could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. He wanted to heal her, or comfort her, or kiss her until she forgot it all, but with Richard’s guards following them, it wasn’t an option.
Charity walked between them, although she had yet to say a word. She peered at Ada through her white hair. “Did you try my suggestion and start practicing the spells beforehand?”
Ada shook her head, rubbing her temples with a badly burned hand. “No. I haven’t been able to get back in to his study to get the book. It’s always locked.”
Charity shook, briefly. Christian wouldn’t have noticed it if she wasn’t right next to him, leaning on him a little for support when she got tired. “I can get it.”
Ada pulled up short, her boots making scuff marks in the dirt. “No. You will not.”
Charity gave her a sad smile but said nothing else.
“Somehow we have to get Charity away from this place. That will keep us all safe.”
It was Christian’s turn to sigh. They brushed through the path Ada had created with her flames to the pond in the center and he slumped against a fallen log. Ada knelt next to him, and without a word, her hands warmed with the soft healing flames, working on each burn, each cut and bruise, until they were gone.
“Even if we did run away, Ada, there isn’t a corner on earth that your father wouldn’t look for you.”
“My father hates me.” Her voice broke. “I think he will kill me one day.”
Charity wandered, like a wraith, through the fog, disappearing in the thick mist and reappearing later. “He doesn’t hate you, Ada. He thinks one day you will save us all. He is not wrong, although the way he thinks you will save us is not the truth.”
Ada tipped her head, glancing with a frown at Christian. He hadn’t a clue what his sister was talking about, either. “Charity, what do you mean I will save us all? Save us all from what?”
Charity disappeared. Seconds later Christian heard a splash. He surged to his feet, running toward the noise. “Charity!” he yelled. Ada rounded the other side of the pond, waving her hands like she could cut through the fog.
“Arrgh!” she growled, and sparks lit at her fingers, fighting through the darkness and pushing the mist back. And then she screamed.
Charity floated face down in the pond, her white hair spread out like a cloud on the water. Christian wrenched his boots off and dove in after her, swimming hard through the slime and the moss. He grabbed her and pulled her over, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as he towed her to shore.
“I can’t swim. What should I do, Christian? How can I help?” Ada babbled, racing back and forth at the water’s edge. The pond was small, and he didn’t have far to swim but it seemed like the water was sucking him down, and Charity was dead weight.
There was another splash, and Christian risked a glance up to see Ada, holding tight to the bank, up to her neck in pond water, reaching her hand out toward him. He passed Charity to her, and between the two of them they got her to the edge. Ada scrambled out of the water, tripping over her heavy skirts as she pulled Charity up.
Christian wasn’t entirely sure where he found the strength to climb out of the pond himself, but he did and landed on his knees, gasping for breath as he warmed Charity with his healing. Ada knelt on the other side of him, her flames swirling with his into a faded purple that wrapped around Charity’s neck, disappearing into her skin.
His sister started coughing and sputtering. Christian rolled her onto her side, pounding her on the back until she vomited pond water onto the mossy earth. “Is there more? Do we need to heal her elsewhere?” Ada asked. Christian could hear the hysteria running just below her words, even though she fought to keep it hidden.
“No, I don’t see any injuries.” Christian checked his sister, peeling her eyelids back. Her eyes glowed faintly — a look he was becoming painfully used to. She wasn’t in a vision, but she wasn’t here with them, either.
“Christian, have you noticed… every time Charity tries to have a vision or speaks of a vision even, she has these — these attacks?”
Christian had not noticed, but now that he thought back on it, he realized Ada was right. “Let’s take her home. Somehow, we have to find a way to keep her from your father and his experiments.”
Christian scooped her into his arms. She was soaking wet and the air was cold, very cold — the first winter snow couldn’t be long off. Charity had been sickly since they were small, and one caught chill could end her entirely. It was like reliving the same nightmare over again — racing through the briars and down the dirt path to the manor. Just like the night before. Ada followed him quietly, and her lack of worried conversation made him think she was plotting. When Ada plotted, she usually ended up in dangerous situations. He was beginning to not enjoy the plotting so much.
Scarlett seemed to be expecting them as she swung the door open. “Again,” she moaned, and Christian could hear the heartbreak in her words. He didn’t answer as he carried Charity to her room and laid her on the bed, turning away so Ada and his mother could strip her wet things off and put on a nightgown.
Abruptly, Ada said, “I know what I have to do.” Squeezing his hand as she brushed past him, she left before he could even ask her what it was she intended now.
“I knew there was a plot brewing in that beautiful head of hers.”
****
“Mother, I will go to London,” Ada announced as she swept into the parlor where her mother was doing some sort of sewing project Ada had never taken an interest in.
Vivian looked up, a hint of fear flashing across her face before she realized what Ada had said and shock replaced it. “You will, truly?” Vivian exploded to her feet, rushing to take Ada’s hands. “We have so much to do. We must pack. And order your new wardrobe. And somehow we’ve got to make you fit to meet the queen.” She was already mentally creating a list longer than Ada’s sk
irts when Ada broke in.
“On two conditions, Mother.”
Vivian froze, her hand coming to rest on the door frame. She turned slowly, her shoulders set like she was cringing inside. “What is it, Ada?”
Ada raised her chin. “One, I want Governess Buttercroft’s daughter, Charity, to accompany me as my maid.”
Vivian’s chin dropped. “But—but she—but your—”
Ada cut her off. “My maid now is fine, Mother, but if I am to embark on a new course in my life, I wish to take my dearest friend with me. I know there is no way I would be allowed to bring Charity with me as my guest. And besides,” Ada crossed her arms over her chest, looking away toward the window. “Father already told me she could be my maid.”
“He did?” Vivian did not sound convinced. Ada met her gaze and nodded. “We won’t leave for at least a fortnight. Charity can be trained. I’ll take two maids! It’s the newest fashion in London, Mother.” Ada knew she sounded desperate, but she couldn’t help it. The entire reason she agreed to go to London was to get Charity out of the house and away from her father. If her mother didn’t agree, Ada was truly at a loss.
Vivian wrinkled her nose delicately. “Everyone has two maids now?”
Ada nearly sighed. How did her mother honestly expect her to know? She’d never been to London. She had no communication with anyone in London — or anywhere else, for that matter. It was a whole city of non-magical peoples. And it scared her more than facing any battle did. Instead of answering, she changed the subject. “And two, Mr. Buttercroft will accompany us as one of our grooms.”
“No. Absolutely not. I want you far, far away from that boy.” Vivian jutted her chin out like a stubborn child.
“Then I will not go.” Ada crossed her arms over her chest to hide her shaking hands. If her mother refused, Ada would have to take Charity and Christian and run away. And pray the wrath of her father did not follow them.
Vivian squinted at her for several long seconds. “Fine. I will make the arrangements. But not before—” Vivian paused and held up one finger, freezing Ada’s triumphant smile, “—not before you promise me that you will behave. No sorcery. No magic. No flames, sparks, spells, climbing trees, or swearing. You will be a lady. And you will stay away from that boy.”
Ada didn’t hesitate. If it meant keeping Charity safe, she would do it. “Yes, Mother. I give you my word.”
****
“You are going to London? Surely you jest, Ada.” Christian felt like his own throat was trying to strangle him, closing in as it was. Or maybe it was his heart, trying to escape and lodged uncomfortably, blocking all air?
“Christian, please understand. I cannot think of another way to keep Charity away from my father.” Ada’s voice was small and pleading. He knew if he turned to look at her, there would be tears in her eyes. So he didn’t turn. Instead, he shoved his pitchfork viciously into the next load of hay and flung it into the fresh stall.
“We don’t even know if your father is doing this, Ada. Maybe she’s just losing her mind.”
There was a gasp, and something small and hard smacked him in the back of the head. He dropped his fork, grabbing his skull and whirling. “What was that for?”
Her beautiful face was nearly burgundy with rage, her eyes shooting daggers as she glared at him. “Take. That. Back.”
He sighed, stretching his neck and wondering why he had fallen in love with a girl who had such an incredibly hot temper. “I’m sorry, Ada. I don’t mean that. But I won’t see you for such a long time. And there will be all those men fighting for your hand — men your father wants you to marry. What chance do I have?” He stepped over the hay and pulled her toward him, holding her hands tightly in his own.
She blinked at him like he was daft. “Of course I’ll see you. We have to have a groom in the city, Christian. It will be just as it is here, only safe. No Father.”
So he would go, but only to watch her be courted by every eligible bachelor in London? Was that better than staying here and imagining it happening? “I will go. As your groom.” He let her hands drop and turned away, stooping to pick up his pitchfork. He attacked the hay again, this time with more force than before.
The prong of the pitchfork broke.
Christian swore, throwing what was left of it across the barn.
“You’re angry.” Ada had backed up several steps and now stood at the wide doors leading outside.
He spun on her, feeling the sparks come unbidden even as he realized sparks should not come unbidden to a Carules healer. He did not care. “Yes, Ada, I am angry. You care more for my sister than you do for me. You risk everything to save her without a thought to how it will affect me. Do you honestly think, when you get to London and have all those high-born men panting after you that you will remember the groom waiting at your window? Will you even remember Charity?” He advanced on her, but she didn’t move. Her chin came up, which he should have realized was a warning, but he ignored it. “For once, Ada, tell the truth. You are going to London so you can leave us behind.”
She slapped him. The sparks from her fingertips burned his cheek. And then she whirled and raced for the estate.
He raised a hand to his cheek, feeling the welts rising. The flames in his blood had gone cold. With a heavy heart, he rested his head against the barn door, staring at his feet. If she went to London, he would lose her forever. If he’d ever really had her at all.
****
She didn’t speak to him for over a week. She didn’t come to the pond, or to their trees. She didn’t even leave the manor unless it was at night. If Charity’s visions were to be believed, she was sneaking out nearly every night to fight in battles that seemed to be erupting more and more frequently in the surrounding areas. He even waited up one night, sitting in the shadows across from her balcony, but she never appeared. By this point, he didn’t know if Charity was even able to get a real vision, or if it was all madness.
Charity saw her every day, all day long, while she trained tirelessly for her new position as Ada’s maid. She told Christian of the seamstresses being brought in, of the endless hours of packing trunk after trunk. “You’d think they were moving to London for the rest of their days,” Charity murmured in exhaustion as she curled on her side in her bed. Christian didn’t say a word, just pulled her quilt over her shoulders and leaned to kiss her temple.
Maybe she is.
“Lady Adlington has asked that you accompany them to London,” Scarlett said as he came wearily into the small sitting room.
He stared out the window at the manor. The fine manor, with rugs more expensive than a year’s worth of his clothes. With a single room big enough to fit their entire home. This is what Ada was used to, and this is what she would seek. His throat threatened to close once again, but he forced it to allow the words to be spoken. “I will not go.”
****
Ada’s entire body hurt. Fighting in battle seemed to be the only way to silence the pain of her broken heart, so she fought whenever she felt it call. But she had no healer, now, and the burns and bruises had to fade on their own. Governess Buttercroft had healed her face once during lessons, but the rest of her injuries she hid well. Not even Charity knew of them.
But the pain of her body was nothing compared to her heart. Christian’s words had made a permanent home in her mind — she heard them whenever she wasn’t fighting. Sometimes whispered, sometimes screamed, they never went away. After all this time, he knew her so little.
“You will fetch many offers this Season, my dear,” the seamstress said around a mouthful of pins, many of which bore Ada’s blood. Standing still for hours on end was a ridiculous task no one should be charged with. She refrained from telling the woman that she wanted no offers this Season. Who would believe her, if the boy who had loved her for her entire life didn’t even believe her? So she said nothing, but when she met Charity’s glowing silver eyes, she knew her friend understood.
“That’s the last of them. I
’ll be back for another fitting in a few days.” The seamstress stood up, her bones crackling like Ada’s sparks when she was very angry.
“And you’ll be able to deliver the dresses to London? We are leaving late next week.”
The seamstress nodded. “Yes, my lady. I’ll be traveling to London myself, and will bring them with me.” Her speech had a bit of a cockney touch, like she’d been born on the wrong side of London but did her best to hide her poor upbringing. Ada studied her curiously, but the woman refused to meet her eyes.
“It’s because she feels your power and is frightened. Your mother is not powerful. She doesn’t frighten anyone,” Charity said quietly as they watched the woman go from the front entry. “She’s also very disconcerted because of the way you treat your maid.” This last bit she said with a smirk — the kind Ada hadn’t seen from Charity in quite some time.
“Your brother has refused to accompany us to London,” Ada said, turning her head toward Charity and speaking in low tones so that Vivian wouldn’t overhear them.
“His pride has been wounded. He will heal. He will miss you and he will come.”
Ada studied her for several seconds, trying to squash the hope blooming in her chest before it killed her. “Did you see this, or do you merely anticipate that he will?”
Charity gave her a sympathetic smile. Ada’s heart cracked at the pity in her eyes. “I know my brother well, Ada. I do not see things like I once did, but I feel positive that he will come.”
Ada told herself she had too much to do to worry about Christian and his tantrum. She refused to think about his kisses while she lay in bed at night. She refused to let tears soak her hair and she refused to sob into her pillow. When he saw that Charity was safely away from the duke, and that she was healed — that the attacks had stopped, he would understand that this had all been for his sister. Then, perhaps, they could heal their relationship.
