The Spark of a Feudling

by Wendy Knight

  “Will I see you again?” Christian asked, her Christian this time, vulnerable and hurt instead of dark and angry.

  She bit her lip. His gaze followed the movement, landing on her mouth, and she saw the hunger reawakening in his brown eyes. “I believe, thanks to your appearance last night, that we are now social outcasts and will be returning home.” She backed away, toward the opening in the maze, memorizing his face for the days she would be away from him. “If you return to Adlington, then yes, Christian. I will see you again.”

  ****

  Christian watched her go. He could follow her. He could beg her to stay, or to escape with him. Or overpower her, the angry flames hissed. Before they could control him again, he quickly burned the call spell he and his mother had perfected so many years ago. When she sent an answering spell, he counted in measured beats backward and fluidly burned the saldepement spell into the air. They’d never tried it from such a great distance before. He had ridden to London with a passing group of Carules, who followed the Edren battles and healed the wounded. With them, the angry flames had been silent. It wasn’t until he saw Ada in that ballroom that they’d awoken, fierce and undeniable.

  The shimmer of a doorway expanded before him, and he could see Scarlett on the other side, worry pinching around her eyes. He hadn’t told her he was leaving, had only left a note. He stepped hesitantly through the doorway and snapped it shut behind him.

  “One day, Christian, your actions will have serious consequences.”

  Thanks to your appearance last night, we are now social outcasts. “They already have, Mother.”

  She was in her nightdress and wrap, although she did not look at all like she had been sleeping. Perhaps not since he’d left several days ago. “Please, Christian. Please let us leave.”

  “I can’t, Mother. If we leave now, where will we go? What will we do? Follow the Edren armies around like lapdogs, running when we’re called? Find another family to be slaves for?”

  She paced the small cottage, long light brown hair wild around her face. It was safe here; the wild flames stayed hidden here, and Christian could think clearly. He could breathe without pain, except for the cracks in his heart that Ada had left. “It doesn’t matter, Christian. Living as wanderers with no home would be better than living here and watching while you lose your mind.”

  He shook his head, sinking into the armchair. Suddenly exhausted, he put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head to his hands. “I will learn to control it. His Grace will teach me to control it,” he mumbled at the ground. This was an argument they were having almost daily, and one she wouldn’t win. Without another word, he rose to his feet and went to his room, leaving her alone in the darkness.

  ****

  Ada may have been a social outcast now, but her father seemed not to care. She was still his warrior, still rumored and whispered about and feared, and that made him proud. Christian had slowly realized, during her absence, that though the Duke of Adlington was harsh and short-tempered and pushed her beyond her limits, even bordering on abuse, he was overwhelmingly proud of his only child. He seemed to be of the mindset that love was supposed to hurt, apparently.

  The carriages returned during what had to be one of the worst storms of the year. Christian had been working particularly hard on his spells that day, and now he watched lightning split a sky that seemed to be the exact color of his flames. He was too tired to move, in too much pain even to raise his head, so he watched out the window and tried to remember what, exactly, Richard had done to him that day. Or any of the other days.

  As always, it remained a mystery.

  He heard the rumble of the carriage as it pulled in the courtyard. The storm had blocked out any sounds of their arrival until they were upon him, and he had no time to prepare himself. Although there wasn’t much he could do anyway, hurting as he was.

  “They are home, Christian. My daughter is home,” Scarlett cried, grabbing her shawl and flinging it around her shoulders as she raced out of the door, into the storm. He heard her gasp as the first pelt of rain hit her, but she didn’t return. The door slammed behind her.

  Ada is home.

  Christian’s heart healed almost completely, except for the small fissures that would never be erased. She was home, and things would go back to normal.

  He was able to sit up by the time she burst into their cottage, eyes sparkling in outrage. “What has happened to you?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “Tell me the truth, Christian Buttercroft, or so help me—”

  He would have raised a hand to ward her off, but it took most of his energy to sit up. “I have been practicing Edren spells.”

  Her dark, dark brown eyes narrowed, her hands spit sparks. His own angry flames responded, giving him energy, and he mustered a smile. “Your father has been teaching me in your absence.”

  Suddenly, all the fire went out of her, and her face paled as her breath left her in a whoosh. “What do you mean, teaching you?”

  “I can do almost all of the Edren spells now.” And some of my own.

  “I am thrilled beyond belief,” she said drily. “Yet you have no burns, no injuries that I can see, and still you don’t rise from your bed. So tell me the truth, Christian.” Her eyes hardened, “What has he done to you?”

  Charity appeared behind her. “Your father has been experimenting on him. Trying to make Carules offensive spells as powerful as Edrens. He wants to create an army, and there are many more Carules in the world than there are Edrens.” With a rueful, sad smile toward Ada, she said, “Your race has nearly wiped itself out.”

  “How—” Christian almost asked how she knew that, so used to her visions controlling her and not the other way around. But Ada had been right when she said Charity was healed. The glow in her silver eyes dimmed.

  Ada whirled on him, her hands squeezing convulsively at her chest, like there was a pain there she was trying to stop. “How could you let him do this?” she whispered.

  “I didn’t have a choice. You ask what he has done to me — he’s made me powerful. As powerful as you. Now, if you don’t mind, I should like to rise and dress.”

  Tears welled in Ada’s eyes and she spun away, hurrying out of the room. “I don’t know you at all, Christian Buttercroft.”

  Chapter Nine

  Life did not return to normal as Christian predicted. Instead, Ada took it upon herself to protect him and Charity both, which meant she spent as much time with her father as possible. She used every ounce of physical and emotional strength, spending all day training with Richard and then, according to Charity, memorizing spell books long into the night. And his little Ada was becoming so powerful that training with her was exhausting Richard as well. He had no more energy left at the end of the day to test anything on anyone. He sent Christian through his paces and left, retiring early almost every night.

  “I am afraid for Ada,” Charity said late one night, several weeks after they had returned home. Christian’s heart froze.

  “Is he experimenting on her now?” A weird form of jealousy fought the fear in his chest for place in his heart, but the fear held strong.

  Charity dropped her apron on the hook near the door and turned to face him, tired and drawn. “No, he isn’t, as far as I can tell. She’s had no episodes like mine, and she isn’t in such agony when she’s through that she can’t recall her past hours like you.” She frowned at him. “But she isn’t eating, she’s battered and bruised and so tired.”

  “Is no one healing her?” Christian half-rose from the chair he sat in, setting his book aside.

  “No, no one is healing her.”

  “Why ever not?” he yelled, the angry flames surging to the surface. He fought them back down.

  Charity raised an eyebrow, coming to sit across from him. She waited while he waged his inner battle. “She will not let them. She says her healer is gone from her.”

  Christian stood up, walking across the small room to the window. Pulling the heavy curtains a
side, he peered up at Ada’s room. The rest of the manor was dark, but a flickering light still burned beyond her window.

  “She’s very conflicted.” Charity moved to stand beside him, staring into the darkness. He could see her reflection next to his, like pale moonlight next to the dark of shadows. Ada, had she been with them, would have been the sun. “She loves her father very much. She craves his approval, as she always has. But she also seeks to protect us from him, from the horror she is certain he is committing.”

  “I didn’t ask for her protection.”

  “She loves us. She will always protect us.”

  ****

  Ada spent much time in the gardens as of late. It was peaceful there. Her father had retired to his study after their training session, glowing with pride that she had picked up the spells so quickly. Amused, but slightly irritated, that she had bested him once again in their duel. And he was in need of a healer.

  As much as she despised herself for it, she had basked in his pride. She did not tell him that she had spent hours and hours and hours practicing the spells he thought he was teaching her so that she could “learn” them as quickly as he wanted.

  She had overheard him boasting of her power and her beauty both, to Governess Buttercroft. She hated herself for being a fraud and hated herself for being happy that he boasted of her.

  “You need to be healed.”

  Christian’s voice, heard so often only in her memory, nearly frightened her out of what was left of her skin. She almost wished it would, for how much it hurt.

  “I do not.”

  Christian left the shadows in which he blended so well, crossing the dirt path to stand at her side. “I see the burns, Ada.”

  “I should ask you to call me Miss Aleshire.” She sniffed, glaring at him. But she gave up, sighing. “Can you even heal any longer, Christian?”

  Her words wounded him, she could see. Pain flashed across his face, and he looked away, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets. “Yes, Miss Aleshire. I can still heal.”

  Ada moved away, wandering the gardens, knowing he would follow her. “If not me, then my mother. Or one of the other Carules in your father’s employ.”

  She trailed her hand along the vines of a rosebush, deliberately pricking her finger on a thorn. “If you can still heal, then heal this.” She held her hand out and watched him with narrow eyes.

  Christian slowly took her hand, wiping the blood away with the pad of his thumb. He brought her pricked finger to his lips and kissed it, ever so gently, and she felt the healing warmth come from his mouth. Well. That is new.

  He lowered her hand, watching her with those dark, dark eyes. “I still heal.”

  Ada pulled her hand away hastily. She couldn’t afford a repeat of what had happened in London. For one thing, it was broad daylight and there were servants everywhere. For another thing, she didn’t think she had the strength to tell him no twice.

  Instead she lowered her eyes, peeking at him through her lashes. “Thank you, Christian. I—” she was cut off by the sound of wheels rattling down the tree-lined drive. “Another attack?” she asked, forgetting her anger and this horrible awkwardness she had in his presence now.

  “That will be the third or fourth since you left for London,” Christian said. Ada gaped at him but he ran for the courtyard, leaping rosebushes and dodging the low hedgerow.

  “Third or fourth?” she asked no one, since he was well beyond her hearing. She picked up her skirts and raced after him, but her short legs would not jump rosebushes, so she was forced to go around, cursing her height the entire time. She was not positive whatsoever that she had the strength to fight another battle, but there was no way she would let Christian fight alone. Not after she’d nearly killed herself trying to protect him. She rounded the corner and came up short. It was not a party of assassins. It was one single carriage — and she recognized the seal clearly.

  “William?”

  ****

  Not only William, but Lady Charnock as well. Ada paused in the doorway to the parlor where her mother served them tea and chattered like a completely daft squirrel. Lady Charnock noticed her first and raised an eyebrow, giving her an amused smile.

  William noticed her next. “Miss Aleshire.” His cup rattled just a bit when he set it on the saucer and he rose to his feet, bowing quickly and nearly falling over.

  She’d seen this nervousness in him before. She prayed it didn’t mean what she thought it meant, except for that very small part in her heart that prayed that it did. “Mr. Langley.” She dipped into a curtsy. “This is a pleasant surprise. You are back from London early.” She crossed the room, letting him take her hand and press a kiss against her knuckles.

  “Everything worth being there for, left. A few weeks ago.” His dark brown eyes met hers, shocking in their intensity, before he flushed and looked away. Ada’s heart raced in her chest, butterflies doing suicidal acrobatics in her stomach.

  “William has come to speak with your father. But thus far Hilda hasn’t found him.”

  Almost subconsciously, Ada raised a hand to her burned, battered face. “We were training. He is probably resting in his rooms.”

  William’s eyes scoured her face, studying the injuries. Ada grimaced and looked away. “I am a warrior,” she said quietly.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His voice was low enough that only she could hear him, and her gaze raised swiftly to meet his again. She was certain her heart would pound right out of her chest, and everyone in the room must be able to hear it.

  “William, is it?” Her father’s voice nearly growled from behind her, and Ada jumped, stifling a gasp.

  “Yes, sir. I would like a word with you, if you have the time.” William crossed the room, his hand outstretched, and Richard took it with a suspicious smile.

  But Ada only glanced at them. When William had moved, she had a clear view of the wide front window, and Christian, who stood in the courtyard watching them. Sparks burned from his fingers, and the well-manicured grass at his feet was on fire.

  She wasn’t sure how she knew the attack was coming, only that she did, and her own hands moved to burn a warding spell without hesitation. The wall shimmered to life in front of them just as Christian’s spell smashed into it, exploding into a rain of sparks that fell to the carpet. Lady Charnock gasped. Vivian screamed. Behind her, William and Richard both swore. Ada alone stood silently, staring in horror at the boy she used to love. The one who had just thrown a lirik at her heart.

  ****

  Christian sat alone in the practice room, chains that hadn’t been used for over a decade clasped to his wrists and ankles. It was dark, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he ever saw the light of the sun again.

  He’d tried to kill her.

  He didn’t even remember what had happened. His last coherent memory was telling her in the garden that she needed to be healed. The next memory he had were of liriks from several guards flying at him all at once, and Ada, Ada, his darling Ada, at once protecting him and trapping him with wards. Through the wards it had been hard to hear, but she burst out of the broken window, hands up, screaming that something was wrong, he wasn’t in his right mind. He’d watched as she begged her father, reading her lips mostly — he would never do that to me. Something isn’t right.

  So now he sat in the darkness, wishing for death. When the heavy wooden door creaked open, he didn’t even raise his head. “I would rather you stay away from him, Ada. He is not to be trusted.” His Grace’s voice.

  The angry flames awoke, slithering hungrily through his veins. I am not to be trusted and it is because of you. Sparks threatened to burst from his fingers but he fought them. I am a healer. I am a Carules. I am a healer. But that was not all he was anymore.

  He’d become a monster.

  “I am not afraid of him, Daddy.” Ada came down the steps, a torch held high in her hand. Steady, too, so that if she was afraid, she hid it well. Her father followed, staying beh
ind on the steps.

  “You tried to kill me today.”

  Of all the things he expected her to say, that was not one of them. Her voice was calm, quiet, and full of pain, but there was no anger, no accusation.

  “I do not know what happened. I don’t remember,” he said weakly, but knew she couldn’t believe him. Only a fool would.

  “It is as I assumed.”

  Christian felt his eyebrows raise in shock. He had not taken her for a fool. “How can you believe me after what I’ve done?” She opened her mouth to respond, shadows flickering across her face from the torchlight, but he continued before she could get a word in. “Everything I’ve done. How can you believe me now?”

  “Because.” She lowered her voice. “My Christian is still in there somewhere. I can feel him in my heart.” She rose to her feet, skirts swirling across the dirt floor. “Daddy, release him.”

  “What?” Christian had never heard His Grace sound surprised. Usually bored or angry, or when talking about Ada, amused and proud, but never surprised. Until now. “I cannot release him — he almost killed you!”

  In the darkness her hair looked almost entirely black. The red streaks seemed to hide in the shadows, and he just caught a glimpse of them when she nodded. “He did.”

  Richard’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Christian watched it all, horrified. “I would rather you not release me,” he croaked.

  Ada glanced at him over her shoulder. “He needs to be healed. Something is not right, and we will find him a healer.”

  Richard came down two more steps, laying a hand gently on Ada’s shoulder. Now her torch trembled, but she didn’t lower it. “Ada, healers can’t fix… whatever is wrong with him.”