“… Yes,” I managed.
“Yes, what?”
I swallowed, hard. Clearly, I’d made a mistake. Morag wasn’t a servant at all. She was one of the family, even if she was lesser family. “Yes, Senior.”
“Very good,” Morag said, mockingly. “I’m glad to know you can be polite after all.”
I slid down the wall until I landed on the floor, my cheek aching painfully. Morag watched me sit, then squatted down so she was facing me. “Listen very carefully.”
Her eyes held mine. “You have ruined your life. You will never be an upperclassman at Jude’s; you will never have the chance to be valedictorian. You will never be courted by a young man; your parents will never seek to find a suitable husband for you. You will never marry, you will never have children, you will never be allowed to wield any power in or outside the family. There will be no hope of employment, not when no one will want to risk the family’s displeasure by hiring you. Your life is over.”
I couldn’t help myself. I started to cry. Morag was right. I knew she was right. My life was over and it had nearly a hundred years to go. Ira had been at Kirkhaven Hall for over fifty years, hadn’t he? I might be there for just as long or even longer.
“You will be here for the next four years, at least,” Morag said, remorselessly. “And then? Well, I suppose you could marry the local pig-boy. He’s got a quarter-interest in the swine farm, I believe. Or you could change your name and walk over the border to Galashiels. I dare say you know enough magic to make a living there, if you were careful.”
I glared at her, hatefully, as I struggled to suppress my sobs. I knew she was right, but … I didn’t really want to believe her. I was trapped, held prisoner by the faint possibility that - one day - I would be allowed to return to Shallot. If I changed my name and walked away, I’d never be allowed to return home. I wouldn’t be Isabella Rubén any longer. No one would be interested in me unless I had a true talent for magic. And while I did have a lot of training, it wasn’t enough to match a graduate from Jude’s.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I was apologising to her or my entire family. “I’m sorry for …”
I broke down into sobs, again. I’d held myself together, somehow, during the trip … but now, now I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I curled up into a ball and cried, helplessly. Morag rose, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and passed it to me. I dabbed my eyes as she looked away, silently grateful for the small mercy. How far had I fallen, already, that I was grateful for Morag giving me a semblance of privacy? I rubbed my cheek, wincing at the pain. Morag would never have dared slap me unless she’d been confident that Ira would support her. She could do anything to me, anything at all. I was helpless and trapped and at her mercy …
Concentrate, I told myself, recalling the first meditative exercises I’d been taught. Take a breath and calm yourself.
It was hard, so hard, to focus. There was no magic to make it easier. But I slowly brought my emotions under control. Morag turned back as I stood, her arms crossed under her ample chest. Her face was sharp, very tightly controlled. I couldn’t help thinking, again, that she looked very much like an older version of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll ask Ira …”
Morag gave me the kind of look one would give to a particularly stupid child. “If you disturb the Master before he wakes, you’ll get much worse than a slap,” she said. She sounded rather more amused, I thought, than strictly necessary. “Wait here.”
She turned and walked back into her room, closing the door behind her. I waited, rubbing my cheek gingerly. The pain was slowly fading, but … I sighed. It would be a long time before I forgot the slap. Morag … I wasn’t sure what she was, but she was no servant. And I’d addressed her as one.
Morag opened the door, carrying a large dressing gown in one hand. “Put this on,” she ordered, shoving it at me. “And then come downstairs.”
I pulled the dressing gown on, feeling a tingle running across my skin as the charmed garment resized itself to fit my body. It might be strikingly unfashionable, but it was warmer than my nightgown, warm enough that I almost felt comfortable as I followed her down another flight of stairs. I hoped Morag had some spare clothes she didn’t mind lending me, I thought. The Arbiters hadn’t told me anything about where I was going. If I’d known, I would have made sure to pack warm clothes in trunks that didn’t need magic to open.
“These are the kitchens,” Morag said, as we reached the bottom of the stairs. The floor was hard stone, cold against my bare feet. “As you can see, they were designed for a much larger population.”
I looked around the giant chamber. It was very like the kitchens back home, but where Rubén Hall’s kitchens had thrummed with life these kitchens were dark and cold. There was no fire in the grate, no cooks boiling soup or roasting giant animals or … I shivered as I followed Morag over to a small workstation. A handful of heating elements were in use, it seemed, but the remainder had been demagicked long ago.
“You’ll find tools in the drawer there,” Morag said, pointing to an oversized chest of drawers with a wooden top. “If you use something, be sure and clean it afterwards in the sink before drying and replacing it. I will not be pleased if I have to search for something you’ve used, understand?”
“Yes, Senior,” I said, quietly.
Morag seemed pleased at my submission. “The cupboards all have powerful preservation spells, so anything kept inside them is safe to eat,” she told me. “If you finish something, let me know; I may have to obtain more from the town or somewhere further afield. I assume you’ve used a heating element before?”
“Yes, but …”
Morag picked up a firestarter and held it out to me. “You can cook whatever you want,” she added. “But …”
“I …” I saw a nasty glint in her eye, but forced myself to continue anyway. “I don’t know how to cook. And … and what do we do for meals here? And I …”
“You don’t know how to cook,” Morag repeated. “Dear me. What are they teaching little girls these days?”
I flushed. Morag wasn’t that much older than me. She had to know that senior family were taught magic, not domestic chores. Of course I didn’t know how to cook. Back home, I’d had servants to do the work. I’d only gone into the kitchen to beg treats from the cooks …
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble slicing up some bread to make a sandwich,” she added, after a moment. She pulled open a cupboard to reveal several loaves of bread and pots of jam. “You can find meat and cheese in the next section if you don’t like jam.”
Her lips quirked into a smile. “To answer your other question, the Master takes his meals at one o’clock and seven o’clock precisely. I put his food out for him at those times. If you wish to join him in the dining room, you may do so. If not, I’ll preserve something for you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Morag snorted. “I have breakfast myself when I get up in the mornings,” she added. “I’ll show you how to cook some basic meals for yourself, if you’re willing to learn.”
“Yes, Senior,” I said, sourly. I didn’t want to admit it, but … I had no choice. I had to learn to feed myself. “It will be my pleasure.”
“Hah,” Morag muttered. She cleared her throat. “And now you can fix yourself a sandwich.”
It should have been simple. It looked simple. But the bread was hard and cold and slicing it was harder than it looked. Morag watched, making the occasional sarcastic remark, as I cut myself a lump of bread and covered it with jam. It was too thick to eat easily too. Magic would have made it simple, I thought - I knew a pair of cutting spells - but Morag didn’t seem disposed to help. She wanted me to learn for myself.
“You’ll have plenty of time to eat more after lunch,” Morag told me, when I’d finished the makeshift sandwich and cleaned everything I’d used. “Right now, you can have a bath.”
I nodded. “Do you have any more clo
thes? I mean … clothes suitable for this weather?”
Morag laughed as she led me back up the stairs. “There are boxes upon boxes of clothes in the storerooms,” she said. “I think they were abandoned here years ago. Feel free to use whatever you like. Just remember you’ll have to wash it afterwards.”
“I don’t know how to wash clothes,” I admitted. “I do know the spells …”
“Talk to the Master about that,” Morag said. “He may decide to remove the cuff.”
I clung to the thought as we reached the fifth floor and walked into a smaller room. A handful of buckets rested against one wall, under a large iron tap that was covered in brown rust. It didn’t look very healthy, despite the runes carved into the metal. Morag snapped her fingers and the buckets started to move, lining up in front of the tap. She filled the first bucket, then muttered another charm under her breath. The bucket rose into the air and floated down the corridor to my room.
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” I said. Morag was clearly a skilled magician. “What spells do you use?”
“We can discuss them later, if you like,” Morag said. She pulled a towel off a railing and passed it to me. “I had to reinvent some of them from old spellbooks. They’re not used so often these days.”
I nodded. Rubén Hall had water pipes that lead to just about every room in the building. I hadn’t needed to fetch my own water if I wanted a bath. Morag had probably reinvented the spells just to ensure she didn’t have to carry water either. The buckets weren’t that big, not compared to a full-sized bathtub. I supposed I should be glad Morag was helping. It wouldn’t have been easy to fill the bath without magic.
“I believe the Master wishes to speak with you after lunch,” Morag said, as we walked back to my room. “I suggest you spend the morning unpacking your trunks” - she unlocked them with a wave of her hand - “and then reading quietly.”
You suggest, I thought. I was fairly sure it was an order. Do I have a choice?
Morag cast a final spell on the water, heating it until steam started to rise in the cold air. “I’ll fetch you for lunch,” she said. “Until then, have fun.”
I watched her go, then peered at my face in the mirror. A nasty red mark was clearly visible on one cheek, even though the pain had nearly faded completely. It was a grim reminder that I was at her mercy. Ira might take off the cuff, if he decided I needed my magic, but I doubted I could challenge Morag. She clearly had enough magic to be formidable. Why hadn’t she simply left?
Shaking my head, I tested the water and then rapidly undressed. Morag had gone to a lot of trouble for me. It wouldn’t be a good idea to waste the water. And then …
I sighed as I climbed into the bath. Morag was right. Kirkhaven Hall was my home for the foreseeable future. Mother and Father might want to call me home after a few weeks, but the rest of the family would be adamantly opposed. It was time I accepted it.
And see what I can do here, I thought. There’d been a lot of books in Ira’s office. If nothing else, I will have plenty to read.
Chapter Four
Dinner with Ira and Morag was not, I was relieved to discover, as strictly formal as dinners with my parents. Ira didn’t seem inclined to thank the ancients for our family’s success, while Morag didn’t pay attention to which pieces of cutlery I used. Indeed, if there had been more people my age at the table, I might even have enjoyed the dinner. It felt more like a family picnic than a formal meal.
“This is very tasty,” I said, when I had finished the stew. I wasn’t lying. It had been very tasty.“Did you cook it yourself?”
“There’s no one else to cook here,” Morag said, stiffly. I had the feeling she wasn’t as complimented as I’d hoped. “I had to cook it.”
“Very good,” Ira said. He rose. “Isabella, if you will accompany me …?”
I glanced at Morag, who probably had to clear the table, then followed Ira through the door and down to his office. Light streamed through distant windows, yet the corridors didn’t look any cleaner in bright daylight than they’d had in the semi-darkness. I thought I saw a portrait of one of my ancestors, standing next to a woman who had her back to the artist, but Ira didn’t give me any time to make sure. He hurried me into his office and motioned me to sit down as he closed the door.
I sat, silently grateful that Morag had let me dig my clothes out of my trunks. The dress wasn’t particularly warm, but at least it wasn’t damp and smelly. And it was charmed to stay clean. I’d resolved to search the storerooms for something a little warmer to wear, but that would take time. Morag might not know where to start looking. I certainly didn’t know.
“I went through the letters,” Ira said, once he was sitting too. “They don’t paint a pretty picture.”
“No, Senior,” I said, looking down.
“I think you can call me Uncle,” Ira said. “I’m quite some distance from you on the family tree, but we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
“I …” I stopped and started again. “Thank you, Uncle.”
Uncle Ira nodded, once. “Tell me what happened. In your own words.”
I took a long breath. “I made a mistake,” I said. “I trusted the wrong person.”
“A common mistake,” Ira said, dryly. “What happened?”
“I…” I swallowed, hard. “I committed treason.”
Uncle Ira cleared his throat, impatiently. “Details?”
I hesitated. There was no way to make me look anything other than - at best - a fool. I had been foolish and yet … the first decisions I’d made had been logical, I’d thought. Even in hindsight, it was hard to tell precisely where I’d gone wrong. And I didn’t want to think about it, either. I’d done something so stupid that I probably didn’t have any hope of going back home. Even marrying the pig-boy might be too much to hope for.
“I went to Jude’s, nine months ago,” I said. “My brother and I were supposed to look for clients, but … Akin wasn’t really interested. It was all up to me. They put me in a room with Caitlyn Aguirre, the Zero. She was an Aguirre, so I saw her as a rival. I thought she wouldn’t be much of a match for me.”
“A Zero,” Uncle Ira repeated.
“Yeah,” I said. I shook my head. “It turned out she could make Objects of Power.”
I expected him to be fascinated - Objects of Power had once been the greatest mystery in the world - but Uncle Ira showed no reaction. Instead, he just indicated for me to continue.
“I … I kept prodding at her until Scholar’s Rights were claimed,” I said, remembering the moment when she’d accused me of betraying her to the upperclassmen. As if! A sneak would become an instant pariah, even amongst her clients. Of course I’d had to challenge her. “I thought it would be an easy fight - I’d just turn her into a frog when she ran out of places to hide - but she had Objects of Power and … and she beat me. Everyone laughed at me. I … my clients deserted me so quickly that I was alone by the end of the day. Father was not pleased.”
“I imagine not,” Uncle Ira said. Hi face was expressionless. “And then?”
“A few months later, Stregheria Aguirre approached me,” I explained. There was no way to sweeten what had happened next. “She told me that … that she’d been excluded from power too, because she was a girl. I believed her. Father told me that I wouldn’t be the Heir Primus when I was ten, so … so why couldn’t it have happened to her?”
“I know Stregheria,” Uncle Ira said. “Knew her, rather. We were classmates.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” Uncle Ira said. “And then? What happened?”
“She promised me a position of power in Shallot - and the chance to succeed her - if I helped her to take over the city,” I admitted. “She didn’t tell me everything, not at the time, but … she told me enough to convince me that I’d have a chance to actually inherit power. And so I helped her take the school, only everything went wrong and Stregheria died and … and I got exiled out here.�
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“Anything Stregheria told you should be treated with extreme caution,” Uncle Ira said. “She was a nasty little girl when we were both children and I dare say she didn’t get any better over the years. I can’t say I blame House Aguirre for keeping her as far from the levers of power as possible.”
“No, Uncle,” I said, with a heavy sigh. “That’s the story, more or less.”
“So it would seem,” Ira said. He looked at the stack of letters on his desk, then rested his hands on the table as he looked at me. “Your father was somewhat insistent that you were to continue your education here. However, I am quite busy with my work and I don’t have time to teach you properly. You do, however, have free access to the books on the lower floors and the workshops on the fourth floor. There’s a forgery and a potions lab, both of which are open to you. You may pursue a course of independent study, at least until you complete your practical studies for the remainder of the year.”
His lips twitched. “Your father was also kind enough to send along copies of the latest educational modules for the next two years. I’ll probably have to go through them first, but we should be able to organise a brief set of review sessions as you work your way through them.”
Ouch, I thought. Father was doing his best for me, but I’d heard stories about mail-order correspondence courses. A handful had been nothing more than scams. Father would have checked them first, surely.
I frowned as another thought occurred to me. “You want me to work in the potions lab alone? Without supervision?”
Uncle Ira nodded, shortly. “I expect you to be careful,” he said. “And I also expect you to inform me if you run short of anything. I’ll have to order new supplies from the nearest city if we run out, unfortunately. There are no herbal gardens here.”
“Because of the weather,” I guessed.
“Among other things,” Uncle Ira agreed. He met my eyes. “The labs are heavily warded, but I will not be pleased if you accidentally blow up the workshops. Putting them back in order, when I first got here, took more time than I wished.”
The Family Shame Page 4
