Seventh Born

by Monica Sanz

  13

  forgive me

  The sheets clung to her sweaty skin.

  Sera, Sera in a cage…

  A torrent of memories swarmed Sera’s mind, hazy recollections of pain whisking by like wisps of smoke and whispers.

  Sera, Sera wants to fly…

  She turned her head away and willed her eyes to open, but sleep burrowed its claws into her consciousness, wrapped its tentacles around her joints, and pressed its claim. Sera’s body tensed, but after her night with Barrington her mind was too weary to fight, and she fell deeper into sleep’s darkness.

  But her pretty wings are broken…

  The blackness became a vortex of smoke that pulsed like a heart. With each beat, it gained shape and form until a familiar room materialized. Noah’s room.

  Look at her fall from the sky…

  Black floors stretched beneath her like an ocean of dried blood, and black walls spread around her. A candle chandelier of skeletons hung overhead, the only light in the dim room. Black velvet curtains denied all signs of day and weather, but time and season didn’t matter. Noah would never let her experience them, he would never let her go.

  Sera lifted onto her elbows. Her black dress crinkled as she sat up. She glanced to the bedside table. Relief spread through her chest. His wand wasn’t there, and he was never without it, the horrible piece of black wood painted with the blood of his victims.

  She kicked off the black silk sheets and made to stand, but her hand was taken in a firm, frigid hold.

  Sera…

  Her muscles tensed, and a cold wave rushed down her spine. She let out a shuddering breath and looked to the side.

  Noah knelt beside the bed, his head bowed over her hand. His lean body shuddered as he sobbed silently, his warm tears spilling over her fingers. He turned his face up; beautiful, angular brown eyes stared back at hers, a dual promise of pain and tenderness in his gaze.

  “I’m so sorry, Sera,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sera shook her head, her breath breaking. This was wrong. This was all wrong. Noah never apologized. Noah didn’t feel remorse.

  “Forgive me, please.” He lowered his head and sobbed again, his shoulder-length brown hair shielding his face.

  “What is this?” She wrenched her hand away but hissed as he dug his nails into her skin and kept her fixed.

  “I’m sorry, forgive me.”

  “No, you’re not him,” Sera whispered, breathless. She tugged her hand away, harder. “You’re not him.”

  Consciousness descended on her mind like a bird of prey.

  “This is all a dream,” she whispered. “You’re not real. You’re not him…”

  With each denial she issued, he faded away, and then his room, until Sera once again waded in smoke and shadows.

  The splintering crackle of lightning exploded, and she bolted upright, her heart hammering in her chest. She lifted a hand…but it was seized by another.

  A scream lodged in her throat. She glanced down to who held her hand, and couldn’t make a sound. Mrs. Fairfax knelt beside the bed, the housekeeper’s shoulders trembling and her keys jingling at her side as she wept.

  A chill of awareness trailed down Sera’s spine, wound around her stomach, and squeezed. Was…was Mrs. Fairfax dead and this her ghost?

  The housekeeper sniffled, and warm tears spilled onto Sera’s hand.

  Sera shook her head. No, it couldn’t be. The dead didn’t cry warm tears. The dead couldn’t touch the living. But then what on earth was wrong with her? Mary said she’d had a fall, and her appearance had been strange when Sera hid with Timothy in the secret library. Was she sick?

  Heart pounding, Sera slipped a foot out from under her blanket and set it on the opposite side of the bed. She inched to get out, but the mattress groaned, and Mrs. Fairfax’s head snapped up. Glossy eyes bored into Sera.

  “Sera,” she moaned and gripped Sera’s wrist. “Forgive me.”

  “Mrs. Fairfax, let me go!” She wrenched her arm away, but the woman clutched her tighter, tearing her sleeve. Freed, Sera scrambled backward off the bed.

  Mrs. Fairfax clawed thick fingers into the tousled sheets and tried to stand, her plump face flushed and chin quivering. “Forgive me, please. Forgive me.”

  She lunged and reached for Sera again. “Forgive me!”

  “No!” Sera lifted a hand. Panic gripped her stomach, and a blow of magic burst from her hand in the form of binds. They whipped around Mrs. Fairfax so fast, the force pushed her into the air and across the room. She slammed against the door and crashed onto the floor, unconscious.

  Sera shifted back, her frame heaving. She grasped her wand from her bedside table and aimed it at the motionless woman. “Mrs. Fairfax?” She panted, her hands trembling.

  Wild winds wheezed outside, and thunder rattled the windows, but Mrs. Fairfax didn’t make a sound.

  Breathless, Sera inched forward toward the woman. The white binds of her magic were snug, their hue pulsing to the tune of Sera’s frantic heartbeats. Moving a little closer, she saw that Mrs. Fairfax was breathing, and the tightness in her chest eased slightly. But for how long? And what would she do if she woke up? This was bad. It was very, very bad. How would she ever explain this? Though Mrs. Fairfax had come into her room, surely she’d be blamed for it somehow. Unless someone could help her…

  Sera called back her magic, and the binds around Mrs. Fairfax vanished with a hiss. She aimed her wand at the floor and, a moment later, stumbled into Barrington’s dark study. The embers in the fireplace barely emitted a glow, and the room was cloaked in shadows.

  She started for the door. He may have been angry at her, but surely he wouldn’t turn her away. Barrington was moody but, so far, never cruel.

  Reaching for the doorknob, she paused at a light snore. She spun to find Barrington asleep at his desk, his head down on his forearms. His frame undulated with even, rhythmic breaths of sleep.

  Sera hurried to his side. He slept over an open case file, impressions of charred bodies and exhumed graves spread out beneath him. Beside him was an empty decanter and a half-filled tumbler.

  “Professor, wake up,” she said in a stage whisper.

  He didn’t rouse.

  She gritted her teeth and gripped his shoulder, shaking him. If he didn’t wake up soon, they might have another dead body on their hands. “Wake up, sir!”

  Barrington jerked upright, his hair spiked on one side and his eyes narrow with sleep. He still wore his clothes from earlier in the night, his black robe the only addition. He took one look at Sera, and all bleariness vanished.

  He rushed to his feet and seized her shoulders. “What is it? Did you see something?” Lightning flashed, highlighting the alarm on his face before thrusting them back into darkness. “Speak quickly, girl.”

  “Mrs. Fairfax. I—I woke up, and she was there, in my room. She’s still breathing, but I fear she may be hurt.”

  “Mrs. Fairfax, the housekeeper?” He shook his head. “Miss Dovetail, tell me exactly what happened.”

  “I was asleep, and when I woke up, she was in my room, crying and asking for forgiveness.” Sera shivered, clasping her hand against her chest, haunted by the sensation of Mrs. Fairfax’s warm tears. “She lunged for me, and I used binds to detain her, but they came out so fast, she slammed against the wall, and now she’s unconscious.”

  Barrington’s eyes darkened, and Sera braced. He would help her; she was sure of it. But would he also scold her for using what he’d taught her to harm a fellow staff member?

  “Are you hurt?”

  She reared back to defend herself, yet stumbled upon the question that came with his words. In her silence, Barrington pulled her away and scrutinized her. His eyes locked on the torn sleeve.

  “Did she do this?” He took her arm, his touch firm yet gentle, and pushed aside the frayed fabric to inspect her skin. He paused, his fingers stilled over her scars. His jaw clenched.

  Sera yanked her arm away and t
ugged down her sleeves. “I’m fine. She didn’t hurt me.”

  Clearing his throat, Barrington nodded and whisked off his robe, then draped it over her shoulders. Warmth and the scent of musk and sandalwood enveloped her. Sera sighed. A sense of safety rolled through her, chasing away the chill of fear.

  Barrington reached for his wand. “Where is she now? Did you fetch Nurse?”

  “She was still by the door when I left.” She remembered the woman crumpled on the floor, and her chin quivered. She hadn’t meant to hurt her—not fatally anyway. “I thought to get Nurse, but they’d find a way to blame me, I’m sure of it, so I came here. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “You did well in binding her, and in coming to me. You can always come here.”

  Sera lifted her head. Though the room was dim and his face set hard, she could see the honesty in his stare. She lowered her head and clasped the robe around her tighter, a strange twinge in her belly. “Thank you, Professor.”

  He touched her shoulder and aimed his wand to the ground. She blinked, and the darkness of her small room surrounded them.

  Barrington shifted back, taking in the burn marks on the wall and her amalgamation of dated furnishings in one glance. He moved to Mrs. Fairfax’s side and, kneeling beside her, he brushed her white hair from her ashen face and set a hand at her temples.

  His dark brows joined in concentration. “She has no serious injuries,” he murmured, much to Sera’s relief, “but she’s weak. I must get her to Nurse immediately. I’ll say I found her on the back stairs. And you must speak to no one about this, not to the Tenant girl…nor to Mr. Delacort.”

  Sera’s heart pounded, her mouth wound with unintelligible words. “How did you…?”

  “There are eyes everywhere, Miss Dovetail.” He slid a hand beneath Mrs. Fairfax’s shoulder and eased her into his arms. “Thankfully, silence is a commodity. Now, lock your door and use magic if necessary. If any trouble comes to you, transfer to the house.”

  Sera nodded and moved back. He vanished into darkness with Mrs. Fairfax, and though Sera was still wrapped in his cloak, the room grew colder around her.

  …

  News of Mrs. Fairfax dominated all talk that morning, though with every whisper Sera heard, the story changed. Some claimed she was found in the library, while others said they saw her from their windows, unconscious in the back gardens. The tales followed her into Mrs. Aguirre’s class, where Susan Whittaker leaned in to Mary.

  “I don’t care what anyone says, she was properly drunk. I heard she was found in the pantry some days ago without a memory of how she got there. Isn’t that what drunks usually say?” She pursed her lips and nodded once, wholly satisfied with her answer. “I bet if they search her room, they’ll find all sorts of liquor there. I say she should be fired.”

  Mary glanced at Sera and offered her a fleeting smile before turning back to Susan. She looked tired, her skin missing its usual glow and her eyes their gleam. Sera glanced at Susan. The girl was a pest, and after a morning of hammering the same subject, Mary must have been annoyed.

  “Come to think of it,” Susan went on, “she might have seen a ghost. I heard those stairs weren’t always servant stairs. Purists used them to go down into the lower levels and sacrifice seventhborns in a secret room. Maybe she saw the ghosts of dead seventhborns? Surely they can haunt us, with their link to death and all.”

  At this, Susan glared back at Sera.

  Sera sighed, but she didn’t have the energy to care about the girl today.

  “You sure do hear a lot, Susan,” Mary snipped, gaining the girl’s attention once more. Susan stared at Mary, her mouth agape.

  Sera grinned, her heart warm.

  “She was probably tired,” she added. “She works hard and barely rests, especially now with the Solstice Dance approaching. Nurse warned her about exhausting her reserves. I suppose it’s finally caught up to her.”

  Susan tipped her chin and spun to her cauldron. “I still say she was drunk, and the dance better not be ruined because of her.”

  Mary sighed but didn’t reply. Just as well, thought Sera. No one knew the truth of what was wrong with Mrs. Fairfax, not even her.

  14

  his name was noah

  Later that day, Sera sat in her corner in the library contemplating things. Mrs. Fairfax could have been sleepwalking, but that still didn’t explain the crying, the apologies, and why she was calling Sera’s name. Sera sighed. Mary had asked to be excused to the infirmary to help Nurse; hopefully she learned something of Mrs. Fairfax’s condition, anything to explain her strange behavior the previous night.

  A peculiar heaviness settled on Sera, as though she were being watched. She glanced up from her book. Whittaker stared at her from across the room, his seedy eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a smile. A shadow swathed Sera and drew her attention. She spun to Susan Whittaker holding an impression, a smile similar to her brother’s on her lips. “I believe this is yours.”

  Sera’s stomach sank to her feet, and the floor seemed to spin and sway beneath her. The impression was of Sera’s back, taken when she had been rescued by the Aetherium. Myriad scars marred her skin, some of the newer ones still inflamed.

  Standing, she tore the image from Susan’s hands. “Where did you get this?” she snarled, her magic flaring. She gripped the girl’s arm and yanked her forward. “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it,” Susan replied, impervious to Sera’s grip and blatant anger. “But it’s only one of eleven impressions. I wonder where the others are?” She looked over Sera’s shoulder.

  Sera followed her stare to the students along the tables. They stared down at something—pages that they exchanged with one another.

  No…

  Sera shoved Susan aside. With each impression that was passed along, she cringed. It was as if they’d taken her body, cut it into pieces, and parceled it out, and now their merciless hands touched the deepest parts in her soul.

  No, no, no.

  Anger, humiliation, and sorrow battled to possess Sera, and her magic scattered under their fight. She growled and rushed to the tables, snatching away the impressions that had been distributed. “Give that to me!”

  “Miss Dovetail!” The girls’ matron, Mrs. James, rushed to Sera, gripped her shoulders, and yanked her around, quickly seizing the pages. “What is the meaning of this…?”

  She glanced down at the impression, and her breath caught. Her brows gathered, and she looked at Sera, a mix of shock and anger, but for once, it wasn’t directed at her. She whirled to the students surveying the various impressions, to the assistant matrons standing idly by. “Collect them, now!”

  She swept to the nearest table and grasped the notes of Sera’s file that had also been distributed.

  Across the room, Timothy wrenched Whittaker’s cloak and pulled him close. Whittaker shrugged and shook his head, clearly denying any involvement. But Sera knew this was done by his hand. Mary had warned her that he sought revenge, but while Sera had been ready in case he tried to hurt her physically, he’d instead come after her soul. Timothy shoved him aside and glanced at Sera, genuine pain in his eyes. What can I do, his stare screamed, is there a way for me to fix this?

  Tears distorted him in her eyes, the answer a painful no. Nothing could make this better. She was broken, and now everyone knew. After being shattered so many times, she was unsure how she fit together, much less what anyone could do to help.

  She focused on Whittaker, her body trembling. Each quiver spread heat through her body, crumbling her self-control. Reason begged her to think of her family and her position with Barrington. But lost to her memories and dissonant rage, she snatched out her wand. Magic, hot and cruel, waved up to her fingertips, ready for release. She would bind him, squeeze until he begged for mercy, but she would refuse him until his screams drowned out her own heartbeat in her ears.

  Yet, digging her nails into her wand, Sera ground her teeth together and suppressed her siniste
r desires. Noah had taken her magic. She wouldn’t allow Whittaker to take away her chance at finding her family.

  Barrington rushed into the library, a shadow in all black. His wolf eyes fixed on Sera, then briefly lowered to her wand. Seeming to understand what she could have done but hadn’t, he stalked to Whittaker. The boy’s eyes widened, fear devouring his complexion. He held his hands at surrender, but Barrington fisted the boy’s cloak and dragged him out of the library.

  “Professor Barrington.” Mrs. James rushed to him and handed him the stolen impressions and notes she’d recovered. He took them from her blindly and shared quick words Sera couldn’t hear. Glancing briefly over his shoulder at Sera, his jaw clenched, and then he stalked out of the library, Whittaker sniveling beside him.

  Sera gripped the nearest chair. The ache of refusing her magic burned her insides, while the sudden change in events stole her breath.

  “Come away, now,” Mrs. James said, in an uncharacteristic soft tone, and with a gentleness unlike her, she touched Sera’s elbow, guiding her out of the library and upstairs to the tower door. She pulled it open and nodded Sera inside.

  Sera hesitated a moment. Mrs. James was going to let her go? Even though the events at the library weren’t Sera’s fault, she was certain she’d be blamed one way or another. A seventhborn was always at fault, even when they were innocent. Perhaps Mrs. James was the one unwell, taken by whatever plagued Mrs. Fairfax. But too tired to consider it further, Sera moved into the tower stairs and ascended.

  “Miss Dovetail.”

  She stopped and turned. Of course Mrs. James wouldn’t let her go so easily.

  “Will you be all right?” She looked Sera in the eyes, shame and pity brimming in her stare.

  Sera’s heart twisted. No, she wouldn’t ever be all right. Not until she found her family and her memories, until being a seventhborn didn’t mean a life of persecution and torment.

  “No, but I’ll have to be,” she replied. It’s all she could do. Whatever the pain, she had to fight and survive.