Lady Augustine studied her. “Perhaps you’re right, and he simply loves you. If he truly cares for you, he’ll deal with it.”
They took another step. The mix of worry and anxiety roiled inside Charlotte. Heat rose behind her eyes, and she clamped her hand over her mouth.
Lady Augustine opened her arms.
Charlotte’s last defenses snapped. She stepped into the welcoming embrace and cried.
“My sweetheart, my precious one. It will be all right,” Lady Augustine soothed, holding her. “It will be all right. Let it all out.”
But it wasn’t all right, and now Charlotte had to tell Elvei about it.
What they said about coming to love a person you live with was true: she had come to love him. He was always kind to her, and she could use some of that kindness now. She felt weak and helpless. So helpless.
The path brought her to the northern patio. Her husband sat in a chair, drinking his morning tea and peering over papers. Of average height and muscular build, Elvei was handsome in that particular aristocratic blueblood way: precise features, carved with a perfection that seemed a touch distant, square jaw, narrow nose, blue eyes, brown hair with a hint of red. When she woke up next to him, with the morning light playing on his face, she often thought he was beautiful.
Charlotte came up the steps. Elvei rose and held out a chair for her. She sat and passed him the letter.
He read it, impassive, his pleasant face calm. She had expected more of a reaction.
“This is unfortunate,” Elvei said.
That’s it? Unfortunate? Her instincts told her something was seriously wrong with that placid expression on his face.
“I truly care for you,” Elvei said. “Very deeply.” He reached over the table and took her hand in his. “Being married to you is effortless, Charlotte. I have nothing but admiration for what you do and who you are.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. The logical part of her knew she had nothing to do with her infertility. She didn’t cause it, and she had done everything in her power to fix it. She wanted a baby as much as Elvei. But she felt guilty all the same.
“Please don’t be.” He leaned back. “It’s not your fault or mine. It’s just an accident of fate.”
He was so calm, almost cavalier about it. It would’ve been better if he cursed or threw something. He sat still in his chair, but every word he said was a small step back, increasing the distance between them. “We can adopt,” she said, hopeful.
“I’m sure you could.”
Alarm blared in her head. “You said ‘you.’ Not ‘we.’”
He pushed a piece of paper across the table to her. “I thought that things might turn out this way, so I took the liberty of preparing this.”
She glanced at the paper. “Annulment?” Her composure shattered. He might as well have stabbed her. “After two and a half years, you want to annul our marriage? Are you out of your mind?”
Elvei grimaced. “We’ve been over this before: I have three years from the beginning of marriage to produce an heir. My brother is engaged, Charlotte. I told you about that two months ago. He’ll have three years to produce a child. If I divorce you and remarry, I’ll have six months before becoming ineligible to inherit. You can’t make a baby in six months. I need an annulment, so my three years can restart, or Kalin will get there before me. He still might, all things considered, as marriage takes time . . .”
This wasn’t happening. “So you’re just going to pretend that everything we shared in these years doesn’t exist and discard me? Like trash?”
He sighed. “I told you, I have a great deal of admiration for you. But the purpose of this marriage was to have a family.”
“We are a family. You and I.”
“That’s not the kind of family I require. I can’t lose the manor, Charlotte.”
She was cold and hot at the same time, all hurt and anger iced over by shock. “Is it money? You do realize that I can make us as much money as we need.”
He sighed. “You’re so flawless most of the time that occasionally I forget you’re not a blueblood by birth. No, of course, it’s not the money. Whoever owns the manor rules the family. It’s my inheritance; I was born first, I studied most of my life to take care of our family interests, and I won’t let it slip away.”
“It’s just a bloody house!” Her voice snapped.
Elvei’s composure melted, the polite veneer sliding off him. His voice rose. “It’s my childhood home. My family goes back sixteen generations. Do you expect me to just let my idiot brother get it while you and I pretend to play house here, in this decrepit ruin? No, thanks. I have higher ambitions in life.”
The words burned. “Is that what we were doing?” she asked quietly. “When you and I made love in our bedroom, we were playing house?”
“Don’t be melodramatic. We both enjoyed it, but now we’re done.”
The outrage swelled in her, mixing with hurt. Last night he’d kissed her before they fell asleep next to each other. This was the man she woke up to every morning? “Elvei, you realize, you’re telling me that I have no value to you except as a broodmare?”
“Don’t make me the villain in this.” Elvei leaned back. “I’ve gone with you to all the tests and treatments. I listened patiently while you got excited over this specialist and that, I sat in the waiting rooms, and I gave it as much time as I could. There are no more treatments left. I just want to have a child, like any normal healthy adult.”
Every time she thought she had reached the limit of hurt, he twisted the knife a little more, digging deeper and deeper inside her, cutting at a raw wound.
“So I’m abnormal?”
He spread his arms. “Can you conceive? No. You are defective, Charlotte.”
Defective. He actually called her defective. The pain inside her began to smolder with rage. “I’m curious, what’s the next word you’ll reach for? How cruel will you be, Elvei?”
“You cost me two and a half years.”
Two and a half years of disappointment, of painful procedures and shattered hopes, of feeling like she was crippled, but no, it was all about him. She would never have a child of her own, but he only saw himself as the injured party. She should’ve seen this in him. She should’ve known. How could she have been so stupid? “You’re a terrible human being.”
He surged to his feet and leaned over the table. “Had I married someone else, I would’ve inherited by now. I tried to end this with as much civility as possible, but you’ve decided to cause a scene. I need an heir, Charlotte, and you can’t give me one. What’s so complicated about this? I’m done letting you waste my time.”
“You told me you loved me.” She still remembered how his face had looked when he said it.
“You needed encouragement to begin the therapy. Dear gods, Charlotte, are you really that naive or are you just stupid?”
The words slapped her. The darkness inside her shivered, stretching, getting ready to escape. She clenched herself around it, trying to hold it back.
“Let me spell it out: I married you because of your healing, which you could pass on to our children, and your poise. You are attractive and educated, and I knew that you would never embarrass me in public. Other than that, there wasn’t much to recommend you.”
The air turned thick and scalding like boiling glue. She couldn’t breathe.
“You’ve been a blueblood for less than three years. My family came to this continent on the Second Fleet, and they were already titled.”
The darkness writhed inside her, begging to be released.
“My father is an earl; my mother was a baroness prior to their union. Your father is a cook and your mother is a waitress. In what world could you possibly think that you were in any way equal to me? I granted you a favor. I flattered you by my proposal, Charlotte, and you fell short. Accept it with dignity. I believe an apology is in order.”
He’d pushed the blade so far into the wound that he reached the darkness she hid deep
inside. Her defenses burst. The darkness slithered out, coating her skin from the inside out. “You’re right. You will sit down now and apologize to me.” Menace suffused her voice.
He stared at her. “You’re hardly in a position to give me orders.”
Her magic slid out of her and wrapped over her arms, curving around her body in rivulets of black backlit with deep, intense red. She had never seen it red before. The pale gold of healing, yes, hundreds of times. But this dark, furious black and red? No. So this is what the magic of an abomination looks like.
“I can blight your entire family, you moron. I am the Healer. Pick a plague, and your sixteen generations will end right now.”
Elvei’s mouth gaped. “You wouldn’t.”
The magic lashed out from her like a striking serpent and bit him. Elvei jerked, his face puzzled. She felt her magic sting him, cutting at the lining of his throat, and a rush of unexpected pleasure flooded her. Oh gods. Fear shot through Charlotte. She jerked the dark current back, pulling her power into herself. She’d let it have just a merest taste, a tiny bite, but it wanted more, and she had to strain to keep it contained.
Elvei coughed, harder and harder, clamping his hand over his mouth. Blood dripped from between his fingers, staining his skin with bright, hot scarlet.
He started to rise but froze halfway.
She realized she hated him, and hurting him made her happy. Power coursed through her, grim but exhilarating. Her magic begged for more.
No. She couldn’t let it.
“Sit.”
He dropped into the chair.
“You’ll have your annulment,” she said. “However, you have lived here all this time, and since you don’t wish to be treated as my husband, I will treat you as my boarder. You’ll reimburse me for rent, food, clothing, gifts, and the services of my staff. You came into this sham marriage with nothing, and you will leave with nothing.”
It was a small price to pay, but she couldn’t just let him walk away free and clear. Her anger wouldn’t let her. She had to have a nominal compensation. If she didn’t, her magic would exact its own price.
“I don’t have that kind of money,” he said.
“I’m not interested in your financial troubles,” she said. “I financially supported you all these years, and you don’t get to take advantage of me. I’ll have my lawyer draft an invoice, and you will pay it in full, or I will force you to make a much more public apology.”
All blood left his face. “You’ll have your money.”
“Send it to the Dawn Mother charity.” The money would go to heal children. Some good would come from this nightmare.
Her magic begged to have another tiny nip of him. Charlotte clenched her power in her fist and kept it contained. “Apologize to me for being a heartless bastard.”
“I apologize,” he said, his voice wooden.
Charlotte concentrated. Magic coated her arm, the radiant golden hue of healing. “Give me your hand.”
He stretched his hand over the table. His fingers trembled. She locked her fingers on his wrist, fighting revulsion. They had awakened in the same bed this morning. She’d lain there, thinking that he was handsome and that she would’ve liked to have his children, while he must’ve been going over the conditions of annulment in his head. The document had been drafted by a lawyer, which took time. Elvei must’ve begun the preparations for this moment days ago. Her mind struggled to accept that he could be that cold.
She forced the thoughts away and concentrated on repairing the lacerations in the lining of his throat that she’d made. A moment, and his internal wounds closed. She released him and wiped her hand on the tablecloth.
“You may go. Your things will be sent to you when the charity informs me that your payment has been received.”
He jumped to his feet and ran out. She sat there, alone, on the patio of a house that no longer felt like home and wondered what she would do next. The dark current of power coiled and twisted around her. She felt its hunger, beckoning her. It wanted to be fed.
Finally, all the endless lessons and instructions made sense. Her teachers had said that using the healing gift to harm was addicting, but they neglected to mention why. Hurting her ex-husband had brought her pleasure. She wanted to do it again.
Do not become an abomination, Charlotte.
There were no exceptions to the rule. The dark magic would resurface, and the joy it brought would consume her. She’d follow its dark lure into the unthinking abyss where only the next moment of pain-induced euphoria would matter. She was a ticking bomb. She had to contain her powers at any cost.
Charlotte slumped against the chair. She had few options. She could go back to Ganer College and hide away from the world. No, returning to the College where everyone knew her and about her marriage was out of the question. Their pity would drive her over the edge.
She could remain in the manor and live in seclusion and hope that isolation would reduce the temptation to use the dark side of her magic, but she didn’t want to be Charlotte de Ney either. Lady de Ney was a stupid, naive girl who was blinded by a handsome face and the promise of a happy tomorrow. She had thought that after the years of training and service, she deserved to be loved for who she was, as if love was some sort of a right. If she stayed here, she would have to face her neighbors and friends, and explain why her marriage had been annulled. No, that wouldn’t be a good idea either, especially since Elvei would be moving in the same circles, hunting for a new wife.
At the memory of Elvei, the magic surged inside her. Charlotte hugged herself. Injuring him felt so good. She could imagine making him sick. Maybe just a little bit. Nothing drastic. She knew where he’d lived before their marriage. He still owned that house and would likely return there. And if he married, she might make his happy blushing bride just a little less vivacious. The thought of it would gnaw at her until it consumed her, then she would do it. It was wrong and evil. She knew it, but she was so worn down and her emotional wounds were too raw. She wasn’t sure how long she could hold out. She had to disappear someplace away from bluebloods, Adrianglia, and Elvei.
Her memory served up a half-forgotten incident from many years ago when she had been called to heal a group of soldiers. She recalled feeling a strong magic boundary, an invisible wall that seemed to sever their world, and watching the soldiers come through it, one by one, their faces twisted by pain. She spoke to one of them while sealing his wounds. He told her they belonged to the Mirror, a secret counterespionage agency. They had been traveling outside their world, the man had said, in a place where magic was weak. He called it the Edge. The man had been delirious, and she would’ve dismissed him if she hadn’t sensed the invisible wall rising like a barrier of pressurized magic.
In this Edge, a place of weak magic, the pull of the darkness might be weaker too, so even if it managed to get the upper hand, she would do less harm.
The real question was, could she find it?
* * *
ÉLÉONORE Drayton leaned back in her rocking chair and sipped the iced tea from a tall glass shaped like the center of a daffodil. The spring sun warmed the porch. Éléonore smiled, cozy in all of the layers of her torn clothes. She had been feeling every single one of her 109 years lately, and the heat felt so nice.
Beyond the lawn, a road ran into the distance, and on the other side, the Edge woods rose, dense, nourished by magic. The air smelled of fresh leaves and spring flowers.
Next to her, Melanie Dove, herself no spring chicken, raised her glass to the light and squinted at it. The sun caught a thin gold thread spiraling inside the glass walls. “Nice glasses. They from the Weird?”
“Mhhm. Keeps the tea cold with magic.” The glasses worked even here, in the Edge, where the magic wasn’t as strong. It didn’t keep the ice from melting indefinitely as the note with it promised, but it lasted a good five to six hours, and, really, who couldn’t drink a glass of tea in five hours?
“The grandkids got it for you?”
>
Éléonore nodded. The glasses came by a special courier, straight from Adrianglia in a box with Earl Camarine’s seal on it, the latest in the stream of presents. Rose, the oldest of her grandchildren, had picked them out and written a nice note.
“When are you going to move there?”
Éléonore raised her eyebrows. “Trying to get rid of me?”
“Please.” The other witch shook her gray head. “Your granddaughter married a loaded blueblood noble, your grandsons have been after you for months to move, but you sit here like a chicken on a compost heap. In your place, I’d be gone.”
“They have their own lives, I have mine. What am I going to do there? The boys are in school all day. George is thirteen, Jack’s eleven, and Rose has her own marriage to worry about. I don’t even have a place of my own there. Here I have two houses.”
“Earl Camarine will buy you a house. He lives in a castle, woman.”
“I’ve never taken anyone’s charity, and I’m not about to start now.”
“Well, in your place, I would go.”
“Well, you’re not in my place, are you?”
Éléonore smiled into her tea. They had been friends for fifty years, and for the entire half century, Melanie had been telling anyone and everyone what they should have done with their lives. Age only made her more blunt, and she hadn’t been all that subtle to begin with.
Truth was, she missed them. Rose, George, and Jack, she missed her grandbabies so badly, her chest ached sometimes at the memories. But she didn’t belong in the Weird, Éléonore reflected. She’d gone to visit and would likely go again, but it didn’t feel like home. The magic was stronger, and she’d probably live longer, but here in the Edge, in a space between the Weird with all its magic and the Broken with none of it, was her true place. She was a Drayton and an Edger, through and through. She understood this small town; she knew all of her neighbors, their kids, and their grandkids. And she had power, too. A certain respect. When she threatened to curse someone, people stood up and listened. In the Weird, she’d just be a stone around Rose’s neck.
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