by Serena Chase
The Asp nodded. “You must desist with your evil practices on this family.”
Rose blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“I found powdered ebonswarth hidden in your trunk.”
The color drained from Rose’s face in a rush of cold that left a sheen of damp behind.
“Ebonswarth is native to Dwons and does not grow in any of the other eight provinces of E’veria.” She spoke as if giving correction to a toddler. “I am of Dwons. Did you think that by hiding it in a wineskin I would not recognize it? Or by it, you, as a witch?”
“Witches are a Storyteller’s invention, Mrs. Scyles. They aren’t real.”
“Liar!” Mrs. Scyles’s hiss momentarily replaced the sickening sweetness in her voice. She straightened, took a long breath in through her nose, and when she spoke again her tone had normalized. “In Dwons, witches are very real, but they are not the hags the Storytellers make them out to be. They have no inherent magic, nor any inborn abilities like the Veetrish Storytellers or even the Andoven of Tirandov Isle. They have only knowledge and beauty at their disposal, but they use both for evil gain.”
“Knowledge and beauty?” Rose asked. “But those are not bad things.”
“They are in the hands of a witch!” Mrs. Scyles lifted her chin. “A witch of Dwons has knowledge of how to use the fruits of the earth in evil ways. And with beauty she can ease her way into the lives of those she wishes to use or destroy.”
“I’ve never even been to Dwons. How could you think me one of them?”
“You have the powder.” Mrs. Scyles said. “No one in the Kingdom of E’veria would dare possess it unless they intended to use it. I’ve never met a witch with eyes of your color, but since you have the powder, your beauty marks you.” She lifted her chin. “I will not let you harm this family.”
“I’ve no wish to harm anyone!”
The Asp disregarded Rose’s protest as if no words had touched the air. “I’ve hidden the powder and I will destroy it as soon as I can. And I found it just in time, too, lest you use it to bewitch Sir Kinley or one of the other knights.”
“Why would I want to hurt Kinley? He’s like a brother to me!”
“Perhaps you envision yourself the next Duchess of Glenhume?”
“What?!”
“Indeed.” The sweet tone disappeared, replaced by a low, dangerous quiet. “You are just like the black-haired harlot who stole my place within the clan! My husband was next in line to be Chieftain, he was. But he was tricked by a witch. She told him lies and he cast me out of our home. He exiled me from my clan and took her as his wife.” Mrs. Scyles wrinkled her nose. Her nostrils flared. “He should have known she was a witch. Ebonswarth witches almost always have black hair. And black hearts to match. Like you.”
Rose’s hand unconsciously reached up to touch her hair. Was that why Mrs. Scyles had never liked her? Because Rose’s black hair reminded her of the woman who had stolen her husband?
But my hair isn’t really black, Rose reminded herself. Not that she could let Mrs. Scyles know it.
Mrs. Scyles sniffed. “Of course, Sir Kinley, being the heir, would be an attractive proposition now that you’re nearly of age.” Her gaze was fixed nearer to the ceiling than Rose’s face. She almost seemed to be talking to herself.
Rose shook her head. “Mrs. Scyles, I would never do anything to hurt my family.”
“Your family? Pah! Lord Whittier is a duke! You are no one! No one,” she spat, “but the cursed daughter of a witch and the knight she ensnared with ebonswarth!”
The knight? Rose’s chin dropped. “Do you know who my father is?”
“It’s rather obvious, I should think, to anyone with eyes.” The Asp snorted. “Your black hair, your sudden departure from his home . . .” She shrugged.
Rose gasped. Black hair. His home. “You think Uncle Drinius is my father?”
Mrs. Scyles sneered. “Did it never occur to you?”
“Of course not!” Rose exclaimed. “That’s absurd.”
“Is it? Why else would a man go to such lengths to see a child cared for in such grand style, but yet keep her from claiming a father’s name?”
The Asp’s insinuations spun questions to life that, before now, seemed content to be ignored in the back of Rose’s heart. Why did her father never allow her to claim his name? Was he . . . ashamed of her?
Uncle Drinius had told Rose that her mother died in childbirth and that her father was a knight.
Everyone knew that a knight was expected to uphold the highest moral standard.
Uncle Drinius was a knight.
By hiding Rose away in Veetri, was he protecting himself from scandal?
Mrs. Scyles was exceedingly loyal to Lord Whittier’s family, yet she had never, never transferred that loyalty to Rose. Did the Head of Housekeeping know something that the duke and duchess—that even Rose herself—did not?
Mrs. Scyles clasped her hands behind her back and leaned slightly forward. Rose shrank back.
“Perhaps the reason Sir Drinius brought you here,” the housekeeper said, “was not to protect you, but to protect his wife. Perhaps Lady Drinius could no longer stand the sight of you, his child by another woman, in her home.”
“No.” Rose shook her head. Uncle Drinius couldn’t be her father. He couldn’t. “You’re speaking nonsense. Aunt Alaine loved me. She cried when I left!”
“With joy, most likely.” The Asp straightened. “I always knew there was something base, something dangerous about you, girl. And the ebonswarth powder proves it. You were born a witch.”
“I am not a witch! And you should know better than to speak lies about a knight. Sir Drinius is an honorable man!”
“At one time I would have called my husband an ‘honorable man,’ as well. Alas, many honorable men have been ensnared by the craft of an ebonswarth witch.” Mrs. Scyles clicked her tongue. “Think about it, girl. Sir Drinius has only visited you twice since he dumped you on the duke’s hospitality.”
Rose flinched. That much was true.
“Is that the act of one who is proud of his offspring? No. I’d wager the knight is glad to be rid of you.” Mrs. Scyles sneered. “Good riddance to tainted blood, he’s thinking.”
“You go too far, Mrs. Scyles.” Rose lifted her chin, but a tremor still remained in her voice. “As you said, I am considered a daughter of this house. When Lord Whittier hears of the disrespect with which you’ve addressed me, he’ll—”
“Tell them of me and I’ll tell them your secret.” The revolting sweetness returned to her voice. “It would be a shame if I had to tell them about the ebonswarth.” She smiled, her thin lips nearly disappearing. “Or that perhaps you used it to bewitch Masters Lewys and Rowlen?”
“I’ve bewitched no one! If you think I’ve hurt Rowlen, then perhaps you should ask him. He knows I have the powder and he knows why! He was there when the mineral springs washed the black away, leaving only red behind. He’s the one who snuck into my room, got the powder, and helped me—”
With a shaking hand, Rose touched her lips. She had said too much. She had broken her promise to Uncle Drinius. But it was too late. She couldn’t take it back. She could only speak faster and hope the Asp would not recall her slip.
“Rowlen will vouch for my innocence in this nonsense you’ve concocted,” Rose declared.
“How inconvenient for you,” the Asp mocked, “that he is not here.”
Rose’s heart raced as if trying to get ahead of her mind. Did Uncle Drinius know the powder was used in witchcraft? Is that why he cautioned her to keep it well hidden?
A swift series of taps on the door reminded her to breathe.
“Come in.”
The knob turned and Koria poked her head through the door. “Rose?” the tutor asked. “When you are finished with your dinner, please join me in the upper library. There were some errors with your sums from this morning that I would like you to try and fix.”
“My sums?” Rose’s mor
ning lessons had not included any arithmetic that she recalled. She could only assume Koria had overheard part of her conversation with Mrs. Scyles. “Oh. Of course. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Will that be all, Mistress Rose?” The Asp’s tone regained its normal tone.
“Yes.” Rose nodded. But she knew differently. This was far from over.
CHAPTER THREE
Rose ate nothing of her dinner. Instead, she paced until she was sure Mrs. Scyles was gone and then raced down the hall to the upper library and pulled the doors closed behind her.
“She thinks I’m a witch!” Her voice was breathless and her skin tingled with fear. At Mirthan Hall, only Koria, the tutor Uncle Drinius had hired before they left for Veetri, knew about Rose’s true coloring. It was she who assisted Rose with the dye each new moon.
“Mrs. Scyles found the ebonswarth powder, Koria! And now she thinks I’m a witch!”
“I know.” The tutor’s eyes slid shut.
“You heard?”
“Yes. I . . . heard.”
“We have to do something.” Rose wrung her hands and paced to the window and back. “She thinks I want to bewitch Kinley!”
“Where is the powder now?”
“I don’t know!” Rose wailed. “She took it and hid it somewhere while I was—” Rose’s words halted as she remembered seeing Mrs. Scyles outside just before Kinley and his friends arrived. “It’s in the laundry shed. It must be.”
“The laundry shed?” Koria wrinkled her nose. “How can you be sure?”
“I saw her.” Rose related the strange behavior Mrs. Scyles had displayed earlier.
“So a blessing has resulted even from your disobedience. Thank Rynloeft for guiding your eyes even though you did not allow your behavior to be so led.” Koria closed her eyes, her mouth moving with silent words and her head tilted toward the ceiling. When she reopened her eyes a few moments later her look was stern. “Had you been in your room studying for tomorrow’s geography exam as you led me to believe you would be, the powder would still be safely stowed in your trunk.”
“I did study,” Rose defended. “Give me the exam now if you don’t believe me. I can draw all nine provinces of E’veria with my eyes closed. I can tell you their exports, and even how the Kingdom’s people are distributed among them.” She ignored Koria’s crossed arms and stern expression. “From largest population to smallest, they are Stoen, Sengarra, Dynwatre, Veetri, Nyrland, Dwons, Tirandov, Mynissbyr, and Shireya. And, in case you doubt me, I can also list the nations, kingdoms, and empires E’veria considers her allies, as well as those we do not. I can name banner colors, capital cities, and recite lists of their most valuable—”
“No matter how quickly you speak,” Koria interrupted, “you will not make me forget why you are up here rather than enjoying dinner with your family.”
“I know,” Rose sighed. “I should have told someone where I was going. I shouldn’t have taken Falcon without asking. I shouldn’t have gone further than I was supposed to.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” At Koria’s arched brow, she added, “Well, it might happen again. But not exactly like that.”
“You must learn restraint, Rose. Patience. These are things I cannot teach you.” Koria sighed and shook her head. “But we have a larger issue at hand than your developing character.”
“I know,” Rose groaned. “What if the red begins to show through?”
“We have at least a few more days before we need to worry about that.” Koria pressed a calming hand on Rose’s shoulder. “I hate to suggest a further act of disobedience, but if you think you know where the powder is, perhaps you should try to retrieve it after everyone else is abed.” Koria rubbed her arms as if a chill had passed through the room. “I feel that I’m betraying Lord Whittier by even suggesting you do this, but I’m afraid Aspera will destroy the powder if you don’t find it first.”
“You’re not betraying Lord Whittier,” Rose said. “I’m not confined above stairs. I’m just not allowed to join the family until morning. Lord Whittier never expressly forbade me from going outside.”
“It was implied.”
“Well, yes. I suppose. But as long as I slip in and out with no one seeing me—”
“Something I’m sure you’ve never done before.” Koria rarely resorted to sarcasm, and when she did, Rose knew she tread on sensitive ground.
“Er . . . well.” Rose forced a smile. “Perhaps my disobedience in the past has given me a skill that will serve as a blessing tonight?”
“You’re using my words against me.” Koria shook her head. “Be careful. To the laundry shed and back. No distractions.”
Rose nodded. “I’d better get back to my room.” At the door she paused. “Koria?”
“Yes?”
“About what Mrs. Scyles said . . . is it true? About the powder?”
Koria was silent for a moment. Finally, she sighed. “I’m afraid so. When ingested, the powder can incite normally benign people to murder, lie, steal, and commit any number of heinous acts based on lies told to them while they were under the influence of its poison.”
“It’s poisonous?” A sudden burst of anger made Rose cross her arms at her chest. “Is it poisoning me?”
“It must be ingested to affect the mind of its victim. Applied topically it has no known risks.”
“No known risks?”
“That is why we go to the hot spring. Sulfur water is the only known antidote for ebonswarth poisoning. Be at ease.” Koria smiled. “Using sulfur water utterly cancels the risk for you.”
“Be at ease?” Rose arched an eyebrow and recrossed her arms. “Be at ease? When Mrs. Scyles know about it?”
Koria’s smile fell. “That does present a problem. Several, in fact, should she decide to tell of you having it.” A pair of lines appeared between Koria’s brows. “Especially considering that possessing ebonswarth in any form is illegal.”
“Ach! So I’m a criminal as well as a witch?”
“You’re neither,” Koria shook her head. “I’m sure Sir Drinius would not have given you the powder without having taken pains to ensure it would not cause you ill through its use or possession.”
It took a bit more persuasion on her tutor’s part before Rose was convinced that the powder was benign. Finally, mind whirling, Rose headed back to her room where she attempted to wear a path in the floor over Koria’s troubling words. Eventually she sat by the window and stared out into the night, her thoughts as dark as the sky.
The house had been still for a long while when Rose finally donned her sheepskin cloak and crept out of her bedroom. Many late night adventures with Lewys and Rowlen had taught her where each creak in the floor resided and which doors squeaked on their hinges or dragged across the floor. She avoided them accordingly, making her passage through the house entirely silent but for the sound of her breathing.
The lamps had long been extinguished on the first floor of the house. Although Rose had rarely snuck out in the night since Rowlen, the most mischievous of her adopted brothers, had left for his apprenticeship, she knew her way through the house well enough not to require illumination.
Outside, a waning sliver of light was all that was left of the month’s moon, but it was enough to reflect upon the snow and ease her passage the short distance to the laundry shed.
In truth, she had rarely visited the small building. Treated as a daughter of the house, Rose never tended her own laundry. The only times she had come here were to join Rowlen or Lewys in a prank played on one of the good-natured members of the staff. Rose smiled, remembering the time she’d climbed inside the rag barrel and—
The rag barrel. That would be a perfect hiding place.
Rose winced at the loud groan the door made as it scraped across the shed’s stone floor and only opened it wide enough that she could just slide through. Once inside, she put one hand against the wall and stretched the other out before her. Taking one tentative step after another, s
he moved around the left side of the shed’s interior until her toe nicked against something solid. She lowered her hands and smiled. She’d found it.
Rose pried the top off the barrel and delved her hand within. The barrel was full of the discarded remains of the household’s worn-out clothes. Using both hands, she dug down into the barrel until it had practically swallowed her, but finally her cold-numbed fingers grazed something that felt different than the cloth around it. Grasping its edge, she pulled.
It was a wineskin, but was it the right wineskin? With one quick glance toward the spare slice of moonlight coming through the cracked-open door, she pulled the cork out of the top of the skin. With a slight grimace she brought it to her nose, only to gag and quickly shove the cork back in to block the familiar reek.
Rose unfastened her cloak, tucked the powder-filled skin into the waist of her skirt, and pulled her cloak back in place. She slipped out the door, closing it entirely too loudly behind her.
Several snow-crunching footfalls later she had reached the stone steps. Her hand was on the door when a shadow moved and rent a squeal like that of a baby mouse, though thankfully no louder, from her lips.
Rose spun around. Her hand flew to the pocket of her cloak where she usually kept her dagger, but found it empty. “Who’s there?”
Kinley stepped out of the shadow. “Have no fear, Rose. It’s only me. What are you about, sneaking into the laundry shed at this hour?”
“Stop!” she whispered, lifting a hand to cover her eyes. “I’m not allowed to see anyone until morning.”
“But you are allowed to wander about in the dark laundry shed?”
Rose frantically searched her mind for a plausible explanation to prevent Kinley from learning about the ebonswarth powder. In the split second before the silence between them grew awkward she decided that the truth, even if he did not receive all of it, was her best option.
“I needed to retrieve something from the rag barrel.” She groaned inwardly as heat flooded her neck. Of all the possible explanations she could have concocted on the spot, she had chosen this one? “It was a rather urgent need, you see,” she said, “and I didn’t want to bother one of the maids at this late hour. I’m sorry. I know it’s rather indelicate of me to mention, seeing as you’re not used to being around women, but—”
