Ancestors, I thought, numbly. What have I done?
Malachi leaned forward. “I think you should go on your knees.”
I stared at him. I wanted to refuse. I wanted ... I felt sick as I realised he had me over a barrel. If he released the memory, if he sent orbs to Lord McDonald or one of the others, I was dead. They’d ruin my family and send assassins after me and ... I wobbled to my feet, then knelt like a servant. Malachi’s eyes gleamed as he studied me. He was enjoying himself. He was ... I thought I understood, just for a second. He was getting more pleasure from forcing me to jump through his hoops than anything else. The blackmail - and it was blackmail - was secondary. He hated me just for existing.
“Very good.” Malachi smiled, savouring the moment. “Keep your eyes down.”
I hated him, hated him so much I wanted to summon my magic and blow him into little pieces. I could have killed him. The hall was my place of power. He was right in front of me. And yet ... I knew, as I stared at his feet, that he wouldn’t have come to me unless he knew he could keep me from killing him. There’d be copies of the memory elsewhere ... if it was possible to copy a memory. I didn’t know. I’d never seen anything like the memory orb. Whoever had designed it would have had to combine at least three different disciplines, and then ...
My knees started to ache. My cheeks burned with humiliation. I’d never knelt to anyone, not in my entire life. I tried to think, tried to calculate what he might want. If he knew anything about House Lamplighter, he had to know we didn’t have much. I wouldn’t have risked everything if I hadn’t been desperate ... I wanted to laugh at myself. I’d only thought I was desperate. I was desperate now.
He’s enjoying himself, I thought, numbly. I’d met prefects who enjoyed pushing the younger girls around, who’d looked for any excuse to increase punishments and savoured the helpless rage they caused. Malachi was just like them. He was old enough to be my father - he looked old enough to be my grandfather - but he had the same attitude. He wants me to resist so he can punish me.
I shuddered, inwardly. He had me ... he knew he had me. He could demand anything from me. I could run, but ... could I hide? Lord McDonald was known to be vindictive. He’d send assassins after me, even though I hadn’t done anything with the knowledge yet. What did he want? My imagination provided a hundred horrific possibilities, each worse than the last. I’d heard whispered stories of girls who compromised themselves ... I tried not to think about them. I wanted to ask, but I didn’t dare. He’d see it as a sign of weakness.
Malachi sat up and patted my head, as one might pet a favoured dog. I shuddered at his touch.
“What do you think I want?” He shifted until we were uncomfortably close. “What do you think I want?”
My mouth was dry. I swallowed, hard. “Money?”
Malachi reached out, placed his fingers under my chin and lifted my head until he was gazing into my eyes. “And do you have enough money to make it worthwhile?”
I shook my head, not daring to speak. His touch felt repulsive. I wanted to lash out with my magic, but ... it would be the end of me. I was dead ... my thoughts ran in circles. Dead or alive, I was dead. I was dead. I was dead ...
“No.” Malachi’s hand cupped my face. “What do you think I want?”
I tried to look down. I had too many ideas, none of which were good. And ...
“I need an assistant,” Malachi said. “You can work for me. Or else.”
What? I stared at him, half-convinced I’d misheard. An assistant? Me? What did he want from me? He had me over a barrel! He could demand anything from me! And he wanted an assistant? It makes no sense.
I found my voice, somehow. “What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll give you tasks,” Malachi said, calmly. He stood and started to pace the room. It was rude, but at least he was no longer touching me. My skin felt unclean. “There are places you can go I can’t. People you can talk to I can’t. You’ll go and you’ll speak with my voice.”
“I ...” I swallowed and started again. “Can I have some time to think about it?”
Malachi laughed, nastily. “Do you think you have time?”
I tried not to flinch as he stalked around the room. I didn’t have time. I had to agree or start running or ... I couldn’t think of a third option. The family would pay the price for my sins, even if I ... I tried to think. There had to be a way out. But what? I had no illusions about Malachi. He would never let me off the hook. No matter what I did, it would never be enough.
“... No,” I said, finally. I’d play along and then ... and then what? I needed time to think and plan and ... and I wasn’t going to get it. “What do you want me to do?”
“Right now, nothing,” Malachi said. I could tell he wanted me to dangle on his chain for little bit, just long enough for my helplessness to settle in. “I’ll give you your instructions later.”
He walked around until he was standing in front of me. “No, I tell a lie. There’s something I do want you to do for me.”
My blood froze, again, as he lowered his voice. “Kiss my feet.”
I couldn’t move. My stomach churned. Never, never in my entire life, had anyone demanded that of me. I couldn’t do it. Never ...
“Kiss my feet,” Malachi repeated. His voice was suddenly hard. “Press your lips against my boots and hold them there.”
My heart twisted. I was suddenly sure my ancestors were looking away as I forced myself to bend my head. No one, not even King Rufus himself, could demand my prostration. I didn’t think servants and slaves prostrated themselves. And yet ... I wanted to rebel, to hurt him even at the cost of destroying myself and my entire family ... shame burned in my gut as I lowered my lips to his boot and kissed it. I heard him snigger - the bastard was enjoying the show - as I held myself still. Bile boiled in my stomach. It was all I could do not to throw up.
“Stay like that,” Malachi said, as he pulled his boot free. My lips hit the floor and stayed there. “Don’t even think about moving for ten minutes.”
I sensed him opening the door, leaving the door open as he headed for the stairs. It was no consolation to know there were only a handful of servants in the hall, that there was a good chance that no one would come along and see me in helpless submission, it was ... I cursed myself as savagely as I knew how, all too aware that I’d doomed myself. It was my fault. Malachi had me over a barrel. If I didn’t do whatever he wanted, the entire family would be destroyed ...
... And it was all my fault.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I don’t know how long I stayed there.
It was longer than ten minutes. Every minute felt like an hour. The thought of someone - Ellington, Jadish, Uncle Jalil - seeing me like that was horrifying, yet I couldn’t move. I felt as if I were gripped by a spell, a spell I couldn’t evade or fight. Malachi Rubén had beaten me, beaten me so completely I could barely consider any form of resistance. And I’d practically done it to myself. I’d compromised myself and ...
My thoughts ran in circles. I’d compromised myself. High Society would shun me. And they’d shun my family too. I was the Matriarch; I was the one who set the tone for the entire family. There was no one who could punish me or disown me in hopes of appeasing the mob. I’d destroyed the entire family. I’d ...
I forced myself to stand, slowly. My body ached. I rubbed at my muscles, trying to think as I staggered to the nearest chair. There had to be a way out. There had to be ... but nothing came to mind. I slumped in the chair, my thoughts twisting in on themselves. There’d been no time to try to capture or kill Malachi before he’d left and ... I was morbidly sure he’d taken precautions to ensure his safety. Whatever he’d learnt about me - and everyone else - would be released if he didn’t return home. Fear gnawed at me, burning through my thoughts. It would have been better if he’d simply revealed the truth, if he’d let me face the consequences for what I’d done. Instead, I was dangling on the edge of disaster. I had no choice. I had to jump t
hrough his hoops, or face destruction.
My hands shook. I stared at my fingers, willing them to be still. They refused to obey. I hadn’t felt so scared, so defeated, since ... since ever. I’d been frog-marched to the headmistress’s office more than once, but ... Mistress Grayling hadn’t threatened to destroy me. The worst she could do was expel me. Malachi, on the other hand, could take out the entire family. I tried to tell myself that it wouldn’t be that bad, but I knew it to be a lie. It would be worse. No one would ever trust us.
And why would they? My thoughts mocked me. They’d know what I did.
I’d been a fool. I knew it now, even though ... I glared around the room. I’d told myself I had no choice, that I had to do everything in my power to staunch the bleeding and rebuild the family. I’d told myself ... I’d lied to myself. Better I married Gary and absorbed his family, better I let his father take the reins, than risk total destruction. Better ... I swallowed hard as I realised I might have doomed Gary and his family too. They didn’t deserve to be caught up in my scandal, but ... they were going to be dragged down with us. It just wasn’t fair.
A hundred schemes ran through my head, all too risky to contemplate. I could run, but I couldn’t hide. There was no way I could evade the hunters who’d be put on my trail. There was no one who would hide me, no one who would help... there was nothing I could offer to convince someone to take the risk. The only things I had of value belonged to the family, not to me. I couldn’t take them with me. And there was nothing I could do to Malachi either. What would it profit me to take him down if it meant my certain destruction too?
And I might not be the only one caught up in his web, I thought. I knew nothing about Malachi. I hadn’t even heard of him until he’d walked into my life. He might have enough dirt on wealthy and powerful people to save himself from jail.
I rubbed tears from my eyes. I’d made a terrible mistake. I’d treated High Society like ... like school, where you took your lumps if you were caught and then everything went back to normal. People thought it was funny if someone was caught at school, as if there was nothing wrong with doing wrong as long as you weren’t caught. I’d internalised that attitude and it had bitten me, hard. The people I’d offended wouldn’t treat me like a naughty schoolgirl. They’d consider me a thief who’d betrayed their welcome. My life wouldn’t be worth living, even if they didn’t kill me. I’d die a thousand deaths before someone put me out of my misery.
My thoughts mocked me, again and again. I had no choice. I had to bow the knee to Malachi or face total destruction. And yet ... what did he want? The sheer uncertainty of not knowing was worse than being told. He could make me do whatever he wanted ... as long as it was something I could give. I swallowed hard, my aching muscles reminding me of how he’d forced me to kneel and kiss his boot. I knew the type. He’d enjoyed watching me humiliate myself. He’d make me do it again, for the sheer sadistic pleasure of forcing me to do as he said. I swallowed again, tasting bile. He wanted me to crawl. And he could make me.
I looked up as I heard footsteps, hastily blinking away tears. Jadish looked in, her eyes going wide as she saw me. I cursed under my breath. It was too late to cast a glamour, too late to hide ... Jadish knew something was wrong. She’d never seen me cry since ... big girls didn’t cry. It was a lesson I’d had hammered into me, the first night in the dorms. If you cried, you got picked on. And yet ...
“My Lady?” Jadish sounded unsure of herself. “Should I ...?”
“Go away,” I ordered. I was ashamed of myself for snapping at her, but ... I couldn’t help myself. “Just ... go away.”
Jadish hesitated. A surge of anger rose up within me, threatening to overwhelm me. I hated myself for wanting to shout and scream, for wanting to do unto her as had been done to me ... I understood, suddenly, why so many of my peers had been so horrible to the younger girls. I guessed there were Grande Dames who were worse to their servants. If one was being tormented, and one had no way to strike back at the tormentor, one had to get rid of the anger somehow. And servants were the easiest targets. What could they do to their mistress?
Betray her, I thought, numbly. Someone in Lord McDonald’s hall had watched me and, instead of contacting his master, passed the memory to Malachi. How many other servants has he subverted?
I shuddered as the full implications struck me. Servants were everywhere. Marlene and her ilk had bragged, time and time again, of small armies of servants at their beck and call. I’d known girls who couldn’t even brush their hair, let alone dress themselves, without help. A servant would see his master or her mistress at their worst, be it plotting a business coup or committing adultery or ... or anything. Malachi might have subverted enough servants to collect hundreds, perhaps thousands, of memory orbs. And who knew what he might know?
“My Lady?” Jadish sounded as if she was no longer sure of herself. “Would you like me to bring you tea?”
I almost laughed. Tea? It was absurd. It wouldn’t make me feel any better. And yet ... I looked into her dark face, wondering if she was truly loyal. She could have gone elsewhere - it wasn’t as if she was tied to the house - and yet ... she’d been my friend, once upon a time, but things changed. What if she betrayed me? What if ...?
“Please.” My voice sounded weak, even to me. “And then leave me alone.”
Jadish curtsied and retreated. I watched her go, feeling lost, helpless and alone. I’d messed up and ... what if she couldn’t be trusted? What if no one could be trusted? What if ... I tried to think of everything I’d done, everything Jadish might have seen. What if ... I shook my head, cursing myself for being paranoid. But even paranoids had enemies. Jadish - or her father - might have reason to betray my father. Or me.
She returned, carrying a tray with a steaming pot and two mugs. I stared at it dully, my dazed mind unable to comprehend two mugs. My heart sank as Uncle Jalil followed Jadish into the room. I wanted to curse Jadish. She had to have told him something was wrong. I ... I wondered, suddenly, if Uncle Jalil could be trusted. Could anyone be trusted? I didn’t know anything any longer.
I said nothing as Jadish poured the tea, then withdrew. Uncle Jalil cast a handful of privacy spells into the air, isolating the room from the rest of the hall. I stared at the floor, all too aware he was studying me. It felt as if I’d been called on the carpet, even though I was the one in charge. I wanted to laugh, despite everything. Malachi had taught me I was not in charge any longer, if indeed I’d ever been in charge ...
“Lucy.” Uncle Jalil’s voice was calm and reassuring. It made me want to scream. There was no reason to be either calm or reassured. “What happened?”
I shook my head, not daring to speak. My mind raced. I’d clearly had a terrible shock. He knew it. I would never have presented myself to him - or anyone - in such a state if I hadn’t. And ... I wondered, sourly, just what his imagination was suggesting. Uncle Jalil had never been known for imagination, but he was far from stupid. He might have guessed the truth.
“What happened?” Uncle Jalil leaned forward and put a hand on my shoulder. It wouldn’t have bothered me, normally, but now ... I flinched. “Lucy?”
“I’ve screwed up,” I admitted. Maybe something could be done. The family conclave could strip me of my post, then kick me out of the hall. And yet ... I’d foreclosed that option when I’d demanded a year’s grace before they started to challenge me. Even if I went along with everything, they’d still be seen as backstabbers. I was doomed whatever way I turned. “I’ve really screwed up.”
“So I gather,” Uncle Jalil said. I had the nasty feeling he’d already guessed part of the truth. He’d been the one to warn me I was riding for a fall. I wished I’d listened. I could have saved myself before it’d been too late. “Lucy, what happened?”
I forced myself to concentrate as I outlined everything, from the moment I’d sneaked into Lord McDonald’s office to Malachi’s visit. Uncle Jalil started to say something, then stopped as the words kept tumbling out.
I hadn’t wanted to tell him about being forced to kneel, but ... somehow, I couldn’t stop myself. It was all I could do not to start crying. If he turned and left ... it might be the smartest thing to do. I couldn’t even fault him. He’d warned me. And I hadn’t listened.
Uncle Jalil said nothing until I’d finished. “If I was a cruel man,” he said finally, “I’d say I told you so.”
“I know.” I choked back a sob. “You did. And I wish I’d listened.”
“You’re just like your father,” he said. There was no anger in his voice, just a bitter resignation that felt a thousand times worse. “You think you can keep rolling the dice until you come up trumps, but instead you lose everything. I told him, time and time again, that he was gambling with money he didn’t have! And he didn’t listen.”
“I ...” It was all I could do to force myself to look at him. I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry ...”
Uncle Jalil let out a heavy sigh. “You’re sorry? Do you think that saying sorry will fix everything?”
The Lady Heiress (The Zero Enigma Book 8) Page 22