My thoughts ran in circles. Lord Anton would be protected, wouldn’t he? There would be protective spells layered over him, if he couldn’t protect himself; the family wards would provide some degree of protection for the wardmaster. I wanted to think that Reginald had been stopped in his tracks, but I knew better. Reginald had been studying the family wards for years. He knew how to fool them. He certainly wouldn’t have embarked on such a mad plan if he wasn’t sure he could kill his father at the right moment. If I could come up with an idea that would allow me to circumvent someone’s protections and put them to sleep, I was sure he could come up with something too.
And ...
I felt the wards shift, a deep groaning sound running through the hall. I felt it in my bones, pushing against my magic ... I hoped that it would be enough to free me, but the paralysis spell remained firmly in place. The entire hall seemed to be in mourning. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Lord Anton was dead. And it was only a matter of time before Reginald assumed control of the wards.
“Well,” a voice said. I wanted to grind my teeth in frustration as Reginald walked back into the room. “The old man is dead.”
He was your father , I thought. Reginald was a monster. I had never known my father - I didn’t even know his name - and I wouldn’t have killed him. Reginald’s father had been remarkably good to his illegitimate son, at least by his own lights. He was your father and you killed him and you’re a monster and ...
“It’s time,” Reginald said. He walked around me. I heard him pick up the bottle before he walked back into view. “To victory or death.”
I watched - I couldn’t look away - as Reginald raised the bottle to his lips and drank, grimacing at the taste. I didn’t blame him. The potion had the same consistency as oil and tasted worse. Master Travis hadn’t cared about taste when he’d been trying to figure out how to actually make the potion work. The adder blood probably hadn’t helped. Reginald gagged, choking and coughing. I wondered, morbidly, what would happen if he threw up the entire potion before it could take effect. It would probably render the entire mixture useless.
Master Travis always said that no one would drink their potion if they knew what was in it , I reminded myself. He’d probably been right, too. No one really wanted to know there was bat urine in their potion, let alone slug slime or rabbit ... I smiled, inwardly. It had taken me a long time to force myself to drink potions again, once I knew what was in them. Ignorance isn't always a weakness .
Reginald straightened, glaring at me suspiciously. “Nothing is happening ...”
His hand jerked. I could see golden light, glowing just below the skin. Reginald lifted his hand, staring at it wonderingly. All the malice and cruelty and suppressed rage drained out of his face, leaving him startlingly handsome. The golden light spread rapidly, a soft gentle glow that warmed my heart even though I knew it spelt my doom. I would be a slave or dead or ... I didn’t want to think about the other possibilities. I knew how to brew the potion now. Reginald might decide that a handful of obedience spells would keep me from plotting against him in the future.
Reginald threw back his head and screamed. The sound grew louder and louder as he stumbled backwards and hit the floor, his entire body writhing in agony. I felt sorry for him, despite everything he’d done. The sound of sheer pain as every last cell in his body was rewritten was terrifying. I felt my own resolve weaken as Reginald gasped for breath, his legs brushing against mine as he fought to control his body. If Reginald had taken the weaker dose, the one with the adder blood, how bad would it be if I took the stronger dose? I might be in so much agony that my heart would simply give out under the strain and then ...
Silence fell. I waited. My ears were ringing. Reginald lay on the ground, unmoving. I hoped he was dead, even though I was still frozen. Someone would come and find me eventually, surely? Uncle Wesley or whoever assumed control until a new Patriarch was chosen would want to know where Reginald had gone. And then ... Reginald hadn’t been entirely wrong. If his family knew what I’d done, what I’d helped him to do, they wouldn’t be merciful. I might simply be executed on the spot.
I heard a gasp, followed by laboured breathing. My heart sank. Reginald was alive. I watched, helplessly, as he stumbled to his feet. He looked awful - his face was streaked with sweat, his hands were trembling helplessly - but he was alive. His face hadn’t changed, I noted absently. He might share Cyanine’s cellular structure now, but he wasn’t an exact copy. I wondered if he’d even considered the possibility. But then, he hadn’t had much choice. Simon was older and stronger than Cyanine, more capable of resisting his elder half-brother ... and, in any case, he was still too young. Reginald stood in front of me, his clothes sodden with sweat. I stared back at him, waiting. There was nothing else I could do.
“That ... was unpleasant,” Reginald said. The words came in gasps. He was still fighting for breath. “Your master didn’t exaggerate.”
It would have been worse without the adder blood , I thought. I’d failed. I’d failed completely. Reginald could take control of the wards and ... and then the entire family. I felt a pang of sympathy for Cyanine, the only Bolingbroke I’d liked. She didn’t deserve to be plunged into hell. And nor did Jill and the other servants. I had a feeling that their lives were about to be brutally torn apart. Reginald will turn them into his slaves .
Reginald lifted a hand. I braced myself for the final blow. But nothing happened.
“Interesting,” Reginald mused. “The wards know me. They recognise me. But I’m not close enough to the wardstone to take control. Why did that happen, I wonder?”
I had no answer. I didn't think I’d weakened the potion that much. The wards should have transferred to Reginald automatically. But ... he hadn’t been the selected heir when his father had died. The wards must have gone into standby mode, waiting for the next wardmaster, before Reginald drank the potion. I wanted to laugh. Reginald, for all his cunning, had overlooked the obvious. There would be a short space of time between his father’s death and his transformation into the legitimate wardmaster. It had been long enough for the wards to stop searching for the next wardmaster ...
“I’ll have to go to the wardstone,” Reginald said. He turned away, then stopped. “You did a wonderful job, Rebecca. And you will be rewarded.”
He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips, then turned and hurried out of the room. I wanted to recoil in horror, but my body refused to move. All I could do was wait and pray that something happened before it was too late. I should have done something ... I cursed, once again. I should never have come to Bolingbroke Hall. If I’d fled the city, Reginald’s scheme would have crashed and burnt a long time ago. Now ... I’d helped my master’s murderer complete his plan. Jill and the others were about to be plunged into a nightmare and it was all my fault.
I heard a scuffling sound from the next room. Someone was coming. Reginald? No, Reginald would be going straight to the wardstone. The ancients alone knew how much time Reginald had before someone came home from the ball. Wesley might already have sensed his brother’s death. Reginald would really have to hurry before Wesley tried to stop him. If he wasn’t in control of the wards by the time the adults returned, he would have to run for his life. There would be no way to keep them from regaining control of the hall.
“Rebecca,” a voice said. Jill’s voice. “What happened?”
Jill stepped into view, her face terrified. Her eyes were wide with horror as she looked at my frozen form. She pointed a finger at me and recited a spell, but nothing happened. The cancellation charm she’d been taught wasn’t powerful enough to cancel Reginald’s spell. Jill stepped closer and tried again, but to no avail. I silently willed her to look at my palm, where the spellbreaker was clearly visible, or to fetch Cyanine. Cyanine might just be able to break the spell.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Jill said. “I promise.”
She left the room. I wanted to scream in frustration. If she’d seen the
spellbreaker, she could have freed me instantly. Instead ... I waited five minutes - it felt like hours upon hours - until Jill returned with Cyanine. Cyanine jabbed a finger at me, muttering something under her breath. The spell broke. My body dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“Rebecca,” Jill said. She started to help me to my feet, even though I could barely move a muscle. My entire body was cramping. “What happened?”
“Father is gone,” Cyanine said. Her voice was wavering helplessly. “What happened?”
“Reginald killed him,” I said, flatly. There was no time to break it to her gently. Cyanine would just have to cope. I wasn’t sure how close she was to her father, but ... she could mourn later. If there was a later. “And he’s on his way to take control of the wardstone.”
Cyanine cocked her head. “He can’t,” she said. I could hear the doubt and fear in her voice as she struggled to maintain control. “Can he?”
“I don’t know,” I said, reminding myself - again - that Cyanine was a child who’d grown up in Bolingbroke Hall. Death was a fact of life in Water Shallot - I knew it could strike at any moment - but Cyanine might never have lost someone before. “He thinks he can.”
“Then we have to stop him,” Cyanine said. Her voice shook, but I could feel her determination. “Rebecca ... can we stop him?”
Jill had a different question. “Rebecca ... what were you doing here?”
“Reginald had me brewing for him,” I said. I didn’t blame Jill for being confused. I hadn’t given her any reason to think that I was anything other than a scullery maid. “I’ll explain later.”
I pointed to the healing potions. “You’ll need to give me those, afterwards,” I said, as I picked up the remaining potion. The golden liquid looked enticing, but I knew it was an illusion. Reginald had screamed himself hoarse when he’d taken the potion. “And if I die, tell everyone to leave the hall at once. Don’t stop for anything.”
Cyanine held up a hand. “Rebecca ...”
“Trust me,” I said. There was no one else who could take the potion. Cyanine was too young, Jill ... I didn’t want to risk her life. Jill had been kind to me when it would have been easy to be horrible. “And if I die ...”
Stop wasting time , I told myself. Master Travis had told me that, every time I’d hesitated over a dangerous potion. He’d been right, too. If I waited too long, everything I’d worked for would be lost. Do it now or flee the hall .
Bracing myself, I lifted the bottle to my lips and drank.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
For a long moment, there was nothing.
The potion tasted awful, although I had less trouble than Reginald at keeping it down. I’d had too much experience eating things richer folk would have shunned. The viscous liquid slid down my throat and pooled in my stomach, sitting there like the fish oil my mother had made us drink as children. I wondered, despite myself, if I’d made a dreadful mistake and messed up the entire potion. Maybe adder blood had been the missing ingredient all along.
And then my skin started to itch. I jerked, staring down at my hands. They were itching. My entire body was itching. I’d been hit with itching charms before, but this was worse. Far worse. I had to fight to keep myself from scratching myself bloody. I wanted to tear myself apart to stop the itching. I saw golden light under my skin, growing brighter and brighter with every passing second. It was pulsing in time with my heartbeat, I realised numbly. I could feel the power building up.
“Rebecca,” Cyanine said. She was trying to sound authoritative, but she didn’t have the sheer presence of her mother and grandmother. “What is happening ...?”
I screamed as the pain hit me. My entire body was on fire. I was sure I could smell burning as the pain grew worse and worse. Every last cell of my body was burning. I stumbled back, but Jill caught me a moment before I hit the floor and lowered me down. I barely noticed. The pain was so great that I wanted to die. I would have said anything, done anything, just to buy some temporary relief. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure it was going to burst. The ground was shaking ... no, that was me. Wasn’t it? I was no longer sure.
My entire body writhed in pain. I heard Jill cry out - I thought I heard her cry out - as my convulsing body kicked out at her. I wanted to apologise, to reassure her, but ... my entire universe was filled with pain. My eyes were closed ... no, they were open ... no, they were closed. Red fire bubbled across my vision. I was sure I was going to die ...
And then it just stopped. I lay on the floor, helplessly. My entire body was covered in sweat. I was dimly surprised to realise that my dress was still intact. I’d been sure I’d been burning to ash. Jill had her arms wrapped around me, although she didn’t seem to know what else to do. I silently blessed her for caring. Cyanine was standing back, watching me warily. It dawned on me that she might well have sensed something amiss. I was - technically - part of the family now.
“Potions,” I rasped. “Give them to me.”
Cyanine hurried to obey, holding the bottles to my lips one by one. I drank heavily, silently thanking my unknown ancestors for my foresight. The transformation had left me completely drained. I would pay a high price for using so many potions later, but ... it would have to be endured. I stumbled, then allowed Jill to help me to my feet. My body felt ... wrong somehow, as if it was no longer mine. I brushed sweat off my brow, half-expecting to see blonde hair instead of black. My face felt ... different.
I forced myself to walk out of the chamber and into the living room. Reginald’s mirror was where he’d left it. I peered at myself, feeling oddly unsettled. My face hadn’t changed - my body hadn’t changed - but it felt wrong. I told myself, firmly, that I’d feel better after I recovered. My body hadn’t really changed ...
... Except it had. I’d always been able to feel the wards pervading the hall, but now ... now they felt friendly. I reached out to them and found myself aware that, as I’d guessed earlier, they were in standby mode. An update flickered into my mind. No one could leave the hall until the new wardmaster had taken his place. I tried to take control, but nothing happened. It looked as if Reginald had been right. He’d have to go to the wardstone itself to take control.
Cyanine caught my arm as I stumbled out of the room. “Rebecca,” she said, sharply. “What is happening?”
“Reginald is taking over the family.” I explained, as quickly as I could. My entire body was jumping with energy, but it was an illusion. I’d collapse when the potions finally caught up with me. “We have to stop him reaching the wardstone.”
Cyanine muttered a word I knew my stepfather would have clouted me for even knowing . “I ... what do we do?”
“There’s only one way to the wardstone,” Jill said, practically. “We get there first. And then we bar the way.”
“Good thinking,” I said. “But I have a better idea. We get to the wardstone itself first.”
“Or we call for help,” Cyanine said.
“We can’t get out of the hall,” I told her. “The wards won’t let anyone leave until they have a new master.”
“Oh,” Cyanine said. She looked at the stairs. “This way.”
“No, this way,” Jill corrected. “The hidden staircases are quicker.”
And Reginald might not even know where to find them , I thought. I found it hard to believe that someone who'd grown up in this house didn’t know where all the passageways were, but I’d never run into an aristocrat using the servant corridors. We might just get down there before him .
We opened the staircase and hurried down. I could feel the wards shifting around me, as if they were a living thing. Their puzzlement was almost palatable. There were two heirs of the blood in the house, both old enough to take the wards, yet neither of them had been formally introduced to the wards. I half-hoped they’d resolve the contradiction by locking both Reginald and me out until the family council had had a chance to assemble, even though that would mean certain death. Cyanine might be nice - and she mi
ght even speak in my favour - but the rest of the council would order my execution. Reginald hadn’t been wrong. I simply knew too much for their peace of mind.
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