The Family Shame

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I’m too young to have a boyfriend,” I protested.

  “Do you think that will matter either?” Morag swung me around until we were facing each other, her eyes boring into mine. “People believe what they want to believe. People will believe whatever they think will give them an advantage. Or have you forgotten that already?”

  I cringed under her stare. “I’m sorry, Senior …”

  Morag ignored me. “Do you know how I ended up here? I was young and foolish and I fell in love with an entirely unsuitable boy.” The pain in her voice convinced me that she was telling the truth. “I suppose it might have worked out for the best, if I’d had the nerve to talk to my mother or the Patriarch, but instead … I married the boy. I thought I could present them with a done deal and that they’d just accept it. I wasn’t as important as you, you wretched brat.

  “They didn’t accept it. Of course they didn’t accept it. They said I’d married poorly and drove my husband away and sent me out here … here, where I have to play servant to a much older man and mother to a little girl too young to realise that she’s standing on thin ice! My husband … I don’t even know what happened to him! And here you are, on the verge of getting your name dragged through the mud …”

  “Again,” I said.

  “Again, yes,” Morag snapped. She made a visible - and unsuccessful - attempt to calm herself. “The family might find a way to rehabilitate you. If history can be rewritten to show that the Crown Prince was nothing more than an innocent pawn, history can be rewritten to show that you were nothing more than an idiot child who got herself into trouble because she trusted the wrong person. I’m sure your father is working on that even now. And here you are, making his life harder by being seen unchaperoned with an entirely unsuitable boy!”

  “I’m not,” I protested. I wanted to scream. Her grip was tightening again. I felt she was going to break the skin. “Morag, I …”

  “Be quiet,” Morag snapped. She shook me. “And take whatever you get like a loyal member of the family.”

  My temper snapped. “No one remembers you,” I said. The story she’d told me … I should have heard something, even though Morag was at least twice my age. Her parents had clearly managed to bury it. She could probably have gone home at any moment if she’d wished. “I never heard of anyone who was sent into exile for marrying the wrong man …”

  Morag jabbed a finger at me. My lips were suddenly sealed. I had to fight to breathe through my nose. She glared down at me for a long moment, then turned and yanked me forward again, taking long strides up the path. It wasn’t easy to force my legs to keep up with her. Callam was fast, but I had the feeling Morag was actually faster. Her long legs ate up the ground at terrifying speed. I tried, hard, to break the hex she’d used, but it stubbornly refused to fade. Nothing I did worked.

  We crossed an old road and turned northwards, carefully avoiding the potholes. The gates came into view sooner than I’d feared, looking far more imposing from the outside. A family crest, forged from iron, hung in front, the eyes on the magician at the centre seemingly glaring at me. Morag ordered me to stand still, then let go of my arm long enough to perform a complicated charm in front of the gates. There was a long pause, long enough for me to wonder if something had gone wrong, then the gates began to open. I felt ice congealing in my stomach as Morag gripped my arm again and hauled me up the driveway. Kirkhaven Hall had always been a prison, but now … now it felt as if I was trapped.

  I was always trapped, I thought. Now … now it’s just going to be worse.

  I swallowed, hard. The brief moments of freedom, the few hours I’d been able to spend outside the hall and grounds, were gone now. Morag would see to that, I was sure; she’d check every last inch of the wards until she found the flaw, then close it. Callam and I would never be able to see each other again, assuming he survived. I glared at Morag, trying to make clear exactly what I thought of her, but she ignored me. No one would care - much - about the life of a commoner boy. Morag could burn Kirkhaven Town to the ground and Shallot would barely notice.

  I’m sorry, Callam, I thought, again. I felt a stab of guilt. Callam might be dead or dying and there was nothing I could do. I should never have befriended you.

  I forced myself to think as Morag marched me up the driveway and into the front entrance. I wanted - I needed - to get back to Kirkhaven Town as quickly as possible. No one had seen what Morag had done to Callam, except perhaps for Hound and Hart … and they wouldn’t talk. I silently promised them both bloody retribution. Open attack I understood, be it verbal, magical or physical, but sneaking …? Cat had accused me of tattling to Sandy and the other upperclassmen and it had goaded me into lashing out at her. I was going to make them pay …

  Forget that for now, I told myself. Think of something you can tell Uncle Ira.

  Morag pushed me into the main hall and shoved me into a corner. “Stay there,” she ordered, sharply. A wave of her hand cancelled the spell on my lips. “Keep your nose in the corner. And don’t even think of going anywhere.”

  “Yes, Senior,” I said, dully.

  I heard her turn and sweep away, the door banging closed behind her. I didn’t dare look round, even to check my aching arm. Morag might have left … or she might have stealthily remained behind, in hopes of catching me when I moved. I’d had a governess who’d done that a few times, back when I’d been eight or nine. Akin and I had driven the woman into leaving early, swearing never to work for my parents again, but she’d deserved it. Her ideas of how children should be raised would probably have met with Morag’s whole-hearted approval.

  Think, I thought. And think hard.

  My mind raced. I didn’t dare tell Uncle Ira and Morag the truth. They’d close the gap in the wards and I’d never be able to get out. Worse, perhaps, they’d booby-trap the whole area in hopes of capturing or killing Callam … if, of course, he dared come back. I needed an explanation that sounded plausible, without having more holes in it than a Balamory Cheddar. And Uncle Ira was so far ahead of me, in understanding magic, that it was hard to imagine what sort of story might convince him.

  I could have used blood magic to convince the wards to let me through, I thought. I wished, suddenly, that I knew more about blood magic. Using blood to get through wards was possible, particularly if the wards were already keyed to the family bloodline, but I didn’t know how to do it. I felt a sudden mad urge to giggle. I probably should have read those wretched books.

  There was a low thud, echoing through the hall. I braced myself, expecting a slap at any moment, and turned my head. No one was there. I looked around the hall, my eyes wandering up the stairs and into the darkened corner, then let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. My upper arm ached, so I pulled my shirt back and inspected the damage. My pale skin was so badly bruised that I could see her handprints on my arm. The bruises looked deeper than I’d realised.

  Ouch, I thought. My nose had looked a shattered mess, after Cat had broken it, but this was worse. There was no blood, just vile purple marks. I felt sick just looking at it. My face hadn’t looked so bad after she’d slapped me. I need to find some salve.

  I thought I heard someone coming, so I put my nose back in the corner and carefully rehearsed my story. A mixture of truths and lies … lies I hoped Uncle Ira wasn’t in the mood to test with compulsion spells. If he found out that Callam had been entering and roaming the grounds at will … I didn’t know what he’d do. I suspected it wouldn’t be anything pleasant.

  Tell them the story, take whatever punishment they give you, then get back to town, I told myself, as someone started to descend the stairs. Callam might be fine, just trapped as a rat … or he might be bleeding to death. Even if he returned to human form, he might still be trapped inside the thorny gorse bushes. I didn’t think he’d be crushed to death, but he’d have to get out somehow. He needs help.

  I briefly considered throwing myself on Uncle Ira’s mercy. He’d shown more interest in me -
and care for me - than Morag, although he’d also given me those vile books. Perhaps he’d listen when I told him my suspicions about Callam, perhaps he’d help me devise spells and techniques to test him … or perhaps he’d just be angry that Callam and I had been running around without a chaperone. Morag had a point, as much as I hated to admit it. Callam and I were both too young to think about marriage, and we came from very different worlds, but being seen together without even a nominal chaperone could be very dangerous. Father would be unhappy and Mother would be incandescent with rage.

  Cat and Akin were seen together, I thought, feeling a flicker of bitterness at the double standard. But then, they were both at Jude’s. They were nominally chaperoned even if no one was paying any attention to them specifically.

  A hand touched my shoulder. I flinched.

  “This way,” Morag said, firmly. She put her hand on my good arm as I turned, but I shrugged it off. “Now, if you please.”

  I glowered at her, then held my head up as high as I could and marched towards the door, trying to muster the resolve of an unrepentant criminal on her way to face the gallows. I wasn’t sure if defiance or abject submission was the right course of action, but I had no intention of letting her have the satisfaction of seeing me cower. She’d terrified me enough over the past few weeks. Morag let out a snort that left me in no doubt she knew what I was doing - I tensed, expecting a slap or a hex - but she did nothing. Instead, she just led the way down to Uncle Ira’s study. The door was already open.

  “Well,” Morag said, as I hesitated outside the door. Her voice was very sardonic. “Go in and face the music.”

  I took a long breath, then stepped into the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Uncle Ira did not look pleased.

  He was seated behind his desk, wearing a heavy-duty research lab coat that had clearly seen better days. His hands were pitted with new scars, as if he’d been brewing in the lab when Morag had fetched him. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to meet his eyes as he glared at me. He’d made it clear that he was not to be interrupted unless the matter was truly urgent. I suspected that he didn’t consider this matter to be urgent.

  Morag entered behind me, closing the door firmly. I was sure she was right behind me, although I didn’t dare turn my head to check. She wouldn’t want to miss a moment of whatever punishment Uncle Ira gave me. I hadn’t realised just how much she disliked me until she’d told me exactly why she’d been exiled. She had to think that it was hugely unfair that she’d been sent into semi-permanent exile for something far less foolish than betraying the entire family. I’d practically gotten away with high treason.

  Uncle Ira let me sweat for a long chilling moment. I clasped my hands behind my back to keep them from shaking and concentrated on the story I planned to tell. It should hold up, I told myself again and again, as long as Uncle Ira didn’t insist on specifics. Morag catching me wasn’t good, not in any sense of the word, but I supposed it was proof I had managed to cross the boundary line. He wouldn’t be expecting me to prove it was possible when he already knew it was possible.

  “Isabella,” Uncle Ira said, finally. “What were you doing in Kirkhaven?”

  “With a boy,” Morag put in.

  He shot her a sharp look. I heard her jaw slam shut. I took a moment to re-evaluate my planned answers as I tried to work out what would worry Uncle Ira the most. That I’d escaped the wards or that I’d been with Callam? Morag had made it clear that she was more concerned with the latter than the former, but that was fairly typical for the women of the Great Houses. The men were far less concerned about such things.

  “I was exploring,” I said. If there was one lesson I’d learnt in twelve years of trying to evade my Mother’s disapproval, it was to keep my story as simple as possible. Mother could smell deceit and never let go of anything until she was sure she had the full story. “It was a new place to visit.”

  Uncle Ira frowned. “And the boy?”

  “I met him the first time I crossed the wards,” I said, carefully. I had no intention of tattling on Callam. “We became friends.”

  “Friends,” Uncle Ira repeated.

  I heard Morag snort behind me, but ignored it. “He’s the only person I’ve met who is close to me in age,” I said, although it wasn’t entirely true. Hart and Hound didn’t look that much older than Callam. “We kept talking …”

  “And he took you to the village,” Uncle Ira said. “Did he do anything else there?”

  I coloured. Mother had told me that some boys would try to get me alone so they could do things with me - and Father had told me that I was to use all the spells I knew to protect myself if anyone tried - but Callam hadn’t done anything. I felt a hot flash of anger on Callam’s behalf. Who - what - did they think he was?

  My voice was sharp. “No!”

  “You are powerful enough to defend yourself,” Uncle Ira mused. “Still, I did give you specific instructions not to leave the grounds.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” I said.

  “I do not appreciate being disobeyed,” Uncle Ira said, coldly. “How did you manage to cross the boundary line?”

  I took a breath. “I used a blood resonance charm,” I said. “The wards thought I had permission to cross and allowed me through.”

  “Really, now,” Uncle Ira said. “That would be quite impressive.”

  I bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, Uncle.”

  “Still, I cannot overlook the plain fact that you disobeyed me,” Uncle Ira said. “The lands outside the boundary line are not safe. There are dangers here for the unprepared.”

  “And your friend may not be as trustworthy as you think,” Morag said.

  I wanted to round on her. Instead, I fought to keep my voice steady. “Callam is the only person here who is close to my age,” I said. “Is it wrong of me to want a friend?”

  “A highly unsuitable friend,” Morag said.

  “A friend you probably killed,” I snapped, tears prickling at the corner of my eye. “Uncle, I have to go back and …”

  “No, you don’t,” Uncle Ira said. His voice was suddenly very hard. “You had orders to stay within the grounds. Orders, I might add, that came from me. I do not appreciate defiance, young lady. You put yourself at risk of losing your life as well as your reputation.”

  I kicked myself, mentally. I’d blown it. I’d ensured he wouldn’t let me run free again, not for weeks … and I’d mentioned Callam’s name. Uncle Ira could find his family now, if he wished, and then … and then what? I had no doubt he could force Callam’s father to take his family elsewhere. Uncle Ira was the single most powerful magician for miles around.

  A surge of anger blew through me. “And what does my reputation matter to you?”

  “You are in my care,” Uncle Ira said. He held up a hand before I could explode with indignation. “I admit I didn’t want you, when you first arrived. But the family comes first.”

  “You’re encouraging me to read proscribed books,” I snapped. “Won’t that destroy my reputation?”

  Uncle Ira opened his mouth, but I spoke over him. “This place is a prison,” I insisted. “And what do you want me to do with those books? Do you want me to become a warlock?”

  The words hung in the air, chillingly. I was surprised at myself. I’d never shouted at Father like that, let alone any of the uncles and aunts who’d infested the family hall. Mother would not have been pleased if I’d raised my voice at any of them, even the dotty old dear who called me by my grandmother’s name and insisted I should be wearing baby clothes at ten years old. It struck me, all too clearly, that I might just have made a terrible mistake. My parents weren’t here to protect me from Uncle Ira. Or Morag.

  Uncle Ira looked … annoyed. Not angry, annoyed. I wasn’t sure if he was annoyed at the implications or if he didn’t consider me important enough to make him angry. I supposed I should be grateful. Implying that someone would become a warlock was a grave insult.

  “Morag
will take you back to your room,” Uncle Ira said, finally. “You will remain there, grounded, until I decide you may leave. And I suggest, very strongly, that you spend the time meditating on the value of following orders from older and wiser heads. Leaving the grounds without permission was very dangerous. Neither Morag nor myself would have known to look for you if something went wrong.”

  I swallowed. That was true, I supposed. They probably wouldn’t notice - or care - if I didn’t join them for dinner. And they wouldn’t care if I didn’t go to bed. No one tucked me up in bed and turned out the lights, no one bothered to make sure I used cleaning charms on my teeth and washed my face before I climbed into bed. My absence would probably go unnoticed for days, perhaps weeks. Morag might not even care enough to alert Uncle Ira if she didn’t see me for several days.

  “But Callam …”

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Uncle Ira said, dismissively. “One hopes it will teach him a lesson about consorting with girls of your station.”

  “But …”

  “Be quiet,” Uncle Ira ordered. He waved his hand in a complicated gesture, then pointed a finger at me. I felt the tracking charm fall into place and swore under my breath. It was so powerful that I couldn’t help being aware of it, like a nagging toothache or the dull throbbing from my upper arm. “And if you are caught leaving the grounds again, I will have to find less … pleasant ways to keep you in place.”

  I shivered. I had no doubt he meant it.

  Uncle Ira looked past me. “Take her back to her room,” he ordered. “Administer whatever punishment you feel appropriate” - I gulped - “and then leave her there. She can spend the time studying.”

  “Yes, Senior,” Morag said.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but it was too late. Morag grabbed me by the arm - the undamaged one - swung me around and marched me out of the room. I thought, just for a second, that I’d forgotten to curtsey, but under the circumstances it hardly seemed to matter. I was already in enough trouble to last for weeks. I silently cursed Hart and Hound as Morag forced me down the corridor, promising them a fate so gruesome that even Stregheria Aguirre would think I’d gone too far. Rumour had it that Stregheria had cast curses on Cat and her sisters. I was going to do something that would make that story look completely harmless.