The Spark of a Feudling

by Wendy Knight

  But she expected an apology first.

  The day they loaded the carriages with their many trunks and luggage was the first time she had seen him in a fortnight. “Mr. Buttercroft,” she said stiffly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye but refusing to give him her whole attention.

  “My lady.”

  “Ada, remember your manners. Hold your head up, keep your spine straight. Smile at all times.” Scarlett bustled around her, tightening the bow and straightening Ada’s bustle. “And don’t attack anyone unnecessarily.”

  Vivian swooped past them, her skirts so wide they nearly took up the entire front steps. “There will be no attacks at all. Ada has promised — no magic,” she said over her shoulder, waving her hand through the air.

  She heard Christian’s sharp intake of breath next to her, and Scarlett’s face darkened. “You promised this?”

  “You love your magic,” Christian said at the same time, speaking over his mother’s words.

  “I love Charity more,” she snapped. Turning her back on him, she hugged Governess Buttercroft, which was a completely inappropriate thing to do, but she didn’t care one whit. “I shall do everything you taught me. I will make you proud.”

  She held her head up and her back straight as she walked away. She kept the tears from escaping until she climbed into the carriage. Charity reached over and patted her hand. Ada gave her a weak smile, but couldn’t quite tear her gaze from the window. Or more precisely, the boy staring after her as she left him behind.

  Chapter Seven

  London was like nothing Ada had ever dreamed. There were people everywhere, non-magical people bustling up and down streets, dark shades over their heads to protect from the rain. The buildings were very close together, and the roads were paved with cobblestones. There were no dirt paths here. And the smells —the smells of rotting fish and decay when they passed the wide river. The air felt sickly, here. Not for the first time since they’d left, she missed her home. And Christian. He hadn’t even said goodbye. Granted, she hadn’t given him the chance. She wished now that she had.

  “Ada, darling, you’ve hardly said a word since we left Adlington. Do speak up. No one is going to court a mute.” Vivian was preening, fluffing her dark hair and pinching her cheeks.

  “Mama, it is dark out, and we are the only ones in the carriage. No one can see your flush now.” She sighed.

  Vivian threw her a harsh glare but said nothing. If she keeps pinching her cheeks, she’ll leave bruises. And won’t that be becoming? Perhaps it was exhaustion, but Ada couldn’t suppress a giggle. At Vivian’s scowl, she snapped her fan open and hid behind it. Charity, as always, sat demurely in her seat, watching them patiently. Ada’s other maid, Genevieve, and her mother’s two maids had traveled in the other carriage.

  Her mother kept a townhouse in London just for the Season. It was much smaller than the manor at Adlington — tall and rectangular, and looked like every other townhome surrounding it. Ada sighed as she let the footman help her from the carriage. I leap from tree branches fifteen feet from the ground. I dove off the back of a running horse. I think I can handle climbing out of a carriage. But it didn’t matter. Here, she was not herself. Here she was merely the only daughter of a very wealthy nobleman. And daughters of very wealthy noblemen do not leap from trees or dive from horses and they certainly didn’t help themselves from carriages.

  Ada was positive her corset was becoming tighter as the minutes wore on. She felt like she hadn’t drawn a full breath since that morning, and could barely breathe at all now.

  “Do get some rest, Ada.” Vivian swept into the house, hands held just so as if she thought the entire city watched her walk through her own door. “We’ll start calling on my influential friends in the morning. By evening tomorrow, I am positive that invitations to all the Season’s events will be waiting for you.”

  Ada glanced at Charity, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “How grand for me,” she murmured.

  Charity giggled.

  It was customary for servants to sleep in servants’ quarters, which were in the basement of the house. It was cold and damp there, and Ada refused to let Charity even think of it. “You may sleep with me. Where it’s warm and you can’t catch a chill. Tomorrow, I will speak to Mother about making that place more hospitable for everyone else.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of any of their servants sleeping there.

  “It just needs a fire in the hearth,” Charity said, but she didn’t argue when Ada snuck her up to her room.

  It took both maids to free Ada from her many skirts, petticoats, and her blasted corset. Charity helped her into her nightgown while Genevieve undid the plaits in her hair. “I can brush it myself, thank you. Please, go rest.” Ada took the brush out of her exhausted maid’s hands and shooed her out the door. Sitting in front of the vanity, she brushed the long black and red curls, watching the firelight catch them. Turned just so, they looked like flames brought to life. Ada missed her magic. She missed her spells.

  “I brought you something,” Charity whispered suddenly.

  Ada looked at her in the mirror, raising a brow. “Oh?”

  Charity scrambled over the bed to the trunks waiting by the window. Ada wondered, through her haze of exhaustion, when they had been brought up. She watched her friend dig through one, then two of the trunks, finally emerging with a satisfied smile and a mischievous glint in her silver eyes. In her arms she held a book.

  An ancient book.

  “Charity!” Ada gasped, nearly knocking over her stool as she hurried to Charity’s side. “When did you do this?”

  Charity shrugged delicately. “In one of my meetings with your father. I thought you might like to practice.”

  Ada raised wide eyes to her friend. During the horrors that Charity’s mind dare not even remember, she had somehow taken the time to steal a spell book to protect Ada? Impulsively, she reached across the book and hugged her dear friend. “I’d be lost without you.”

  Charity smiled. “And I you. Now get off to bed. You’ve a long day tomorrow.”

  Ada tried to sleep. Once the lights were turned down, she closed her eyes and begged for kind dreams. But all she could see was Christian, standing on the stairs as she pulled away. And poor Charity, in the bed next to Ada, tossing and crying out. “Please, Father, don’t be the cause of her nightmares.”

  ****

  Christian had never particularly enjoyed being a groom, but he was grateful for the distraction it gave him now. Long before the sun was up, he found himself in the barn. He cleaned the stalls and pitched fresh hay. He brushed, curried, and combed the horses every single day, exercised them, fed them, watered them, and sometimes he stayed hours into the night talking to them.

  Still, the pain didn’t lessen. He missed Ada so much every heartbeat hurt. The fact that she would come home betrothed to another man nearly killed him every time it passed through his head — which was often. She’d been gone a fortnight now. If what his mother told him was accurate, Ada would be meeting the queen any day. She would be officially introduced into Society, and then the offers of marriage would come. Even if Ada had only been a wealthy duke’s daughter, she’d be hounded. The fact that she was unusually stunning and the daughter of a very wealthy duke probably meant there would be duels fought over her hand.

  His only hope was the fact that nobility and aristocrats were, as a rule, afraid of the Edrens. If they knew Ada was a sorceress, and a powerful one at that, they might be too frightened of her to consider marriage.

  “Christian. I’ve been looking for you.”

  Richard’s voice made Christian’s skin crawl, like a thousand beetles had taken up residence in his blood. “I don’t know how you’ve missed me. You hired me as a groom, and here I am caring for your horses day in and out.” The words were out of his mouth and he didn’t regret them. The duke could send him away. He could have him flogged. None of it would hurt as much as losing Ada.

  Richard made a tsk sound with
his tongue. “Put the pitchfork down, boy, and listen to me. I have a proposition for you.”

  Christian slowly turned toward him, leaning on the pitchfork instead of releasing it as he’d been asked.

  “It is common knowledge among the manor staff, and myself, that you have an interest in my daughter. Normally, that would be laughable.”

  Christian cringed but said nothing.

  “However, I’ve seen the spells you, a Carules, are capable of. Even your mother isn’t as powerful.”

  And power is all that matters to you, isn’t it?

  “Yes, it is.” Richard met his eyes with cold amusement as Christian fought to contain his shock. He hadn’t said that aloud. How had the duke heard him?

  “There are spells that allow you to feed off the power of others, Christian. Spells that make you more powerful, and thus more desirable in this war-torn world we live in. I am the only one in the world who can create these spells, and I think they would benefit you greatly.” Richard leaned against the frame of the stall Christian was trapped in, but he was too stiff to appear casual. Too much nobility to lean.

  “And why would you do this for me? What benefit is it to you?” Christian wanted to throw the pitchfork at him. He wanted to quit and storm away and take his mother and his sister with him. But Richard knew his weakness.

  Ada.

  “Because I can’t test them on myself. These spells… they must be done on someone else. And you, my boy, simply are not strong enough to do them on me, not until I test them on you. They will make you stronger than us all. So strong, you can have anyone in the world, including my daughter, if you still want her.”

  Christian clenched his teeth against the anger that nearly overwhelmed him. “You have no idea how much your daughter is worth.” He didn’t realize the handle of the pitchfork was burning until the acrid smoke coated his tongue. He looked down, shocked to see the flames escaping from his hands.

  “Have you always had such a temper, Christian?” Richard asked idly, raising one thin brow.

  “No. I have not.” Not until you tortured me in your study.

  Richard pushed away from the stall. “Well, think on it, if you must. It is a rare opportunity — one Edrens from around the world would fight for.” He turned crisply on his heel and left, his shoes clacking against the rocks strewn through the barn.

  Christian watched him go. Swearing, he spun and hurled the pitchfork across the barn, watching in satisfaction as it pierced the wood in the wall across from him.

  ****

  He fought it. For several days he fought it, knowing how dangerous and absolutely daft it was to agree. But in the end, he gave in, as he knew he would — as Richard no doubt expected he would. “I’m here,” he announced, striding into Richard’s study late one afternoon. Ada had been gone for over three weeks, and Christian was certain his heart was breaking into smaller pieces every single day.

  Richard looked up, seemingly amused and annoyed all at once. “You know, most lowly grooms speak more respectfully to their employers. Especially when their employers are members of nobility.”

  Christian only glared at him.

  Richard shrugged, rising out of his chair and striding across the room to the bookshelves. “There’s no reason to put it off then. Let’s get started before your mother comes to make sure her baby isn’t being mistreated.”

  Christian felt the fury he was becoming accustomed to racing through his blood, igniting the flames. He stifled it, but still the sparks licked at his clenched fists. “Is what you say true, then? If I become as powerful as you say I will, you will give your blessing if Ada chooses me?” he said boldly. What had he to lose?

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Richard waved his hand vaguely through the air. “If you become as powerful as I suspect you can. But it will take work. No more running off after one session.” Richard turned, book in hand, to glare at him sternly.

  Fear warred with the anger in his heart, and he swallowed hard. “I will do what it takes.”

  “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

  ****

  Christian awoke to see his mother leaning over him, tears staining her cheeks. “I’ve healed you as much as I can. Do you hurt terribly, my son?”

  Christian forced himself to a sitting position. The flames seemed to be poison in his blood now, and their every movement hurt. “I heard your screams. I found you in the courtyard,” she said, her voice cracking as fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks. “We must leave this place. We must leave tonight. Are you able?”

  “No, Mother. We cannot leave. Not yet.” Christian lay back down, wishing for ice in his veins instead of fire.

  Scarlett cried harder. “What is this man doing to my children? And why are either of you allowing it?”

  Christian reached blindly for her hand, wincing at the movement. “He will make us stronger, Mother. We will be strong enough that we will never be servants again. You will not have to work raising spoiled nobility while the lord and lady of the manor look down on us.”

  Scarlett felt his head, her hands cool. “Christian, do you hear what you’re saying? You love Ada. I love Ada, like my own daughter.”

  Christian shoved her hand away. “I don’t care!” he yelled, flames shooting from his fingertips. Scarlett watched him, unflinching.

  “You are not my son. He has taken my son and replaced him with a demon.”

  Christian felt his flames freeze, finally cooling his heat-exhausted skin. “I am your son. I’m sorry, Mother. I don’t know what came over me.”

  She reached out a shaking hand, brushing tears from his cheek that he hadn’t realized he’d wept. “Please, Christian. We need to leave. We’ll travel to London, take Charity with us. We can go to America, start a new life.”

  I’ll never see Ada again. But he had a brief moment of coherency, realizing that this pain, this agony was not worth it, not if it turned him into a monster she wouldn’t want anyway. “Yes, Mother. I’ll help you gather our things.” He pushed himself to his feet, but the room swayed dangerously and he fell, crashing to the floor.

  The interesting thing, they soon realized, about the duke’s spell-induced injuries, is that Carules flames could not heal them. The physical wounds, yes. But whatever it was Richard did to their gift — Charity’s sight and Christian’s flames, no magic could touch. Scarlett worked tirelessly until Christian sent her to bed. He lay through the night, staring at the thatched roof above his head, terrified beyond belief. He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that he could not remember what Richard had done to him. By the way his entire body hurt, he knew it must have been painful, but beyond that, there was nothing. He now understood exactly what Charity had gone through.

  The attack came before dawn. He awoke to screaming, high-pitched, skull-shattering screaming. And then the bell started tolling. He rolled to his feet, reaching for his shirt before he realized the overwhelming agony from the night before was gone. He didn’t understand it, but he was grateful, shrugging his shirt over his head and pulling it down.

  The shoulders ripped.

  He swore under his breath, but Scarlett was already running for the door, and he went after her. His fingers lit, the flames reaching hungrily, waiting for the spells. He could just see the assassins through the darkness, appearing like wraiths and slowly taking solid form. If his flames hadn’t been screaming for blood, he might have been afraid. There were at least ten of them, and from their hands he could see the Edren sparks. These were sorcerers coming for them.

  But his flames were screaming for blood, and he lit up the darkness with his spell. Unbidden, the ginsti burned in front of him, but he twisted his wrist, just a bit, and shoved the spell forward. It hit the man leading the others, the man already reaching for Scarlett. Christian whirled out of the way as a spell flew at him, barely noticing the man he’d hit until he heard him wailing, and his cries didn’t stop.

  Everyone seemed to pause — Christian and Scarlett, the duke’s guards
who were assembling behind him, and the invaders themselves. They watched the man lie on the ground, writhing, clawing at his face, throat, and arms. His mouth foamed and his skin bubbled. “He’s burning,” Scarlett gasped. “He’s burning from inside.”

  She turned wide, frightened eyes on Christian. “What did you do?”

  Christian opened his mouth to respond, but what to say? He honestly had no idea how he had done it. “Mother, look out!” A spell hit her in the back, and she fell to the ground and lay still. “Mother!” The rage that had been boiling just below the surface for the last month and a half exploded and he ran at the invaders, spells erupting from his hands, one after another, cruel spells that left the men writhing on the ground instead of instantly killing them. He attacked them all, until there was nothing left but their screams in the air. He turned in a circle, looking for any new threats, but there were none. The duke’s guards backed away slowly, the rising sun showing clearly the fear on their faces. Christian read their terror and for several seconds, he basked in it. Until his gaze fell on his mother lying still in the dirt, and the anger froze, the power died, and he collapsed next to her. “Mother.” He put his hands to her wound, praying he wasn’t too late, and felt the comfort, the peace of his healing flames taking the place of the wild angry fire burning away at him. She had lost a lot of blood, but she still breathed, and he was able to heal her injuries.

  Scarlett moaned and he pulled her head onto his lap. “Are they gone?”

  Christian raised his eyes, looking around the courtyard. “Yes,” he said, because everyone was gone, even the guards. A lone figure strode toward them from the manor.

  “That was quite impressive, Mr. Buttercroft.”

  Christian felt the anger return, the aggressive spells fighting his healing ones. “You planned this, didn’t you? You called those assassins.”