by Eden Reign
But as the days turned into weeks, these episodes became fewer, and Grey bloomed under Manda’s capable instruction, his curiosity and intellect a delight to behold.
One purple spring evening, Manda walked along the river with Grey. They stopped periodically, bending over the shallows, finding the still spots where the water bugs skated across the surface and tiny minnows nipped at Grey’s fingers when he dipped his hand.
When he first did this, a wave erupted outward from his fingers, spiraling in an ever-widening circle that splashed out of the riverbed, soaking Manda’s dress and Grey’s own clothes in the process.
Several of the minnows landed in the grass, squirming and wiggling, their pitiful tiny mouths opening and closing.
Manda gently grasped Grey’s wrist and pulled him back.
“That is not how halfmages use their magic, Grey,” she admonished. Releasing his arm, she dipped her hand into the river. The water around her skin vibrated, shaking until crystalline drops danced on the water’s surface. Clear ribbons of liquid reached onto the grass to surround the minnows, carrying them back to their home.
Grey kicked a tuft of grass. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Magic, Grey, is a gift, not to be used lightly. When you’ve been given the ability to do things that others can’t, do you use it to hurt those others? Or to help them?”
“Help them,” the boy mumbled.
Manda crouched until she was eye-level with the boy. She brushed a curl behind his ear. “Those minnows had done nothing to you, Grey, but tickle your fingers. Their only fault was coming into contact with a force more powerful than they.” Manda tilted up Grey's chin so he looked directly at her. “Grey, you are going to find yourself often in situations where you are surrounded by minnows, and you must be kind. You have the responsibility to be kind. It’s easy to forget. People can come across as scary and powerful, and your first impulse might be to protect yourself—but inside, those people are minnows. Even a fullmage boy or girl. Or a Nanu warrior with weapons. A Chalton bureaucrat. Even,” she chucked his chin gently, “Master Coal.”
Grey frowned. “Master Coal ain’t a minnow.”
“Isn’t. And you’d be surprised,” Manda said. “Even tiny minnows can hide inside big, strong men.”
Grey thought about that for a moment, and when Manda continued along the riverbank, he slid his hand inside hers, gripping it tightly. Manda glanced down at him with a smile. His thoughts played freely across his expressive face.
“Miss Rivers?”
“Yes, Grey?”
“Mrs. Tailor told me I was a halfmage, and I had to keep that a secret. But Master Coal is a fullmage, right? How does his magic work? Is it different from what I do?”
Manda stopped walking again, sinking to a seat in the grass and patting the ground beside her. “Have you heard of the Indigo Wells, Grey?”
“Who hasn’t?” he asked, his grey-blue gaze fixed on her face.
“Fullmages like Master Coal access the Wells to create their magic. The Indigo Wells, you know, are more than a big compound in Chalton. The Source Well in Chalton holds the physical indigo, made from what Master Coal grows here on his plantation, and it gets fed into the Wells, creating an ethereal magical quintessence that all fullmages use when they tap it. So Master Coal taps the Indigo Wells via the Eternal Flame—since he’s a firemage—to harness the elemental power of fire. He does this seamlessly, instantaneously, as you do when you access the water in nature with your halfmage power. But it isn’t the same.”
Grey combed his fingers through the grass, chewing on his lip as he processed her words. “Why don’t I have to access the Indigo Wells when I do magic?”
Manda smoothed her skirts nervously. She wasn’t sure how Master Coal wanted to educate Grey on this matter. He’d told her after the awkward first day that she could teach the boy what she pleased, but this—this was a touchy subject for all of Arcana, and Manda wasn’t stupid enough to think that Master Coal didn’t care what Grey learned about it.
She chose her words carefully. “You don’t need the Wells, Grey. Halfmages naturally have access to the elements, the very nature around us, while fullmages must use the power of magical-grade indigo to access their magic. You use the power in the water of the river right here, directly.” Manda gestured to the water nearby.
“So Master Coal can’t affect nature like I do?” He rubbed his hand through the hair on the back of his head.
Manda explained, “Fullmages can move the elements in nature, but only through the Wells. You’re a half watermage, Grey, so you feel the element with your body, and you can move the water of this river. Let’s say Master Coal was a watermage. He could also move the water of this river, but he would have to use the Indigo Wells to do it. It’s like two different roads that lead to the same destination. Your road is short and straight, while Master Coal’s is longer, with bends and curves.”
Grey’s face was still a study in puzzlement. He bit his lip, and then asked, fretfully, “But if the two roads lead to the same destination, why does everybody hate halfmages so much?”
Manda searched for words. “There are many different kinds of people, Grey. Just think, here in Arcana, there are Arcanans like you, Nanu like Mr. Stone, and the Akwa like Rose Westerly. And then there are people like me as well, mixed, with heritage from multiple tribes. Not all of the tribes hate halfmages. The Arcanans … well, they have a difficult history with halfmages. Many years ago, Grey, long before you were born, or I, or Master Coal, Arcanan fullmages could marry mundanes, as they still can among the Nanu. That was when the Articles of Arcana were written, and the Articles decreed level rights for all. But later, something bad happened. A group of halfmages killed a group of important fullmages. The fullmages united against the halfmages, and said their power was a toxic and dangerous form of magic. Laws were passed that restricted the rights of halfmages in society, and restricted how and when they could use their power.”
Grey hadn’t removed his gaze from Manda’s face. “So fullmages weren’t allowed to marry mundanes after that? Or make halfmage babies like me?”
His quick grasp of the implications surprised Manda, though she’d noted that he was a precocious boy.
“Yes,” she answered. “The government outlawed marriages between fullmages and mundanes as dangerous, because they produced halfmages. Over time, fullmages began to look down on mundanes; they had the magic, the mundanes did not. The fullmages took control of the Arcanan Congress and the mundanes had no spokesperson in the system. That’s how the High Families were formed. Each family represented a certain element in the Congress, each ‘pure’ with their blood history, and each honor-bound to stay pure. No one in the High Families could marry a mundane; it just wasn’t done. The prejudice against it became fixed and strong.”
“But my papa married a mundane,” Grey murmured, understanding washing over his face.
“Yes,” Manda half-choked.
“Is that why he was killed? For being married to my mama?” The anger in his voice struck a chord deep in Manda.
“No!” She faced Grey directly to clear up his misconception. “No, Grey, your father died in the war. You must understand—the assumptions about halfmages and mixed marriages—they aren’t true. They’re only prejudices, based on a single terrible event in the distant past. People fear halfmages because their magic is different, but there’s nothing wrong with being different. Never think that.”
Grey’s eyes filled with tears, and he turned his attention to the river and beyond it to the moss-draped oaks and magnolias.
Manda picked up Grey’s hand, rubbing gently over the back of it. “Halfmages were shunned because people thought wrongly that they were dangerous and uncontrollable. But the fear was more about the fundamental difference between the two types of magic. The fullmages use the Indigo Wells that they created to support their power, while the halfmages like you can reach directly into the elements surrounding you. You can feel the wa
ter all around us, can you not?”
Manda wondered if she were speaking over Grey’s head. He hadn’t looked at her again after his comment about his father. She fell silent, cradling Grey’s hand, hoping he would give her an inkling of his thoughts, but she didn’t want to push him.
After a few moments, Grey rose from his seat on the grass. “Yes.” He avoided her gaze as he turned his back on the river. “I—I’d like to go back to the house now.”
Disappointment cut through Manda. The lesson was a lot to take in—but Grey had shown such advanced understanding of many things in the past weeks that she had hoped he would be open to his heritage as a halfmage.
She, too, rose, dusting off her skirts, and walked beside the boy through the gardens toward the house. When they reached the verandah, Grey stopped short of the steps. “Miss Rivers?”
“Yes, Grey?”
“My last name isn’t Tailor. My papa was a Lake.”
Manda’s heart lodged in her throat. Of course she’d known the boy’s name was probably false—halfmages had to hide their lineage—but had he said his father was a Lake? The Lake family was powerful in Arcana, not to mention—
“My papa’s name was Elijah Lake,” Grey affirmed.
“Grey Tailor, it’s past your bedtime. You are out far too late tonight.” Master Coal stepped from the shadows of the side porch, his maimed hand pointing at the house. Anger rippled through his words, and Grey shrank back toward Manda.
“Did you not understand me just now, Grey?”
“Yes, sir,” Grey whispered. He started up the steps.
Manda still reeled from Grey’s disclosure. Lake. Elijah Lake, he’d said. She gripped the handrail beside the stairs, preparing to follow Grey, but Master Coal spoke again. “Miss Rivers, I wish to speak to you. Grey, go ask Miss Westerly to put you to bed.”
Grey dropped his head and continued up the stairs, entering the house through the back door. His little form disappeared into the darkness.
Master Coal vaulted over the balustrade and approached her warily. “Walk with me,” he demanded.
Manda did as she was told, her hands clinging together below her waist. What had she done to warrant such a harsh tone?
Master Coal was quiet as they circled through the gardens. He fidgeted with the collar of his coat, straightening it to cover his neck.
Manda would not be the first to speak. She walked quietly, waiting.
Master Coal stopped beside the wide swing near the corner of the house, turning to face her, his good hand gripping the swing’s rope. The moonlight cast a sheen on his too-long hair and highlighted the dark hollows beneath his eyes as he stared at her.
“I wish Grey had not told you of his true parentage.”
I’m glad he did. “Why not, sir?”
He cleared his throat, studying the ground at her feet. “The Lakes are a powerful family, as I’m sure you’re aware. They’re one of the highest of the High Families.”
Manda nodded. “I am aware, sir. Rather like the Coals.”
Jackson lifted a dark brow. “Grey was given the surname Tailor to hide his true identity. He would be in even greater danger if his true parentage were known. Grey’s father, Lige—Elijah, was—” His voice was rough. He cleared it. “Lige was like a brother to me. We grew up together. Lakewood borders Coalhaven to the north. In the war, Lige laid his life on the line for a mission that, had it failed, would have killed many more men. The mission succeeded, but in the process, Lige was killed.”
Manda studied his face. It was rigid, and the muscle in his jaw jumped as he struggled to control himself. He held out his hand to her—his maimed hand.
She had not touched him since that morning in the kitchen when she’d leaned over his cuts. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached for it.
He flinched at her touch, and she jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry, sir, does it hurt?”
“No.” He shook his head as he dropped his arm to his side. “I lost the finger the day Lige was killed. He lost his life, and I lost a finger. The smallest one. My best friend—who had a child, a little boy who needed his father—died, and I walked away. There is no justice in the world.” Bitterness dripped from his words, and beneath the bitterness, hurt. Hurt that his friend had died, hurt that he’d had to watch it happen, hurt for a thousand injustices he’d left unspoken.
Manda held back her words of sympathy. Mere words would never touch his pain.
“You must promise me, Miss Rivers, never to let the secret out. Grey is Grey Tailor, do you understand me? Under no circumstance can anyone discover that he is the son of Elijah Lake, or his life is as good as finished. Lige’s father, Daniel Lake, is the head of the Brotherhood Committee on Blood Purity. He’s drafted all the worst legislation against halfmages, and, if he could garner the support, he would authorize legal eradication.” He moved closer, his good hand closing over her upper arm. “Promise me, Miss Rivers. Swear it. Swear it on the Sacred Wells.”
Manda hesitated. She hated being put in such a position. Why should she, a halfmage, swear anything on the fullmages’ invention? She hated feeling compelled to deny the very heart of herself, but this was the life Arcana had prescribed for halfmages.
She cleared her throat. “Master Coal, you can be certain that I will guard Grey’s identity with my life.”
He seemed satisfied, even though she had not sworn on the Wells. But he did not move away. His dark gaze remained riveted to hers. His hand still held her upper arm, and he stood closer to her than propriety allowed. She licked her lips.
Master Coal’s gaze dropped to her mouth.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, flooding her cheeks with heat. She stepped back. “You yourself said it was late, sir. I—must retire.”
After a moment’s hesitation, his fingers loosened from her arm, and his hand dropped to his side. “Good night then, Miss Rivers.”
A wake of fiery heat circled her arm where his touch had been. Manda turned and fled.
In her night rail, Manda paced the length of her bedroom. Sleep evaded her, and she couldn’t make herself sit still. Her slippers wore the carpet in the same pattern as the evening and her conversations with Grey and then Master Coal played in her head.
Lake. Grey Lake. His father was Elijah Lake—Lige Lake.
Manda sank onto her damask bedspread, staring past the embroidered curtains that hung on the four corners of her bed.
Her mother, Eve—Eve Lake Dunne—had at one point been a part of the Lake family. How had her mother been connected, and did that connect Grey to Manda in any way?
Manda chewed on the question, and then catapulted from the bed again as another, more urgent question presented itself.
If Grey were indeed connected to Manda, how long would it be until the master of Coalhaven discovered the truth of who she was? He was a fullmage; if he ever discovered that she was a halfmage, he’d sack her, banish her, make her life horrific in every possible way. Not only that, civilization would turn against him. Fullmages who fraternized with halfmages weren’t legally allowed in Savana, Chalton, or any of the other pureblood cities, though enforcement had been non-existent during the war. Since the Armistice, there had been discussion of changing the laws, but as a result of the Brotherhood victory, change was slow and the debates raged on in the Arcanan Congress. Master Coal could still be exiled to Sweetwater or another nondescript mundane town. Coalhaven could be stripped from him and absorbed by the government, divided and parceled out to the High Families.
He had shown Grey compassion and protection for the sake of his best friend, but she could not count on his mercy should her own halfmage status ever be revealed.
One fact spelled itself out to her clearly: if the master of Coalhaven ever came too close to discovering her secret, she would have to leave, before he ruined her completely, and before she ruined him.
Manda had started the day’s teaching session with plans to discuss the Akwa people and their carpet-weaving trade. She had re
cruited Rose to share one of her indigo karpeti as an educational exercise in the drawing room, but when Rose had discovered the pianoforte there, she’d insisted on playing instead. Manda and Grey were now holding hands while Rose’s excellent playing urged their feet to dance. How had she become so sidetracked?
Grey’s wide blue eyes were the reason. Once he’d learned Rose Westerly could play, he’d wanted to learn the Chalton Reel. Manda couldn’t find it in herself to tell him no.
Manda sighed, though she couldn’t suppress a smile at his excitement.
“Now what, Miss Rivers?” he asked. “We face each other, yes?”
Manda nodded. “Yes, the gentlemen line up to face the ladies, and then they step forward and bow, see?” She released Grey’s hands and dipped a deep curtsey. Grey bowed back solemnly.
Rose’s tempo on the pianoforte in the corner was swift and rhythmic, and Manda’s toe tapped almost without thought. She reached her hands to Grey, and he took them again, a wide grin stretching his face.
“Then the man swings his dance partner around,” she whirled Grey in a circle, “and back into their lines they go.” She laughed as she glanced around the empty room. “This would work better with more people, but we’ll make do. The head couple then goes down the line, swinging together.” She took a firmer grasp of Grey’s hands and whirled him around in another circle, releasing him and pirouetting by herself. “Then they change partners and swing with the lady or gentleman still in line. They meet at the end and make a tunnel—see?” She pulled Grey toward her after she had danced around two of the armchairs and Grey had vaulted over the sofa, arching his hands over his head, connecting them with hers. “And the rest of the couples go under. Now we’re at the end of the line.” Grey dissolved into giggles, twirling around another chair, making his way to the pianoforte. “Did you see, Miss Westerly?” he laughed as he pretended to spin an invisible partner. “I did the Chalton Reel!” He stopped next to the pianoforte, grinning at the cook. Manda stood a moment to catch her breath, ready to call him back to try again, but a hand touched her arm. She turned in surprise.