by Eden Reign
The man’s glance again raked down her front again, and Manda wanted to slap him. She carefully stilled her tone. “My name is Melanie Rivers,” she said distinctly, hoping Mr. Stone would overhear in case he needed to use it. She had to keep the generic Rivers, the name given to all watermages not belonging to well-known families, but Melanie was a spur of the moment decision. “I—come from Taydon Falls, a small town far west of here. I met Master Coal when he was there on business a while back—during the war,” she sputtered, her mind flashing through the timeline of events over the last several months. Awhile back would have been before the Armistice. “I have only recently come to Coalhaven.”
Daniel’s dark eyes blazed. “It seems that Master Coal has an itchy foot.”
“He does travel frequently, sir.” Manda glanced at the clock, hoping he would take the hint.
Unfortunately the man settled in his chair, studying her. “He met you and installed you as his mistress at Coalhaven quickly indeed.”
“As you see.” Anger iced her voice.
Daniel stood, abruptly turning to the hearth, staring at the blackened interior of the fireplace; the season was far too warm for fires. His movements unnerved Manda at the deepest level. “Miss Rivers, I am skeptical. I have never heard of you, and I pride myself on having a thorough knowledge of all families under the umbrella of the Eternal Ocean. Who were your parents?”
The blood drained from Manda’s cheeks. “John and Mary Rivers,” she said, reeling off the two most common names she could think of. “Of Taydon Falls. They were not active in fullmage society.”
He was silent, clasping his hands behind his back, his tall, thin frame a pillar of incensed disbelief. “How very convenient.” He drew his breath to say more, but a knock sounded at the door.
Rose entered a moment later, bearing a wide tray spread with cheeses, rolled ham, and fresh, sliced bread. She curtsied to Manda. “Where would you like this, Miss Rivers?”
Daniel scowled at the name.
“On the sideboard, please, and thank you, Miss Westerly.”
“Yes’m.” Rose put the tray down on the table, but before she could depart, Master Lake grabbed her arm. “You, girl. Fetch me paper, pen, and ink.”
Rose bobbed another curtsey as she exited the room, trembling, with a terrified glance at Manda. She left the door wide open, and Mr. Stone stepped inside, taking a stance beside the doors, laying napkins carefully over one arm.
“Smelly cheeses, Master Lake?” Manda asked with a diamond-hard smile. “Only the best for Master Coal’s guests.”
“No,” he barked, glaring first at Mr. Stone and then at her.
Rose returned with a lap desk and held it out to Master Lake. “Put it on the table,” he instructed, following the quivering maid as she completed his order. “I’ll leave a message for Master Coal.” He seated himself at the table, throwing open the lap desk and pulling out a sheet of paper.
For several long moments, the only sound was the scratch of nib on stationery as Master Lake painstakingly crafted his message. He sanded the sheet and then blew it off, folding the note into thirds.
He stepped back, allowing his gaze to crawl from Manda’s neck all the way down to her feet. A lewd sneer twitched one side of his mouth. Slowly, lazily, he reached into his waistcoat, his fingers fumbling in the opening of his pocket.
A moment later, his hand emerged, holding a long chain, and attached to it… a timepiece.
Jackson’s timepiece, the very one with the cracked face she had left on Briary Beach.
Manda’s heartbeat thudded a deafening tempo in her ears as she stared at the watch, unable to look away.
“It’s a handsome piece, isn’t it?” Daniel Lake asked. His fingers traced lightly over the gilded edges before he snapped his palm closed around it. His dark eyes held hers, and Manda felt their threat.
The man knew. He knew that she had left the watch on that beach, that it had been her work-worn dress found with it, as certainly as if she had told him.
Daniel slid the watch back into his waistcoat pocket. “But then, I suppose you wouldn’t know, would you?” He adjusted the cuffs of his coat with a yank. “Mere mistresses wouldn’t understand such things.”
Standing, he held the folded letter out to Manda. “See that Master Coal gets the letter. The information in it is urgent.”
He stalked toward the door, turning in the opening. “Julia Coal would be burning in her grave if she knew that a trollop had taken her place as Coalhaven’s mistress.”
Manda flinched. She gripped the sofa’s arm as Mr. Stone followed Master Lake to the front door. She heard it open and close, and a moment later, gravel crunched as the horses drew away from the portico.
Her strength left her, and she collapsed against the back of the sofa.
Both Rose and Mr. Stone hurried into the room. “Oh, Miss Rivers,” Rose cried, “I could never have handled him as well as you did.”
Mr. Stone smiled as he sat on the sofa next to Manda, nodding encouragingly. “You did very well, Miss Rivers. I listened the whole time; you didn’t give anything away.”
“I—I was so frightened,” Manda breathed. “I was sure that any moment, he would push out the door and go stomping through the house.”
Mr. Stone dropped his gaze to the letter in Manda’s hand. “What shall we do with that?” he asked.
Manda stared at the folded letter that rested in her trembling fingers. “He said it was urgent. I wonder…” Jackson had told her he had been unable to find the timepiece on the beach, and his concern had been apparent. She had not believed he worried over losing a sentimental trinket. She couldn’t shake the idea that the timepiece Master Lake had flaunted gave him some kind of hold over Jackson. But how could a pocket watch have anything to do with Grey? Manda could not find the connection. She unfolded the paper. Neither Mr. Stone nor Rose stopped her as she read the words in fresh black ink:
Do not think, Jackson, that I am unaware of the significance of this timepiece. Perhaps you did not know, but it is one of four such watches, all made by my own hand, all given as gifts to particular mages in the Brotherhood. I know very well to whom it belonged, and I know that your father wore it on the day he died. It should have been found amongst the rubble of the Brotherhood’s Headquarters. Instead it was found on Coalhaven’s own beach, wrapped up in a dress belonging to your little trollop. I know that everything you told me about my son and his wife and their child was lies. If you hand over the child within the month, then I may keep your atrocious secret, though the watch you’ve lost forever.
A weight crashed inside Manda like a smithy’s iron into its bed of coals. “Grey! I sent him to Mr. Flacks—but we must make certain he is still with him. If Daniel Lake sees him while leaving the estate—”
A curse spilled from Mr. Stone’s lips, and the three of them ran to the rear of the house, scattering onto the verandah and running toward the western fields. Manda splashed through the river, soaking her skirts, tearing onward, not caring that her hem grew dark with dirt.
“Grey!” she called. She cleared the wooded gardens with Mr. Stone and Rose behind her. Mr. Flacks bent over a nearby row, alone.
“Mr. Flacks!” Manda called. The overseer looked up, quickly rising and stepping over the plants toward her.
“Miss Rivers? What’s the matter?” Concern tightened his tanned face at her tone.
“Where is Grey? I sent him to stay with you for a time.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “I have not seen the boy, Miss, but I have been back and forth between the western and northern fields in the last hour. We may have missed each other.”
Manda didn’t wait to discuss the matter. She whirled and ran through the boundary of trees. Behind her, Mr. Stone, Mr. Flacks, and Rose spread out in different directions.
Wild visions of Grey wandering around the property or across the driveway in front of Master Lake’s carriage flooded her panicked thoughts. She ran toward the driveway. “Where are y
ou, Grey?”
Her corset was too tight, her bodice too constraining. She gasped for air. “Grey Tailor, you come here this instant!” Her shouts were swallowed up by the rustling magnolias to the south and the distant indigo fields to the north.
She stopped, bent double, praying that Grey would appear. Straightening, she ran again, down the gravel driveway, her frantic gaze swinging through the oak trunks for any sign of movement.
Nothing.
The boundaries of the plantation emerged into view. The cherry Lake carriage turned out of the driveway, disappearing up the road.
“Grey!” Manda shrieked, flying down the hill toward the mouth of the driveway. The dust of the carriage settled onto the road, the quiet pall smothering Manda with fear.
“Miss Rivers?” The small, familiar voice came from Manda’s left, through the trees, on the edges of the indigo fields.
Manda turned, finding his little form where he knelt in a patch of clover.
“Grey!” Manda nearly bowled him over as she collapsed to her knees in front of him, gathering him into her arms, stroking his head. “Grey, where were you? I told you to find Mr. Flacks, and when you weren’t with him, I thought I’d lost you! We looked everywhere, and—”
She trailed off. He had collected a bouquet of every kind of flower she had seen across the estate: dandelions, magnolia blossoms, honeysuckle, clover, mint sprigs, a rhododendron flower, and even one rich blue-purple indigo blossom from an early bloomer. It was a sloppy bouquet, carefully arranged with childish judgment.
“For you,” he said, holding it up to her proudly. “I tried to get everything.”
Manda’s eyes filled with tears as she took his creation, and she buried her face in the scented blossoms. “Thank you, Grey. They’re beautiful.”
She took his hand and walked with him across the expansive lawn toward the plantation house, unable to bring herself to scold him further.
Chapter 17
Jackson
Jackson had never been to Blazenfields before. After he’d fled Coalhaven at the age of fifteen, he’d had little cause to associate with any of the High Families; indeed, he’d avoided them—except for Lige—by living on the edges of the fullmage world almost as though he’d been truly banished.
As the Coal carriage rattled up the graveled drive toward the Blazen Estate, Jackson rubbed his temples. The headache that had begun after Manda had left him had not abated, not once during the long week he’d spent at his Chalton farm. He’d gone to the farm to close it up while he awaited the date of Wilcott’s invitation to Blazenfields, enforcing his self-imposed exile from Coalhaven, fearing another fire. He brooded on the danger he posed to Grey, to Coalhaven, and to the lovely Manda Rivers.
As April 27 finally dawned, he was more than eager to get to Blazenfields and learn what he could about removing the magemark.
The carriage halted, and Jackson shoved open the door before the driver could, he was so desperate for fresh air. He’d not sent word of his coming, but Wilcott had assured him several times of his open invitation after the 27th, when inspection season ended.
The Blazen house sat on a small rise above the road, a looming, two-story red-brick affair with two wings extruding from the main house. The right wing was under construction, with what looked like repairs related to a fire. The left wing, clearly a later addition, had delusions of grandeur, with elaborate palladian windows stacked three-high and a wide verandah stretching around the corner and out of sight.
The central house had nine-light windows, double-hung, with decorative shutters badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. A sagging, two-story portico was supported—mostly—by four columns, the sort of grandiose architecture that had been popular fifty years in the past.
Overgrown shrubberies clumped all along the house and up the walk. A few dogwoods punctuated the grounds here and there, but it was painfully clear that Coalhaven, with its majestic live oaks and magnolias, put Blazenfields to shame. Jackson could not see crops anywhere.
But from the portico, he could see the damaged wing better, and the cause: Blazenfields’s crop-lands had all burned, and the fire had consumed most of the wing.
Jackson shivered, though the day was already growing warm. He’d been a crucial officer in designing the firemages’ strategy for the Levelers in the war, and they had never burned Blazenfields—he would have known of it. Why then had the plantation been laid waste? Surely the Arcanan Army had not done it?
The front door flew open to reveal a maid in a dimity dress that reminded Jackson of Manda with a painful stab to his heart.
“Y—yes, Master? May I help you?”
“I am Master Coal of Coalhaven, here to see Master Blazen.”
“Very good. Please come in.” The maid ushered him to a broad parlor and gestured to a red velvet divan. “I’ll let Master Blazen know you are here, Master Coal.”
Jackson took a seat on the divan facing the ornately carved flame-mahogany mantel. The interior of the house seemed in better repair than the exterior. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, and velvet-and-lace drapes girded every window.
“Jackson! You came! I hardly expected you so soon, but I must say, I’m overjoyed to have you here. I’ve sent Clarissy upstairs to prepare a room, and my Leah will be down shortly to greet you over tea. My wife is away, visiting her sister down in Savana.” Wilcott Blazen clapped Jackson on the back after they shook hands. “How are you? How’s Coalhaven and that lovely indigo?”
“Everything is very well, Master Blazen,” Jackson said stiffly. “I do hope I haven’t intruded or come at a bad time.”
“Not at all, not at all, though you’ll have to forgive the state of the grounds. We had some bad luck during the war, and we’ve only just begun to repair the damages. Bourbon?”
“If you’re pouring.”
Wilcott pushed a tumbler into Jackson’s hand and gestured him back to the divan. “My Leah should be down any moment now.”
“The reason I’m here, Master Blazen, is to learn—”
“Now, Jackson, let’s not be hasty. Drink your bourbon. Relax. These things take time.”
Jackson’s tumbler became oddly warm between his hands. The amber bourbon was bubbling—he’d tapped his firepower inadvertently. He dragged his mind from the Wells. “Er, of course. I did not mean—that is to say, I was hoping I might speak with you about curing magemarks. My father took a great interest in the topic, and—”
“I was not aware that Henry had any such interest,” Wilcott said, frowning and setting down his tumbler. “It was my understanding that he delighted in making the marks, not healing them.”
“M—making magemarks?” Jackson was taking a risk bringing up the topic so gracelessly, but he was out of his element in making polite conversation. “How is that done? I thought it was a Nanu secret.”
Wilcott waved his index finger, pursing his lips. “Secrets have a way of getting out, Jackson, especially to someone as persuasive as your father. Suffice it to say, one of Henry’s close associates had a means of extracting this information from the Nanu tribes, and Henry had a means of extracting it from his associate. Henry spent a great deal of time learning to make a traditional magemark spell. He also spent a great deal of time—ah—improving the primitive Nanu spellwork.”
“Why?” Jackson asked, though, had he paused to think, he could likely have come to his own conclusions. Magemarks caused pain and destruction, two domains in which Henry Coal had excelled.
Wilcott’s face flushed, and he sipped his bourbon. “I’m sure he had his own reasons, but I expect the main one was because I asked him to.”
Jackson dumped more bourbon into his mouth than he’d intended, and he gulped hastily. “Asked him to?”
“For my research. Your father was a very powerful firemage, Jackson. He could do things …” The older man’s voice trailed off, and he cast a speculative look over Jackson. “I know little about you and your powers, though if your indigo crop was a reliable indicat
or, and it usually is, you are at least as strong as your father. That indigo had as much fire strength as any I’ve ever seen. It will do great things for the power of the Eternal Flame.”
“I thought you studied the healing of magemarks, not their creation.” A heavy lump had formed in Jackson’s stomach. What he needed was a cure.
“Oh, I do, I do, my boy. You can’t have the one without the other. In order to understand the healing, you must understand the creation, you see? Your father developed a reliable spellwork protocol for creating the marks on a target. I used that spell to—ah—infect targets in order to test my theories for healing the marks.”
Jackson exhaled, though Wilcott’s words disturbed him at an instinctual level. “Targets? What targets?”
Wilcott set down his empty tumbler, leaned back in his velvet wing chair, and studied Jackson through narrowed eyes. “You must understand, Jackson, this research is the cutting edge of the Brotherhood’s weapons development. My Brothers would be alarmed to hear of our discussion. Daniel Lake, particularly. He doesn’t trust you, I fear.”
Jackson’s mouth went dry. “Master Lake? What does he—how do you mean, sir?”
Wilcott held up his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “Jackson, you were a Major in the Leveler Army. You can hardly expect us all to simply welcome you back into the fullmage fold with easy embraces.” Wilcott gave a wide smile, “Excluding myself, of course. All is forgiven in my book.”
“Papa! I’m here!”
Jackson leapt out of his seat as a petite young lady maneuvered her wide hoop skirt through the narrow parlor door. She carried a silver tray, and she kept her gaze on the floor as she set the tea things on the low table in front of Jackson’s divan. She stood directly before him, a bit too close for his comfort, and so he kept his own gaze low, where he saw first her hands, slender and lily-white as she took hold of the sprigged lawn of her skirt.
“Master Coal, may I present my only child, my daughter, Miss Leah Blazen,” Wilcott announced proudly.