Probably not, I told myself. These nightclothes were unfashionable when Mother was a little girl.
I walked into the bathroom, splashed water on my face and hands, then headed back to the bed. I wanted a bath - I really wanted a shower - but I didn’t feel like going outside to fetch the water. Perhaps I could rig up a spell to transport water into my washtub without having to mess around with buckets, or … perhaps I could take the bathtub down to the tap. I considered a number of possible spells, all of which would probably need Uncle Ira’s approval. The wards would not approve of water running through the corridors … and, if he authorised the wards to let them pass, I’d have to be careful I didn’t actually cause a flood.
And that would be bad, I thought, remembering the rotting wood in the stables. I might cause the floorboards to collapse.
I pulled the blankets up to my neck and clicked off the light. The room plunged into darkness, save for a vague hint of light from the windows. I sighed, wondering just what was over the nearby hills, then closed my eyes. My body felt tired and worn, but my mind felt wide awake. I couldn’t help feeling frustrated. The hall was a prison and we were its prisoners.
What did Morag do? The thought nagged at my mind. What did Uncle Ira do?
I rolled over, pulling the blankets over my head. I’d never heard of either of them, which meant their names had probably been struck from the family rolls. My name had probably been struck from the family rolls too. And that meant … they were in disgrace. But what had they done? Morag was certainly old enough to be beheaded, if she hadn’t been simply kicked out of the family; Uncle Ira was older still. I found it hard to imagine them doing something that had got them sent into exile, rather than a more summary punishment. I was a special case.
Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take deep breaths and concentrate on a simple meditation. It should have helped me to sleep, even though my body was tense. I slowly drew in my breath and let it out, slowly becoming aware of my entire body. Magic seemed to pervade my cells, reminding me that I wasn’t completely helpless. Maybe I could find a way through the wards and walk away, down to the town. From there, I’d be able to get a coach to …
To where? I gritted my teeth, willing the thought to leave. It didn’t. I had only the vaguest idea where I was, let alone how to get home. It had taken five days to reach Kirkhaven Hall in a carriage, after all. If I went the wrong way, I was likely to accidentally walk across the border to Galashiels and then … I didn’t know what would happen then. The family had interests in Galashiels, but I doubted our local representatives would be pleased to see me. I suspected they’d either send me straight back to Kirkhaven or something worse.
A sense of despondent hopelessness overcame me. Tears stung my eyes. I was trapped and I was a prisoner and … the thought ran through my head, time and time again. I couldn’t get home, no matter what I did. I’d just have to wait until I came of age - if Uncle Ira could be bothered to declare me a legal adult - and then … I didn’t know what I’d do then. Perhaps it was the sheer lack of anywhere else to go that kept Morag at Kirkhaven Hall. She was an adult. I had no doubt she could simply walk away if she wished …
… And then I felt something in the room.
I froze, utterly convinced that I was no longer alone. Something was there, a presence that filled the room and pushed down on me. I couldn’t move. I was too scared to move. My entire body was trembling as the temperature started to drop rapidly, my heating charms flickering and failing as the presence grew stronger. It was right on top of me, beside me, all around me … I could feel it. I had to fight to shape a defensive spell in my mind. My thoughts were spinning out of control. The room was dark and light and dark and light and …
Panic ran through me. I bit my lip, hard enough to draw blood, the pain shooting through my body and banishing the paralysis. I mustered a spell, powerful enough to do real harm to a grown adult, and threw back the covers. The darkness seemed too dark, as if something was lurking within the shadows. I snapped my fingers at the lantern, half-expecting the spell to fail. But the lantern came to life, revealing … nothing. The room was empty.
I leaned forward, a spell flickering on my fingertips. The presence was gone, as if it had never been. My forehead prickled with cold sweat. Outside, I could see lightning flashing through the clouds, followed by rolling thunder that sounded oddly muffled. Had I imagined it? I reached out, very carefully, to touch the wards. They didn’t seem active. Uncle Ira had made sure I could sleep in the room without the wards deciding I was a thief. They certainly didn’t seem to be malfunctioning.
My body was still shaking. It was cold, very cold. I cast another pair of heating charms, one on the duvet and one on my nightdress, then lay back in the bed and waited. Something was going to happen. I was sure of it, although I couldn’t have put the reason into words. A prickling in the air, perhaps, or a sense that defied comprehension. I closed my eyes …
… I must have fallen asleep, somehow, because the next thing I knew was sunlight streaming through the windows and birds singing merrily outside. I sat upright, unsure if I’d been dreaming or not. It hadn’t felt like a dream, had it? And yet, in the bright daylight, it was hard to believe that it had been real. I was more concerned with Uncle Ira’s refusal to let me leave the grounds than presences in the night.
It’s an old building, I told myself as I washed and changed into a shirt and trousers. I didn’t bother to do my hair. The wards really might be flickering out of control.
I scowled at the thought. Uncle Ira had warned me about ghosts, which meant … I didn’t know what it meant. There was definitely something weird about Kirkhaven Hall. But then, it really was an old building, one that had been infused with magic for centuries. And no one had bothered to maintain it either. Uncle Ira had admitted as much. Dismantling and replacing the wards might be impossible.
They’re probably based on a hidden Object of Power, I thought. Jude’s wards had certainly been dependent on an Object of Power that had been forged back in the days of the Thousand-Year Empire. No doubt Cat had forged a replacement by now, building a legend while I was stuck in exile. The surge of bitterness surprised me. She’ll be fine until someone kidnaps her again.
I pushed the thought aside as I walked out of the door and sneaked down to the kitchen. The hall was very - very - quiet, but I knew that was meaningless. Morag and Uncle Ira could be anywhere. But the kitchens were dark and cold when I walked in, so neat and tidy that I almost wondered if I’d been left completely alone. I fixed myself a roughly-cut jam sandwich, heated myself water for tea and tried to decide what to do.
It’s sunny outside, I told myself, firmly. I should at least take a look at the wards guarding the gates. If I managed to get a sense of how they went together, I might be able to match the designs to something in a spellbook and work out how to bring them down. I was already inside the wards, after all. I should at least try to work out if I can leave without Uncle Ira’s permission.
I half-expected Morag to show up while I was pouring and drinking tea, but there was no sign of her. The clock insisted that it was around seven in the morning, a time when most servants would probably have been up for several hours already. Morag wasn’t a servant, I reminded myself sharply. She probably fixed her own breakfast whenever she actually wanted it. I wondered, absently, why she fed Uncle Ira if she wasn’t a servant, then decided it was probably a bad idea to ask her. Perhaps they were more closely related than I’d assumed. Ira was certainly old enough to be Morag’s father or even her grandfather.
Definitely a bad idea to ask her, I thought, as I washed my plate in the sink. I’d found a family tree in the library, but it hadn’t been one of the charmed parchments that automatically updated itself when someone was born or married into the family. The last entry was dated over three hundred years ago. She might have gone into exile with him.
I didn’t feel like going to the potions lab, not when I suspected that there was no point in tryin
g to earn a handful of qualifications. Instead, I walked to the door and stepped out of the hall. The air felt fresh and clear, surprisingly warm for the highlands; I took a long breath, savouring the smell of wet grass and trees, then grabbed a coat and closed the door behind me. I didn’t think either Morag or Uncle Ira would care enough to check on me. It was an oddly frustrating thought. There was no thrill in rebellion if no one bothered to notice that one was being rebellious.
Not that I ever really was, I thought, crossly. I’d thought of myself as daring, but … I hadn’t really dared anything. Save, perhaps, for when I’d challenged Cat … and then, I’d thought I had the advantage. The only time I really went against the family was when I betrayed them and even then, I thought I was doing the right thing.
I gritted my teeth as I walked down the driveway. The sun was shining brightly, odd rays of light pulsing through the trees; water dripped down from the leaves and branches, glinting brightly as they fell to the ground. I felt almost at ease, even though I knew it was an illusion. I had the run of the grounds, perhaps, but I couldn’t go any further. I wondered, sourly, if anyone would notice if I moved into the gatekeeper’s cottage. Morag probably would be relieved she didn’t have to pretend to care any longer.
The gates themselves were wrought iron, covered in carved runes and invocations I hadn’t seen outside a couple of old books. I couldn’t help thinking that, unlike the rest of the estate, they were in very good condition. They looked odd placed against the stone wall, as if they’d been taken from another hall and installed here. It was possible they had. Father might not like to admit it, but my family had lost a great deal of money and status over the last few centuries and we’d only recently regained what we’d lost. And then I’d made it worse …
I put the thought aside and concentrated on studying the gates. Magic curled around the metal, keeping the gates firmly shut. The wards were strong, a dozen different spells humming around the lock alone. Oddly, they were designed to be hard to open from the inside as well as the outside. Uncle Ira clearly wanted to keep me inside. Or, perhaps, someone wanted to keep him inside. Was Morag his gaoler? It didn’t seem likely.
There might be someone else around, I thought, as I tried to focus on a single spell. The hall is certainly large enough to hide a dozen people from me.
I scowled as I probed the wards as thoroughly as I dared. They weren’t unbreakable, I was sure, yet they were well beyond me. Cat would probably devise an Object of Power that could smash the gates to powder and Akin might be able to use a forged Device of Power to weaken the wards, but I couldn’t do either. A handful of options ran through my head, yet almost all of them would expose me to the wards if something went wrong. There was no hope of breaking out unless I managed to figure out - and then cast - a very precise counterspell.
Useless, I thought, feeling another surge of despondency as I checked the walls. There’s no way out.
I turned and started to wander aimlessly towards the stables. Perhaps I could talk Uncle Ira into buying me a horse. Or … I did have the necklace, after all. I could try to sell it and purchase a horse for myself. But I didn’t know if there were any horse farms nearby. I certainly wasn’t going to purchase a horse sight unseen. Aunt Cecelia would have been horrified if I didn’t inspect the beast for myself before putting any money on the table. A horse-faker knew plenty of ways to trick unwary buyers into purchasing a lame animal.
It wasn’t likely, I knew, but it was a pleasant fantasy to occupy my mind as I walked into the stables. Water was dripping from the roofs, pouring into the stalls … I dreaded to think what Aunt Cecelia would say if she heard I was planning to keep a horse in such a place. The old bat was more interested in horses than people. I’d once heard her threaten to horsewhip Akin for not mucking the stables out properly when we’d stayed on her estate. I hadn’t thought she was joking.
I’d have to fix the roof first, I thought, as I looked into the nearest stable. It was perhaps the best of the lot, although that wasn’t saying much. Someone had removed the wooden stalls, probably for firewood; I’d have to replace them too, if I wanted to keep a live animal in the chamber. I didn’t think I could make them for myself in the workshop. And then I’d have to get food and riding equipment and …
I stopped, dead, as an icy sensation ran down my spine. I was being watched. I could feel it.
Again.
Chapter Twelve
I stayed very still, carefully feeling the area using my magic. There was nothing beyond a few stray flickers of magic from the forest, but I was sure I was being watched. The certainty was so strong that I was convinced the unseen watcher was far too close for comfort. I found myself eyeing the muddy puddles, watching for signs that someone was hidden under an invisibility cloak or obscurification spell. Father had taught me what to watch for, years ago. There weren’t that many invisibility cloaks that concealed everything.
And they’re all Objects of Power, I thought, as I listened carefully for hints that someone was close to me. They wouldn’t be kept up here, would they?
I closed my eyes for a long moment, reaching out again. The sense of being watched was fading, slowly, but I was morbidly sure that I wasn’t alone. A faint noise, a scraping sound, echoed from one of the stables. I leaned forward, thinking hard. Someone was in there, someone was in there watching me … it couldn’t be anyone I knew. Morag or Uncle Ira wouldn’t have needed to hide. I forced myself to recall the layout as I inched forward, moving as quietly as possible. As long as I was in the courtyard, no one could get past me without being seen, but if I walked into the stable the mystery watcher could scramble into the next stable, run through the courtyard and vanish into the forest. I wondered, just for a moment, if I was imagining it, then I heard another shuffling noise. Someone was definitely there.
Time to change the game, I thought, shaping a spell in my mind. It wasn’t a very good spell, and any halfway decent magician could counter it effortlessly, but it should win me a few seconds. And …
I pointed my finger at the open door and cast the spell. There was a flash of bright green light. The shuffling sound cut off abruptly. I shaped another spell and ran forward, half-expecting to crash into someone running out of the stable. Instead, I entered the darkened building and looked around. A young man was standing by a hole in the wall, frozen by magic. He looked to have been caught completely by surprise.
Odd, I thought. The omnidirectional freeze spell was easy to counter, even for a magician with only a few months of training. He didn’t manage to break the spell?
I stared at him for a long moment. He was about a head taller than me, his brown hair cut close to his scalp. I thought he was a year or two older than me, although it was impossible to be sure. His clothes were patched in a dozen places, marking him as a commoner, yet his hands were surprisingly unscarred. The commoners I’d met at Jude’s had all had scarred hands from years of menial work. This commoner wasn’t as scarred as he should be.
The spell broke. He stumbled forward, one hand raised as if he expected a blow. His breath came in ragged gasps. I hastily cast a second spell, freezing his feet to the ground. It would allow him to talk without permitting him a chance to escape. Not, I supposed, that I had any idea what to do with him. Technically, I thought I should turn him into something harmless and take him to Morag, but … I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t think he was a threat.
“I …” He gasped and started again. “How did you do that?”
“Magic,” I said. His accent was rustic, rather like Rose’s. I wondered, suddenly, if whatever dingy village Rose had come from was nearby. Rose had lost the accent fairly quickly, when she’d realised it marked her out for trouble, but this boy clearly hadn’t bothered. “How did you get into the grounds?”
He smiled at me, rather wanly. “Magic.”
I felt a flash of irritation, mingled with amusement. He was a commoner, but … I didn’t get any sense of threat off him. He’d been watching me - I wondered
if he’d been the one watching me the last time I’d visited the stables - yet I didn’t think he was dangerous. I kept a wary eye on him anyway, just in case. The spell I’d used to fix his feet to the ground was easy to counter.
“I’m Isabella,” I said. I was wryly aware I probably shouldn’t be talking to him, a commoner and a boy, but I was desperate for someone to talk to. “And you are?”
He looked hesitant, just for a second. “Callam,” he said, finally. He didn’t try to shake my hand, which suggested he knew some manners. “I am pleased to meet you, Lady Isabella.”
I felt an unaccustomed warmth in my chest, a sensation that faded rapidly when I realised my hair was down. Mother would have been shocked if she’d seen me and the Grande Dames would have had a collective fit of the vapours. I couldn’t have shocked them more if I’d walked around unclothed. Flushing, I hastily tied my hair into a rough braid and prayed to all my ancestors that Mother - or Morag - never found out. They’d be furious.
“A pleasure to meet you too,” I said, all too aware that I was making an ass of myself. “What … what are you doing here?”
Callam met my eyes. “The grounds are fun to explore,” he said. I thought he was telling the truth, but not the whole truth. “I didn’t know about you.”
I winced. That stung, although I knew it wasn’t his fault. Everyone who was anyone was supposed to know about me. I hadn’t even thought about it. I’d simply assumed that everyone within a hundred miles knew I’d been sent to Kirkhaven Hall. A girl being fostered - and I was, to all intents and purposes - would have kept the gossips wittering for months. I might discover - if I stayed long enough to be declared an adult - that the local gentry was interested in having their sons walk out with me.
The Family Shame Page 11