His tongue is gentle at first, then more demanding, urging the desire inside me to take over. His hand moves from my arm down the side of my breasts, and still lower, until he is stroking my bare thigh. He returns his attention to my breasts, cupping them before teasing the nipples until they ache for more of his touch. His hand skims lower, and I whimper into his mouth.
“Say the word and I’ll stop,” he says, his fingers stroking just below my navel.
“Please,” I say, my breaths coming faster.
“Please stop?”
I shake my head. “Please don’t stop.”
His hand moves lower, and I cry out before his mouth descends on mine again.
TWENTY-ONE
I awake to the morning sun’s weak rays peeking over the tops of the trees. As soon as the previous night’s memories come rushing back to me, I smile and cover my face with a pillow. Never before have I experienced such pleasure, but it’s almost bittersweet. Now that I have been so intimate with him, I cannot imagine losing him. I roll over fitfully, and a glowing light catches my eye. My mother’s journal.
I pick up the book gently, my hand shaky on the soft leather. Every other time, her words were predictions. What would she say now? I almost cannot bear to look. Especially since Lord Thornewood’s declaration is so fresh and with no official proposal.
I let the book fall open.
My dearest Katherine,
I thought long and hard over what my greatest piece of advice would be to you on matters of love. I was so lucky to have found your father. It was so easy for us—so effortless. But even at the tender age of five years old, you always resisted the idea of marriage. I am sorry this world’s society expects it of you. I can only hope love finds you first. We are often the only things standing in our own way, especially in our beliefs. Sometimes the thing our head is telling us is a lie, but our heart knows the truth. I know you find that silly, but we are largely ruled by emotions. Think of your love for music, and I know you will find it difficult to argue.
The man who will be your husband should be like the most beautiful piece of music: complex, provocative, but makes your heart soar.
This man should also be one who knows how to protect you from yourself. With our gifts, we are often faced with difficult choices. I was in such a position, and I am at peace with my choice. Your father, however, is not.
When I became ill, it was because I used arcana beyond my abilities. My sweet, innocent Lucy was born with a disease I knew would ultimately take her life. The physicians, of course, could do nothing. But I could. Much like resurrection arcana, I removed the hateful disease from her body. It came at a cost, as all arcana does, and I am so terribly sorry it took me from the rest of you. Though Lucy still has headaches, she will never have to fear death will come too soon.
The future will present you with hard decisions, Katherine.
Trust yourself. I always have.
Love,
Mama
Our mother sacrificed herself for Lucy. This, then, must be the vision her earlier journal entry referred to. I roll the thought around in my mind for a moment, my chest tight. Papa must have known the truth. How tortured he must have been to know his wife was slowly dying to save their child. Tears sting my eyes as I think of all the times she treated Lucy’s headaches. I only ever knew Mama was sick, never the cause. I think of the power I loosed to save Robert, and I know my mother did the right thing. Still, I cannot contain the sob wrenched from deep inside me.
Lucy can never know the truth. She would never survive the guilt, of this I’m certain. I clutch the journal to my chest as tears roll down my cheeks.
If I am ever faced with giving my life for one of my siblings, I will do it without hesitation. Even knowing the truth about my mother. From the beginning of her letter, she must hope there is someone who can protect me from my own recklessness. “Yes, but what will he say when he knows the truth?” I whisper to the pages. How can love exist when one person has such a terrible secret?
I lie in bed with the intention of only sleeping until Devi comes to fetch me for breakfast, but she must have had pity on me because the sun is much higher when I wake again. I’m groggy without a full night’s rest, but I force myself out of bed and ring for Devi.
“There’s a nip in the air, so I think you’ll be most comfortable in the wool riding habit,” Devi says as she helps me dress quickly.
While she does my hair, I eat a small meal of biscuits and tea. “Am I terribly late?” I ask.
“No, my lady. You’ll be right on time as breakfast ended not long ago. The other guests are preparing to join Lord Thornewood and Lord James outside.”
A soft knock at the door, and then Lucy calls out, “Katherine? May I come in?”
“Yes, do,” I say.
She knits her brows. “Are you alright? You never came down for breakfast.”
“I’m well. I’m sorry to have worried you.” I smile when she looks unconvinced. “I only overslept. I had trouble falling asleep last night—probably from the excitement of the evening.” Not a lie, just not the whole truth. I itch to tell her, but I cannot say anything in front of Devi.
Her face relaxes into a smile. “That’s a relief, but it’s unfortunate you didn’t get enough rest. I don’t blame you, though—the ball was wonderful.”
“It was, and I suppose this scavenger hunt of Lord James’s will be fun as well. Did he mention anything about it?”
She shakes her head. “Only for us to meet him by the stables. Evidently we can either ride or go on foot—whichever we’re more comfortable with.”
“I suppose that’s in a misguided attempt to include our grandmother and Lady Hasting.”
She giggles. “They would never do something so free-spirited.”
“All done, my lady,” Devi says. “Do you need anything else?”
“Thank you, Devi. No.”
She smiles and bobs a curtsy before exiting the room.
Lucy loops her arm through mine. “Shall we go?”
I look down at her smiling face, and I almost tell her. Something stops me though. Maybe it’s because it hardly feels real.
I nod. “Yes, let’s.”
There will always be time to tell her later.
Everyone save my grandmother and Lady Hasting are outside the stables when Lucy and I join them. Lord Thornewood catches my eye, and I smile at him and lift a hand in greeting. I let my breath out in a rush when he returns my smile. I must have been anxious for his reaction without realizing it.
Lord James moves among the small crowd, handing out pieces of parchment. “On these pieces of paper is written a list of items. You are to find these items before anyone else, and in so doing, win the prize.”
“Ribbon? A bird’s egg?” Lady Alford, one of the guests who arrived yesterday, says with a frown. “However are we to find such small things on all this land?”
James grins. “You didn’t expect this to be easy, did you?”
“What’s the prize?” Lord Brashier asks.
James sighs loudly; but from his wide grin, I can tell he’s enjoying every second of this. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” several of the other guests say.
“If you insist.” He clears his throat and speaks in a loud voice. “The grand prize shall be: a trip to Bath in Lord Thornewood’s own motorcar and a stay at his luxurious home there.”
I hear appreciative murmurs from those around me, and I must say, I join them in thinking this is a lovely prize. I’ve never been to Bath. I glance over at Lord Thornewood and wonder with a secret smile if he is also included in the package.
“You will each have a partner, so that should make it easier to find these things,” James continues.
“Can we choose our partner?” Eliza asks. When James nods, she continues with a calculating smile, “then I choose Lord Thornewood.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lord James says. “I forgot to mention all teams must be same-sex. Also,
my brother will not be able to participate as he has an unfair advantage.”
Her face falls comically, but before I can revel in her disappointment, Lord James calls out with a mischievous grin, “But I’m sure the elder Miss Sinclair would make a superb partner.”
I open and close my mouth a few times. Lord Thornewood glares at his brother, whispering to him in what I’m sure are harsh words. Lord James has clearly decided to stir up as much strife as he can. Worse, neither of us can refuse without seeming abominably rude.
I smile as if I don’t mind when she takes her place beside me. Penelope and Lucy choose each other as partners, casting me sympathetic glances as they read over the list.
We are able to choose our mounts, and Eliza makes the mistake of choosing the same feisty mare Lord Thornewood brought for me to ride all those weeks ago. I go with a calm, bright-eyed gray gelding. I’m in no mood to manage both a temperamental horse and Eliza.
The air buzzes with excited chatter, but Eliza and I are quiet. She shoots me a glare. “You could have at least worn a different color.”
I look down at my black riding habit. Eliza is wearing a nearly identical outfit. I roll my eyes. “As if I can help it.”
She makes an irritating huffing sound and yanks the reins of her poor horse. “Let’s get this over with then.”
“Good luck, everyone,” James calls. Everyone else rides away with bright expressions, happy banter in their wake.
I follow Eliza silently, letting her take the lead as she canters away toward the lake. The gelding has a smooth gait, and I try my best to enjoy it. When we arrive, my eyes scan the list of items: ribbon, bird’s egg, honey, statue, ball, fishing net, peony, and gloves.
“What do you expect to find here?” I ask. “I know where we can find the peonies, but none of the others.”
“A fishing net would be used in water,” she answers in a biting tone. “Do you see water anywhere else?”
I don’t deign to answer her, just watch with a bored expression on my face as she dismounts and searches the water’s edge. After a few moments of pushing aside tall vegetation, she snaps, “You could assist me you know.”
“Very well,” I say and dismount. I examine the shore line, searching for anything that resembles a net. Then I notice the narrow wooden pier. A sign with a pile of nets sits at the very end. My boots make hollow sounds as I walk over to the nets and retrieve one from the top of the pile.
I dangle the net from one hand and smirk. “I suppose this won’t be so hard after all.”
Eliza marches over and snatches it from me. “Only because I determined where to go in the first place.”
I grit my teeth. “Shall we go to the garden next?”
She doesn’t answer at first, just glances in the direction of the copse of trees behind the lake. In the distance, I see Lord Thornewood and his brother, talking and laughing in the shade. “No,” she says, “I believe we’ll search for the bird’s egg next.”
“The peony would be easier,” I say.
She waves her hand in the air flippantly and mounts her horse. “Do as you wish.”
I would like nothing more than to go my separate way, but I know if I do, she’ll seek the attention of Lord Thornewood. An ugly streak of jealousy twists inside me. “I’d rather help you,” I say sweetly.
She shoots me a nasty look and mutters something under her breath.
We ride around the lake, Eliza sawing on the horse’s bit. I grit my teeth as Eliza delivers another pointless smack with her riding crop to the mare’s side. It reminds me of when I was younger and got in a terrible row with Robert. He took my favorite doll and hid it from me, and we ended up in a wrestling match. When I went riding with Mama later, I was still sore at my brother for not only taking my doll, but beating me at wrestling. I pouted the entire time, and my pony responded by being as stubborn as a donkey. I never stooped to treating him badly as Eliza is now, but it was one of the only times I saw my mother angry. She told me that my pony could feel every bad emotion I was feeling, but unlike me, he could do nothing about it. Save throw me off. Which is probably exactly what Eliza’s mount would like to do.
I watch the mare’s tail swish angrily back and forth. She prances in place as a warning, but Eliza only gives her another smack with the crop.
My stomach twists in response. Even from a few feet away, I can sense the mare is only moments away from her breaking point. I open my mouth to say something to Eliza just as the mare tosses her head. Eliza jerks hard on the reins; but when the mare tosses her head again, she wrenches the reins out of Eliza’s hands. Eliza makes a dive for the fallen reins, nearly unseating herself in the process.
Spooked by Eliza’s sudden movement, the mare takes off as though baying hounds chase her. I suck in my breath as Eliza pitches forward and clings to the horse’s neck. She has absolutely no control of her now.
There is a horrible moment where I shame myself by thinking: this is only what she deserves. But then Eliza’s scream carries back to me on the wind.
Her panicked horse heads straight for the woods—no doubt the fastest way back to the stables and, therefore, safety—but also full of thick oak trees and thorny underbrush. Galloping through the woods can be dangerous even for a skilled rider, but for a rider who has lost all control, it’s practically a guaranteed way to get one’s neck broken.
I may hate Eliza, but that does not mean I would see her dead.
I urge my horse into a gallop after them until we reach the entrance to the woods. I cannot risk my horse getting tangled in the underbrush, so I jump from his back and race ahead on foot.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see Lord Thornewood and Lord James in a flurry of activity, but my focus is on the runaway horse and rider.
Branches and thorns tear at my face and clothing. I leap over fallen logs and debris, following the sound of thrashing hooves and fearful screams.
I reach them just as the mare tosses Eliza from her back. Eliza flies through the air, her arms flailing uselessly. With a crash, she lands in a heap in the hedges. The horse is blowing hard, her eyes wide. I take hold of her reins and put my hand on her nose, and she drops her head and relaxes her body.
“Eliza?” I call, and she answers me with a strangled sob.
I lean down to help her to her feet, and that’s when I see the blood spread from a wound in her side. With a shaky hand, I pull her cloak away to reveal a sharp branch protruding from her chest. Blood bubbles from her lips, and I realize it has punctured her lung.
TWENTY-TWO
“HELP me,” Eliza says, nearly choking on her own words. Her eyes are wide with panic. “Please.”
I can fix this. Lord knows she doesn’t deserve it, but I cannot leave her here to die when I possess the power to heal her. I have only seconds to make up my mind. The cost will be high for me—this arcana is akin to stealing her from the jaws of death. I think of the little kitten in the stables and of Henry’s devastating revulsion afterward. I think of my mother. In truth, I’m not sure I’m strong enough.
“Please,” she says again, her lips red with blood.
But I have to try.
I crouch beside her and close my eyes, calling my power to me. Channeling this much energy has a different pull on my body than my normal arcana. The tug inside me is painful, and I suck in my breath. I grip the branch in both hands and take a deep breath.
I meet her eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say and pull.
Eliza’s scream of agony reverberates through me.
The branch comes free, bringing a torrent of blood with it, and I immediately switch to healing arcana. I hold both palms over her battered body. A breeze tickles my neck, and my palms begin to glow with a bright, golden light. The light churns around us, humming with ancient power. The smell of rich earth permeates the air. The smell of healing.
The dappled sunlight fuels some of the energy but the majority comes from my own stores. The effects are near instant. I can feel my own life flowing into h
er, bleeding out of me like a mortal wound.
“Katherine,” a voice calls—panicked, insistent. “Katherine, where are you? Answer me!”
It’s Lord Thornewood’s voice, but I cannot stop now. Eliza is bathed in the light, and her body is slowly mending itself. I watch her muscles knit back together as the blood finally slows to a trickle.
“Katherine, thank God. I thought—”
This time, the voice is right behind me. I don’t even turn around. What’s done is done. Though I only halfway believe it.
My heartbeat weakens, flutters. Sweat pours down my face as a terrible pain radiates out from my chest. Tingles of numbness run down my arm. My heart is failing me.
From behind one of the towering trees, a snowy white fox appears. Its gaze pierces mine in the same way it did when I first saw it in my vision. Images of my mother gently scolding me the day I brought the kitten back to life fill my mind.
“Resurrection arcana has too great a price,” she said, her gaze meeting mine as intensely as the fox does now. “You must never attempt it again.”
The fox takes another small step forward. Let go, it says in my mind.
I cut the flow of power as one would snip a loose thread.
Another moment, another heartbeat, and Eliza sits up, her hand on her newly healed side. Eliza’s eyes are wide as she stares at me. “You healed me,” she says, her voice filled with incredulity.
I glance at Lord Thornewood, but he stands motionlessly. My eyes swing back to Eliza’s. “Yes,” I say. Where her face should be, I see only black spots. I’m so cold, as though my body no longer has the strength to produce any heat. Eliza’s chest is heaving. I’m still connected to her, so I know fear drives her rapid breathing. I should be terrified of her reaction. I should be feeling so many things, but I feel nothing. I am numb.
“How is this possible?” she asks, probing the spot in her side that was once a gaping wound.
As her question seems to be more rhetorical than anything, I concentrate on staying conscious. My body begs me to lie down, to give in to the dark edges of my vision.
Arcana Page 22