Arcana

by Jessica Leake

  Eliza’s wide, panic-stricken eyes finally take in Lord Thornewood. Like a flash of lightning, her demeanor changes. “Lord Thornewood, you must help me. She did something to me.” Her voice is desperate, insistent.

  “I only healed you, Eliza.” My voice sounds like I’ve aged sixty years.

  “Only? Only? I knew there was something wrong with you! What are you?” she asks as she scrambles to her feet.

  “I’m a girl, just as you are.”

  “You’re not. I knew those outrageous rumors were true.” She turns back to Lord Thornewood, her whole body shaking. “I’ll tell you what she is. She’s a witch,” she says, her voice as accusatory as Henry’s.

  But rather than appear fearful, her eyes have a glint in them, as though this may be the very thing she has hoped for all along: that I will have made such a disastrous mistake all of society will shun me. Before Lord Thornewood can even respond, she races away. A line from my mother’s letter pops into my mind: There is no greater scandal than the one fueled by fear.

  Lord Thornewood steps forward and places a warm hand on my shoulder. I look up into his dark eyes and see concern swirling in their depths—concern, and something else. Determination?

  “You are uninjured?” he says, and his voice sounds hoarse. His eyes sweep over my person.

  “I am well enough,” I say weakly.

  He helps me stand. I sway on my feet, and then I see nothing at all.

  I awake to disembodied voices just outside my room.

  “Her heartbeat seemed stronger this time?” Lord Thornewood asks, his voice strained.

  “Absolutely, my lord,” another man answers. “You should get some rest yourself. Miss Sinclair will fully recover.”

  “I’ll rest when she wakes up and tells me herself she’s better.” The sound of booted heels on marble ring out and then soften as they approach the bed where I lie.

  I try to force my eyes open, but they feel weighted. After a moment, Lord Thornewood sighs and moves away. I hear him settle into a nearby chair, and I relax. I’m having trouble remembering exactly what happened and where I am, but I’m sure it’ll come to me—probably much too soon.

  At last, I manage to get one eye open. A view of the lake at Thornewood greets me. A fire crackles in the marble fireplace to the left of the bed. Blankets are piled all around me, and as I concentrate on other areas of my body, I find the mattress is exceptionally plush.

  In a rush, my mind reminds me of how I came to be here. I nearly drained myself healing Eliza. Worse, I remember Lord Thornewood discovering us. I writhe my head around in the agony of the memory.

  “You’re awake,” Lord Thornewood practically shouts as he comes immediately to my side. “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”

  “Yes,” I say, my voice sounding dusty from disuse. “A glass of water, please?”

  He pours a glass from a crystal decanter at my bedside. The glass tremors slightly when he hands it to me.

  I meet his intense stare. “I’m so sorry to have worried you.”

  He shakes his head. “Think nothing of it. I’m just glad you’re awake.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Two days,” he says, deep frown lines etched into his forehead and the sides of his mouth.

  I let my breath out in a rush. Two days. I’ve never been unconscious for so long. This, then, is the price I paid for practicing arcana I didn’t have the strength for. I think of the snowy white fox. Did it stop me before I drained all my energy? Or was it only a hallucination of someone close to death?

  “Oh,” I say and try to sit up, “my sister—she must be so worried about me.”

  He lays a hand on my shoulder, gently restraining me. “Don’t strain yourself. Your sister has been here and only just left. I insisted she get some rest.”

  I relax against the pillows. “That was good of you.” He continues to watch me, his expression tense. Now my most pressing concern is addressed, a feeling of unease settles over me. Just how much did Lord Thornewood see? What conclusions has he come to? Does he think I am a witch?

  He must realize the change in mood because he clears his throat. “That day . . . I was witness to so much, and yet I still question what it was I saw. Eliza was injured, perhaps gravely so, but you . . . healed her. Is this the truth of it?”

  The weight of his question feels like an elephant sits upon my chest. I don’t know what to say, so I go with the truth. “Yes.”

  He raises his eyebrows like he’s surprised I admitted this. “And then what happened?”

  “I lost consciousness.” There—the easiest fact first.

  “That’s one thing I was sure of. But what caused you to faint?”

  “What I did to Eliza.”

  “Have you always been this good at interrogations?” he asks, the corner of his mouth tipping up slightly.

  I move my gaze to the ceiling. “In healing Eliza, I used too much of my own energy and nearly stopped my heart.”

  “Good God, Katherine. Why would you risk such a thing?”

  “Would you rather I left her to die?”

  He opens his mouth, shuts it again. “No, I—no, of course not.” His hand is warm on mine, his eyes intense. “But neither would I want you to die in her place.”

  “I’ve been given the power to heal, so I had to help her.”

  He’s quiet for so long I risk a glance at his face. The frown lines are back. The tension in the air mounts and fear of his poor opinion of me causes my stomach to churn. “And what Eliza said—is that true, too?”

  “No, I’m not a witch.”

  He waits again, obviously wanting me to tell him without prompting. It’s my most guarded secret, though, and I have no experience with explaining it to other people. Curiosity must win out because he says, “But you’re not human?”

  “Yes, I’m human,” I snap, prickly and insulted despite myself. “Mostly. Well, half. My father is. My mother is—was—Sylvan.”

  “Sylvan,” he repeats as if testing the word. “And this allows you to . . . heal other people?”

  “Among other things,” I say wearily. “We derive our power from the sun.”

  My hand is shaking as I pull up the covers higher. My eyes grow heavy again, and I blink slowly.

  “Forgive me,” he murmurs. “I’ve pushed you too hard and you’re not yet recovered. Are you hungry, should I send for one of the servants?”

  “No, I just need to rest. Forgive me,” I whisper.

  Everything goes black again.

  TWENTY-THREE

  WHEN I wake again, the sun has set, and the fire casts long shadows on the wall. I turn toward the chair Lord Thornewood occupied earlier. My sister is there instead, engrossed in sewing a floral needlepoint. Guilt eats at me when I see the shadows beneath her eyes. Even the way she sits is tired, with her shoulders hunched forward.

  She must sense me watching her because she looks up and widens her eyes. “Wren,” she cries, tossing her needlepoint to the side, “are you feeling better?”

  “I am, actually.” Upon careful inspection, the terrible weakness I struggled with for the past few days has dissipated.

  I push myself into a sitting position, and Lucy throws her arms around my neck. “Oh, I’m so relieved,” she says with a watery smile. “You must be terribly hungry. Would you like for me to call for something to eat?”

  “That would be divine. Some tea as well—if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Not at all, let me just ring for one of the servants.” She pulls the velvet rope hidden on the other side of my end table. She gestures to the space next to me in the big bed and asks in a small voice, “May I join you?”

  I pull the covers back to make room for her. She smiles at me just as she used to do when she was little and sought comfort from a nightmare. Her slim arms wrap around me as she snuggles close. “I was so frightened for you,” she says.

  I rest my chin on the top of her head. “I’m sorry to have worrie
d you. I’m much improved, though, I promise.”

  “I have so many questions. Lord Thornewood has refused to tell us anything other than you had a terrible fall while riding. But I know that can’t be true.”

  “No, it’s not the truth. But it was very clever of him to say so.”

  “Does it have to do with Eliza?”

  The pit of my stomach feels like a gaping hole. I pull back, and she turns around to look at me. “How do you know she was involved? What have you heard?”

  Lucy chews her bottom lip, something she only does when she’d rather not tell me. I stare at her until she gives in. “After we all discovered you had been hurt and returned to the house,” she says in a quiet voice, “Eliza was there, ranting you’d done something to her.”

  “And?”

  “She said you used witchcraft. But no one believed her,” she hastens to add.

  I fall back against the pillow, tears stinging my eyes. “I am ruined.”

  Lucy touches my arm. “Don’t say that. Lord Thornewood told everyone she’d also suffered a bad fall and was confused.”

  “He’ll never marry me now,” I whisper.

  “Marry you? What do you mean?”

  I tell her everything. From the night he saved me from Lord Blackburn, the stolen kiss, the declaration, and finally, what really happened with Eliza.

  Lucy shakes her head. “Even so, Lord Thornewood cares for you—I know it. He was the one who sat by your side when we first thought . . .” she trails off and wraps her arms around herself.

  “You thought I wouldn’t wake up?” I ask gently.

  She nods and dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. “He never gave up hope, and he has the best doctor attending you. He even carried you out to rest on a lounge chair in the sun—against the doctor’s orders, of course—just because I asked him to.”

  I wince as I think of him carrying my unconscious form. What must he have thought? “Yes, but where is he now?”

  She avoids my look for a moment. “He said he had urgent business in London. But he waited until we were sure you were better!”

  I smile sadly. No doubt he has fled just as Henry did long ago. “In any case, I appreciate the care he’s given me.”

  “He did so because he loves you. You must see that.”

  “The only thing I see is an honorable man who took care of a house guest when she needed it.”

  One of the servants arrives with our tea and my late supper, but she quickly leaves as if sensing the tension in the room. Lucy returns to her chair by the fire, and I eat my food mechanically, the clink of metal on china loud in the quiet room.

  Another knock on the door causes us both to startle, and I spill a drop of amber tea on the pale sheets. I watch it soak in, unable and unwilling to look up.

  “Yes, come in,” Lucy says.

  The same maid returns, her expression reluctant. “Forgive me for intruding, but Miss Lucy, your grandmother is asking for you.”

  Lucy puts her tea cup down on my side table and squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I nod, swallowing the last bit of food. I can’t even say what it was I just ate.

  Lucy follows the maid out and closes the door with a firm click. I put my tray to the side and get shakily to my feet. Mama’s journal is hidden in my trunk.

  After retrieving it, I clasp it to my chest. “Please, Mama,” I whisper.

  I open the journal.

  I stare until my eyes burn. The words never appear.

  Does my own mother judge me for what I did? For using forbidden arcana? For outing myself to all of society? I sway on my feet. The weakness assailing my limbs makes me feel as though I am walking underwater. I return to bed and curl my body around the journal as if it can bring me the same comfort I would get from my mother. A sob escapes, and I press my fist to my mouth. But it isn’t until I think of everything I’ve probably lost that the tears start to flow in earnest.

  Because losing Lord Thornewood would be far more devastating than losing Henry was.

  I haven’t cried myself to sleep since my mother died. My eyes are puffy and difficult to open, gritty as they are from salty tears.

  A sharp knock rings out, and I force myself to sit up, sweeping tangled hair from my face. “Come in,” I say.

  Grandmama marches in, her gaze direct. “Good. You’re awake. I understand from Lucy you are feeling much better.”

  “I am.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before Eliza reveals to everyone what really happened.” Her lip curls in disgust. “Now you’ve shown your true nature.”

  I lower my eyes to the sheets.

  “You’ve ruined everything—just as I thought you would. I only pray I can salvage what’s left of your reputation for Lucy’s sake.” Her words tear into me, and I wrap my arms around myself. “We shall not trespass on Lord Thornewood’s hospitality any longer. Once you are dressed, we will return to London posthaste.”

  I flounder for an excuse, my mouth opening and closing several times. Then I realize I shouldn’t bother. Lord Thornewood is no longer here, and I have no further claim to a room in his lovely estate. I probably never will again.

  “Yes, I think that’s best,” I tell Grandmama. Her eyebrows lift slightly at my acquiescence, but she recovers quickly enough.

  “I’ll notify Devi you will need assistance getting dressed.”

  “Could you also ask her to prepare a bath?”

  “Very well, but be quick about it. Lord Thornewood is not the only one who has business to attend to in London.” She leaves without another word—not that I expected any concern. Not from her.

  London greets us with cacophonous noise, dirty streets, and dreary rain. It matches my mood beautifully, though, so I cannot bring myself to be cross with it. The rain is cold as we walk up the few stairs to Grandmama’s townhome.

  “I will not be joining you for tea,” Grandmama says once we’re inside. “I have much to attend to, so please excuse my absence.”

  This is all said mostly to Lucy, but I nod as well. She gives Lucy an apologetic smile, which wanes as she glances at me. I save her the potential awkwardness of being kind to me and walk away. Tea sounds like a lovely diversion. Anything to hide from the damage Eliza could be doing at this very moment.

  One of the maids has set out steaming hot tea by the time I enter the parlor, and I settle into one of the more comfortable chairs with a cup.

  “You must send him a note,” Lucy says, closing the door behind her.

  I sigh and close my eyes. She began this nagging argument before we left. Since any meaningful conversation in the carriage with Grandmama is impossible, she has probably been dying to continue it.

  I can feel her watching me as she stirs sugar and milk into her tea. The spoon clinks pleasantly against the sides of the china. “He must know you are no longer in the country. I know he’ll come to call if he has word you are here.”

  “And allow him the chance to tell me that not only is my reputation in tatters, but he could never marry someone who isn’t entirely human?” I scoff and take a sip of tea, unsuccessfully hiding the bitter poison spewing from me. “You may call me a coward if you wish, but I cannot face him at the moment.”

  Lucy paces in front of me. “Then when? You cannot remain in this horrible limbo of not knowing forever.”

  “Better that than knowing for sure I’ve lost my chance with him forever.”

  Lucy slams her tea cup down on the table. “Are you listening to yourself, Wren? It doesn’t even sound like you!”

  My eyes widen at her tone. Her cheeks are flushed with the intensity of her feeling. Immediately my self-righteous attitude deflates. A sob is struggling its way out of my throat, but I swallow it down. Tears fill my eyes anyway. “Because I love him too much to hear the truth,” I say in a tortured voice.

  Her anger disappears as quickly as it came. She wraps her arms around me. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. You’v
e been through so much.”

  I shake my head, tears still making tracks down my cheeks. “No, I needed to hear it.”

  She pulls back and stares into my eyes. “We could have a compromise. You could think on it tonight and send word to him in the morning.”

  I hesitate because, truthfully, even tomorrow is too soon. “I can agree to that.”

  “Good.” She grins. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

  Mary interrupts us with a bob of her head in apology. “Pardon me, mum, but a Miss Eliza Gray has come to call on you. Shall I . . . show her in?” she asks hesitantly when I do nothing but stare at her.

  “I suppose,” I say finally.

  “Are you sure, miss?”

  I glance at Lucy. “Yes, it’s fine. She can . . . join us for tea.”

  “Are you mad?” Lucy asks in an angry hiss as soon as the door closes behind Mary. “You should have turned her away!”

  “No, I will hear her out.” I’m sure I will only regret it, but I must know how much damage has been done.

  Mary returns with Eliza, who is dressed in a lavender striped satin gown. She looks regal in it, and I glance down at my casual white blouse and dark skirt with a frown. Already she has made me feel inadequate, and she hasn’t said a word.

  Despite her noble appearance, my sister and I still outrank her, so we keep our seats. “Hello, Eliza,” I say, and Lucy mumbles a half-hearted greeting. I hold out a hand toward the pale pink chair across from us. “Won’t you sit?”

  “I cannot stay long,” she says as if we were the ones to invite her. Her eyes sweep around the room as she sits on the very edge of the chair.

  “Tea?” I ask.

  She barely hides the upward curl of her lip. “No, thank you.”

  When she continues to look around the room, I sigh. “What brings you here? Last we spoke, you ran away screaming.”

  “I came to be sure what you did,” her emphasis on the last word is like a verbal sneer, “doesn’t have any lasting effects.”

  Lucy stiffens beside me, and I put a hand on her arm. “What I did? You mean, saving your life? Should I have left you with the branch protruding from your lung then?”