by Kaylin Lee
“When do I have to retake my final exam?”
No luck. How could I break this to her? She’d be devastated. She’d worked for so long, and those Procus rats had slammed the door in her face when she’d done nothing wrong.
Weslan stepped closer and spoke up when I couldn’t find the words. “The term is over. They … ah … won’t be offering another chance to retake the exam. All the other students retook it last week, while you were in the hospital.”
Ella collapsed in her chair. “I’ll just have to retake the year then. That’s fine. My apprenticeship can wait another year.”
I opened my mouth, but the right words wouldn’t come out. “Honey, I’m so sorry,” was all I could think to say. “So very sorry.”
“What are you talking about?” She turned to Weslan. “What is she saying? Why is she sorry?”
He told her what he’d told me that morning. “I’ve been to every higher academy in the city. There are no more scholarship places left. There’s no place for you to retake the term.”
“You’re wrong.” Ella swayed in her chair, but there was no mistaking the hardness in her voice. She was furious.
“No, Ella. I spoke to every government official and school administrator I could find. All the scholarship spots for the final grade have been filled by upcoming students from the lower grades.”
She stood quickly and immediately tipped over to one side. I held her up. “Sit down, sweetheart. You need to rest.”
“But ... I’ve worked so hard ... I don’t understand! How could they just shut me out?”
“The fact remains that they have.” How would she ever recover from this? And if she couldn’t recover, we couldn’t leave, and she’d never know an ounce of peace and safety. How I despised the Crimson Blight. The sheer impossibility of our predicament infuriated me, and my voice turned harder than it should have. “And you need to lie down and rest. You’ve been asleep for a week, Ella. You can deal with this later.”
“So that's it? I'm just not going to graduate? This is ridiculous!” Ella’s normally soft, gentle voice was sharp enough to slice through skin. “This isn't happening. I was so close to graduating. What am I going to do? I'll never be able to get a government job. I’ll never get any kind of job at all. I'll never be able to leave this stricken bakery!”
Bri and Alba gasped. For all their admiration of Ella’s love and service to us, it had probably never occurred to them that she resented her work at the bakery. She was just a girl like them, like I had been when I came to the bakery. My poor, hurt girl. She had to recover soon. I couldn’t keep doing this to her—depending on her, letting her sacrifice her dreams and her happiness to keep us safe in the bakery. I just couldn’t. But I couldn’t leave her now, either. The plan would have to wait, no matter how much it hurt. There wasn’t much I could do for her now.
I let Weslan carry her to her bedroom while I took the twins upstairs.
“Why did she say that, Mama?” Alba scooted her chair closer to me as I passed out the borrowed library books that served as their school textbooks. “She doesn’t like it here?”
Bri frowned at Alba. “You don’t like it here either, so what do you care? You’re the one who never stops talking about moving to the Mage Division.”
Alba stuck her tongue out. “I was just asking.”
“Well, I think … I think Ella is just like us, honey. She knows we can’t keep living like this. And she thought that if she got a government job, she’d be able to make more money, and maybe move us somewhere more comfortable.”
“But she doesn’t know that we’re leaving.” Alba chewed on her lower lip.
“That’s right. And you can’t tell her now. She wouldn’t understand, and it would be too much for her, especially now that she has been injured and needs time to heal.”
Reluctantly, they set about their usual studies. The twins studied quietly for over an hour before Alba broke the silence. “But when will she be ready? When will she be able to understand?”
“I don’t know.”
~
As the days went on and spring shifted into full-fledged, sweat-soaked summer, I became even less sure of the answer.
Ella’s wound healed, and the scar faded significantly. But everything else got worse. She was frightened by the smallest things—the red cover on Alba’s history book, harmless ribbons, the sound of pots clattering in the kitchen. She barely slept. She nagged Weslan, criticized his every move, and burst into tears the moment he returned the favor. When we were all ready to throw up our hands, she would cry out at night in her sleep, pitifully fearful cries that drifted upstairs through the open windows. On top of it all, the past-due merchant tax loomed over the bakery like an ominous dark cloud, threatening us with disaster any day.
I often caught her rubbing against her temple and grimacing as though in pain, but when I pressed, she would shrug her shoulders and insist she was fine.
Ella had been home from the hospital for two weeks when I heard a pained cry from the kitchen. I hurried downstairs and rushed to her side, only to knock over a stack of pans on the counter and frighten her even further. I fought to keep calm and comfort her even as my power raged against the Blight. If I could get my hands on those cowards, the things I would do—
The bright red bloodstains on Ella’s apron and dishtowel interrupted the dark turn of my thoughts. “What happened to your hand? You're bleeding everywhere.” I snagged a clean linen cloth and pressed it to her bleeding hand.
“The cloth will be ruined.”
As if I cared about a clean cloth at a time like this. “Doesn't matter. All that matters to me is that you're safe.” I took a deep breath as I bandaged her cut, attempting to inject as much assurance into my expression as I could. “Don't worry, I really believe we will find the money to pay for—” Wait, what was I doing? Ella had no need to worry about the tax. “We will find the money, and things will get better. One way or another. I promise.”
“Money to pay for what? Cinderslick?”
Why had I attempted to reassure her? Now I’d only make things worse. I couldn’t lie to her about this on top of everything else I was hiding. “You know it's almost summer. Inspector Cyrus has been by to ask for our tax.” Weslan had met him at the door earlier that day.
Ella cringed. “And you used money set aside for the tax to pay for my healing.”
“Yes.” I wished I hadn’t brought this up.
Ella swayed and grabbed the counter behind her. Why had I told her? Now she would faint, and surely it wasn’t good for her injured head to be in a state of such stress.
“Why did you do that? What were you thinking? You’re going to lose everything. After all that I’ve done to keep you safe, how could you risk it all for me?” The raw pain and confusion in Ella’s voice made my heart ache.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and resisted the urge to give her a shake. Why did she always doubt her importance to our family? “You matter to us. You matter. We couldn’t have let you die, not when the healers had the power to save your life and we had the money to pay for it.” I pried my fingers off her shoulders and folded them at my waist. It wouldn’t do to cause her any more stress, but I had to make her listen to me. “I have no regrets. And neither do the girls. It was the right decision. And I know you would've done the same for any of us.”
Ella was silent for a long moment, and then squared her shoulders. “Well, we'll just have to get the money somehow.”
I smiled and took her hands. It was just like Ella to leap past my declaration and jump right into problem-solving mode. “We’ll be fine, Ella. We’re going to find the money, and I don't want you to worry about it. We’ll have more bakery orders with the prince’s selection ball in a couple of weeks. So just hold on until then. Everything is going to work out.” One way or another, I would make sure that Ella survived, even if it meant selling the bakery and building a life for herself without us.
The corners of her mouth lifted into a
forced smile. “Fine, Zel. You win. I'll hope for the best.”
What else could I ask of her? I’d already asked far too much. As soon as she was better and able to survive on her own—with Weslan’s help—we’d be gone. Forget Inspector Cyrus and his inconvenient, impossibly high merchant tax. We couldn’t do this to her any longer.
~
Early the next morning, I sent Ella to the market to sell some fresh herbs from the rooftop garden. Many merchants in the quarter tended a rooftop garden to supplement their family’s diet and their shop’s income, but Ella and I had made a careful study of the market before planting ours. All the herbs we grew were very expensive to import from Lerenia, where a vast army of grower mages helped produce their fabled high-quality crops. We didn’t produce much in our garden, but what we did grow sold for a healthy stack of quarter marks. It would be enough to stock up on cinderslick, at least.
I puttered around the kitchen while the sun rose. Then the bakery door slammed, and Ella rushed into the kitchen. The next thing I knew, she was holding me around the neck and sobbing. What could possibly be wrong? She’d been gone less than an hour.
“What's happened? Please, talk to me!”
It was only between her sobs and sniffles that I finally discerned what had taken place—Inspector Cyrus had attempted to blackmail her because of our tax, and he somehow knew that we were hiding something at the bakery. A wave of cold anger rushed through me. If he knew what we were really hiding, what I really was, he wouldn’t be so quick to threaten Ella. He certainly would not dare threaten me.
His ignorance would keep both him and us safe. “It's fine. Everything will work out.”
“You don't understand.” Ella dashed at the streams of tears running down her cheeks. She twisted around to look in the direction of the front door. “He threatened me too.”
“He did what?” The cold wave of anger engulfed me again. “What did he do?”
“He grabbed me. He pulled me close … and touched me. He told me that if I offered him something now, he wouldn’t contact the trackers yet.”
I heard her words from a distance, my powers raging and swelling in response. I’d kill him. I’d destroy him, and he’d never hurt her again.
Somewhere, in real life, my sweet stepdaughter needed comfort and a gentle embrace, but I was too far away to respond. I managed to find my self-control long enough to form words. “What happened next?”
Ella exhaled a shaky breath. “I ran away.”
Innocent, self-sacrificing Ella had survived an attack from the Blight. Then, she’d been denied the dream of graduating. And now, the local inspector dared to assault her? I’d end him. I had to. My power strained hungrily. Once again, my mouth formed the right words. “Did the inspector follow you?” I desperately hoped so.
“I don’t know.”
The bleak, despairing expression on Ella’s face brought me closer to reality. I did my best to focus on her words and ignore the ravenous pulsing of my power in the back of my mind.
“I didn't hear any footsteps behind me,” she said. “I suppose if he were planning to come here, I would have been arrested by now.”
If he hadn’t come here, I’d have to go to him. I glanced at Weslan, who had entered the room just after Ella’s return. He gave me an almost imperceptible nod. Good. He understood. I’d do what was necessary, and he’d handle things here if I was caught.
Don’t leave the girls like this, a voice whispered. I was too enraged to follow the thought through.
“I'll go to him. I'll speak to him, and he'll see that we have nothing to hide.” And if that greasy coward collapsed in a lifeless pile of drained, dusty flesh after our conversation, all the better.
“What? No, Zel! You can't leave here. What if he's already contacted trackers?”
I’d be putting my plan in to action early, that was all. I fumbled for a reasonable-sounding explanation. “He hasn't. It's too early, and I know men like him. He's lazy. He only cornered you because he thought you were easy prey. Because everyone thinks you’re easy prey. Because of the rumors we've intentionally circulated about your status in this home.” As I spoke, my power quieted slightly. I sighed at the stricken, tortured look on Ella’s tear-stained face. If only she could accept her true value to us. “Those rumors used to protect us, and I'm grateful for all the sacrifices you’ve made to keep us safe. But if those rumors are endangering you, we must put them to rest. We must make it clear that no one may threaten you and get away with it. It’s the only way.”
Panic flickered in Ella’s red-rimmed eyes. “What if you’re caught?”
“If I’m caught, they’ll know that I have the Touch, and we will deal with whatever results.”
Ella flinched.
My power ached, drawing me away to the front door. I held on against the pull as long as I could. What could I possibly say to make it all better? How could I continue to be the gentle stepmother she loved when anger raged like a storm inside me?
“I'm grateful for all that you've given up for us, to hide us, to protect us,” I said. “Your father would be proud of you. I will always consider you as dear to me as my own daughters. But now you need to let me protect you.”
If the worst happened, perhaps she would remember that I’d loved her and wanted to protect her, and not the fact that I’d abandoned her.
Chapter 19
The sun rose outside the bakery. The summer heat shimmered around me, and the warm, pungent scent of old garbage made my eyes water. I held my charge in as long as I could, making it several blocks before I was finally forced to release my trace. At least this way, any trackers who found me wouldn’t know I’d been staying at the bakery. I walked the route I remembered taking to our nearest market, my feet carrying me via a nearly-forgotten memory.
I hadn’t set foot on the city streets in years. Since that close encounter with the trackers in the Common Quarter, I’d stuck to the rooftops. The rage propelling me forward didn’t care about trackers. It just wanted me to find him as quickly as possible.
The precinct inspector’s lodging and office were on the lane next to the market. I remembered that much. When I finally saw the small, battered sign on the door, my power surged excitedly. I reined it in, marched up onto the stoop, and flung the door open.
The dark foyer was cool compared to the hot, dusty street outside. I curled my lip at the sight of rat droppings, weathered papers, and shards of broken glass littering the floor. I followed the strong, sour smell of spilled beer down the hallway and into a study, where a large, greasy-haired man slept with his shirt half open and his feet propped up on a paper-strewn desk.
My power quaked with excitement. One touch. Just one touch. He would never even get the chance to scream. How many other young women like Ella had he threatened? How many had been intimidated into paying for his silence with their bodies? Ella would be the last. I had a feeling none of the other girls had a stepmother like me.
I stepped closer, anger sizzling in my veins. A beer bottle had overturned on his desk, and the whole thing was a sticky, stinky mess. Sunlight streaming in from the single window flickered on a piece of broken glass by his head, and I bent closer. An etching of a woman and a child, both unsmiling, stood out beneath a smashed glass picture frame.
Now that I thought of it, perhaps I remembered seeing Inspector Cyrus’s wife many years ago, at one of the only precinct meetings I’d ever attended. More victims of the plague, perhaps. Pity trickled through me, weakening my rage, but I snarled it away. Grief was no excuse to use his power against others, no excuse for threatening our family or my stepdaughter.
He mumbled in his sleep, stirring slightly, and I edged closer. Now was my chance. I could do the job and be gone, back to my tower with no one the wiser. And the only person who suspected our secret, the only threat to our family, would be gone.
Wait … my tower?
My rage evaporated like the night’s dew in the heat of the summer sun. My tower. At the first s
ign of a real threat, I’d let my power take over. For the first time, I’d been about to use my power deliberately, of my own will, not in response to my True Name’s control and not in the heat of self-defense. I’d been ready to kill in cold blood to protect my secret.
And to protect Ella, a voice in the back of my mind whispered. Ella had been threatened. Surely, he deserved death and much more …
I shook off the voice. No. I couldn’t lie to myself. Ella didn’t need a murderer on her side. She needed a stepmother who would be there for her. I’d nearly thrown away our last days together—thrown away the chance to explain my decision before I left, thrown away my chance to say good-bye. A chill came over me as I realized I’d nearly lost my last good-bye to the twins. If I got caught this morning, I’d never see any of my girls again.
I stepped back. My hands shook as I pressed my ice-cold fingers against my burning hot face. What had I done? All this time, I thought I’d left the old Zel—the monster, the killer—back in Draicia with the Wasp, but the monster had been with me all along. What if she wasn’t the old Zel? What if she was the real Zel? What if it was better for everyone if I remained under my True Name’s control?
I took another step back, knocking back a chair that fell with a crash in the process.
Inspector Cyrus jolted awake and peered up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. A flash of recognition darted across his face, and he sat up straight, removing his feet from his desk. “You.”
I hid my trembling hands in my skirt pockets. “Inspector Cyrus.”
“What are you doing here? Got your tax money at last?”
I lifted my chin and tried to project confidence. “We will be paying our tax in three weeks’ time. And, of course, the sum will include an extra administrative fee to compensate for any inconvenience brought on by our late payment.”
He grunted, looking me up and down in an oily way that made my power crackle with hunger again. If he tried something with me like he had with Ella—