A Shadow Bright and Burning (12 page)

I sat on the bed, unable to truly enjoy the presents. What Eliza had said about Gwendolyn Agrippa kept gnawing at me. And besides that, the images of yesterday's slums kept repeating themselves as I admired the gowns. Who was I to wear such fine things when so many were suffering? “Lilly, where do you come from?”

“Miss?”

“Where's your family now?”

The girl's smile disappeared. “My family's all gone, miss. Callax the Child Eater carried off my folks and sisters. Gram felt the only safe place for me'd be behind the ward, so she got me a position in this house. I'm grateful, mind. It's safe here.” She played with the sleeve of a yellow tea dress.

“I'm sorry,” I murmured.

“The past's the past, miss,” Lilly said, bustling to organize my vanity table. “Shall I help you dress for dinner?”

We chose the wine-red gown, and the color did flatter me, bringing out the darker tones of my skin. Lilly pinned up my hair so elegantly that it appeared almost beautiful. While Lilly arranged the ringlets by the sides of my face, she clucked her tongue. “You're lovely, miss. Just as he said.”

“Who?”

“Rook. He's ever so nice.” Lilly flushed a deep pink. “The others don't like to be around him, but he's beautiful. Even with the scars.” Her open admiration for Rook surprised me, but why should it? Rook was my dearest friend, and I should be happy she could look past his scars to see the person underneath. I really should.

“Do you like him, Lilly?” My tone was surprisingly clipped; I felt a kind of low anger. I forced myself to stop. What right did I have to be angry at Lilly? None.

“Suppose I do,” she said, lowering her eyes shyly. For some reason, my stomach began to hurt.

“Yes,” I said. “Do you know where Rook is, by any chance?”

I
FOUND HIM SWEEPING THE STABLES,
humming as he worked. The horses blustered, the happy sound they made when all was well. Rook went to Magnus's mare and rubbed her nose.

“Hello, tricky beauty,” he said, laughing as she nuzzled at his shoulder. “Nothing for you tonight. Can't have you growing fat, can we?”

“Hello,” I said, feeling strangely shy.

“Nettie?” Within the stalls, horses whinnied and stomped. Clearly I had disturbed them. Rook gazed at me, his mouth open. “You're a vision.”

I'd never felt more bizarre, standing there in an elegant evening dress while Rook cleaned out the stalls.

“I missed you today,” I said.

“I missed you, too.” He moved to collect a bucket of water.

“Are they treating you well?”

“Compared to Brimthorn, what isn't good treatment? Mostly I see to the horses, which I like. I've taken on a few extra tasks, just to see they get bedded down properly.” He reached out and stroked one of the carriage horses. “I give them hot water and oats at night, instead of hay. Master Agrippa's pleased with how much better they seem. You are better, aren't you?” he murmured, laughing as the horse whickered in response. Rook was a genius with animals.

“Don't let them work you too hard.”

“Work keeps me sane. Always has.” Of course. It was a distraction from the pain.

“The servants are kind?”

“They aren't rude,” he said. “Lilly's quite nice.” He lit up. “Funny, too. Knows a million jokes and twenty card games.” The cold, angry feeling flared up again inside me for one instant. I quashed it.

“She's the sweetest girl.” More silence. Rook's expression when he looked at me seemed pitched somewhere between admiration and sadness. He picked up the bucket, wincing a little. When we were children, he would carry water up the long hill from the well. To help with his stiff hand, I would grab one end and he the other. Sometimes we'd play games to see who could slosh the least. “May I help?” I asked, desperately grabbing for the handle.

“No, of course not!” He pulled back. “You can't ruin your new clothes.”

“I can carry a bucket.” The fluttering lace at my elbow tickled me. All right, perhaps this outfit was not entirely appropriate for manual labor.

Rook agreed with my thoughts. “Not as you're dressed now.”

“These clothes are just a part I need to play for the sorcerers.” Every word seemed to widen the breach. “Nothing's changed.”

Rook frowned. “Everything's changed.”

The sorcerers were different from everyone else, irretrievably different. They dined lavishly while, less than a mile away, people starved; they took trips outside the ward to walk for a few hours among the impoverished, only to come straight back again. My path led me away from people like Lilly and Charley and Rook, the kind of people I'd grown up with. The kind of person I'd been. My throat tightened.

“How are your scars? Do they hurt?”

“That's not something you should trouble yourself with now.” He dropped his eyes from mine.

“Will you at least take care of them and not go mad with the pain?” I said stiffly.

“Of course,” he replied. The silence grew between us.

“Well. I have to go back. They'll be starting soon.” We paused for a moment, Rook with his bucket, me with my damned fine dress. I turned and rushed away, my long skirt whispering over the ground.

“Wait.” He sounded worried. “My scars do hurt.”

“Oh?” I almost tripped over myself in my haste to turn around.

“They hurt this way before the attack at Brimthorn. So tell Master Agrippa and the rest of them.” He looked off toward the darkening evening sky, with the clouds rolling in. “Tell them something bad might be coming tonight.”

“Are you certain?” Agrippa asked, his glass of claret half raised to his lips. We were seated at dinner, where I toyed with my roast beef.

“Rook isn't the type to invent things.”

“I hope the old Shadow and Fog does show himself tonight,” Magnus said, spearing a Yorkshire pudding and spooning gravy on top of it. “I'd a new coat made especial for the occasion, and Korozoth should see it while it's still in fashion.”

“Don't be too eager,” Blackwood said. “For all we know, it might be R'hlem.”

That silenced everyone. R'hlem the Skinless Man was the most threatening of the Ancients. Beasts like Molochoron and Korozoth were just that, beasts with great talent for mindless destruction. R'hlem showed superior intelligence. Some whispered that he had once been human, twisted by the darkness into a monster. Of course, no one really believed such nonsense.

“Master Agrippa,” I said, “can nothing be done to better protect the unwarded areas? If we cannot shield our own citizens, why should the rest of England have faith in us?”

“Us?” Blackwood said. He kept doing that, dividing me from the rest of the boys with a word or a look. Every time Magnus or the others addressed me as “Howel,” he cleared his throat or made an exasperated noise. I'd thought my getting along with his sister had softened him somewhat. Apparently I was wrong.

“I know you don't yet consider me one of you, my lord,” I said, struggling to maintain a polite tone, “but I'm only trying to help.”

“I agree with Howel,” Wolff said. “It's an outrage, and I'm glad someone else is saying it. Clarence agrees with us, don't you?”

Lambe nodded, his pale hair falling into his eyes. “It's a shame when families are separated.”

Everyone stopped talking. Uncomfortable looks were passed around the table. I was confused until Wolff explained. “Only sorcerers who favor the Church of England may remain inside warded London. My family follows an older religion, so my parents had to leave for the country.” He pushed his knife and fork aside; evidently his appetite had vanished. “Once I'm commended, I'll have to live outside the ward as well.”

What a hideous practice. “Surely it's important to protect
everyone
,” I said to Agrippa.

Agrippa nodded. “We can discuss this further after you're commended.”

Blackwood coughed. Really, I was worried about the failure in today's lesson enough as it was. My breaking point had been reached. “Do you have a cold, my lord?” I said, rounding on him.

“No, Miss Howel.”

“Do you dislike the idea of a lady sorcerer?”

“As I told you yesterday, that would mean my going against the Order.” That was another clear attempt to
not
answer the question. I didn't care if I was wearing the bloody gown he had purchased.

“
Are
you against the Order?” I asked.

His eyes widened in surprise. “I stand with the Order entirely.”

That answer was sincere. “I'm sorry, I'm just upset.”

“It's all right. Compassion for the poor is admirable.” That tone. I would've gladly given the topic up but for that condescending tone. I rapped my fork against the side of my plate, to calm and focus myself.

“Admirable, but not practical?”

“In this case, no. The ward protects Her Majesty, and, of course, the high sorcerer families. If we fall, England falls.” He sounded almost as if he regretted it, but what could he do? “The most exceptional individuals are also the most necessary.”

“Have you ever considered that you were lucky to be born into circumstances that made you such an exceptional individual?” I breathed slowly to keep myself from yelling. “Rook, for instance. He might have done as well as you if he'd been born to a wealthy family, sent to the best schools, educated by the best people. But he's the orphaned son of a brick maker, and Unclean, so whatever he might have been is unimportant.”

“I don't think this is very good dinner conversation,” Cellini said, sounding irritated. I got the feeling it would be more comfortable for everyone if I gave up the topic. But we were in this argument now, Blackwood and I.

“Of course Rook matters,” Blackwood said, as if explaining to a child. “I don't believe it's fair that some receive everything and others nothing, merely by the luck of being born. But it is the reality.”

“So the reality is that the poor should be sacrificed to protect you?” This was what the Earl of Sorrow-Fell truly believed?

“You're twisting my words, Miss Howel.” He was right; I
was
twisting his words, but his manner infuriated me. He'd lived behind the ward all his life. How could he presume to know how other people suffered?

“Have you seen a village destroyed by Familiars? Have you ever met children with their limbs torn off, their bodies covered with scars just like Rook's? Do you know what it's like, as part of your school charity, to travel to the site of a battle and nurse the wounded and dying? Have you ever been attacked with nothing to protect you? The first time I glimpsed a sorcerer, in eleven years of war, was when Master Agrippa came to my school hunting for the prophesied one. Eleven years. What were you all doing in that time?” I stared right into Blackwood's eyes. “What were
you
doing, my lord? Riding and playing country sports on your estate?”

Agrippa cleared his throat. “That will do, both of you,” he said.

“In fact, I was preoccupied with my studies. I wanted to be
useful.
Isn't usefulness your chief interest?” Blackwood's voice was silken coldness. “I did not see much use in a girls' school.”

Magnus set his glass down, eyes flashing. “We found our prophesied one at that girls' school, didn't we?”

I had to put my hands in my lap; they were beginning to spark. “It's good to know how little your responsibilities at home matter to you. It explains why Brimthorn has been open to violence for so long!”

“Sorrow-Fell protects your school, Miss Howel. You said yourself, in eleven years you had never seen an attack.”

“Some monsters wear human faces. You kept out the Ancients, but you allowed a cruel, violent man who should never be put in charge of another living soul to run Brimthorn. Where was your protection then?” The whole table stopped eating. Magnus's eyes widened. Blackwood grew still, but I could see the fury flickering inside him.

“You said that if only Rook had been born into my position, we would be exactly alike,” he snapped. “Well, you're wrong. We are fundamentally different.”

“If you're so certain,” I said, my voice rocky and low, “that the poor are born inferior, then all the shame in the world on you for
not
protecting them. If people are born generation after generation into poverty and deprivation, it is your duty to look after them, not sacrifice their lives to save your own!”

I threw down my napkin and fled from the table. I raced up the stairs and into my bedroom, where I struggled to tear myself out of my dress. My fingers burned so badly that I had to stop to perform the calming exercises that Agrippa had taught me. I breathed in and out to the count of four, imagining a cool stream of water running down my hands. Slowly, the fiery pain left, but I still trembled with rage.

There was a knock at the door. “Who is it?” I asked.

“Lilly, miss.” She entered and surveyed my crumpled state with a sad eye. “They said you'd gone to bed. Let me help you.” She moved to unlace me, when there was another knock.

“May I speak with you?” a familiar voice asked. Lilly opened the door. Agrippa stood upon the threshold. He cast a quick, miserable glance around his daughter's old room. How often, if ever, did he come inside? “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I'm sorry.” Agrippa didn't deserve people screaming at his table. I kept my eyes on the floor. “I can't believe I said those things.”

“Don't apologize. When you're commended, you'll also be the founder of the Howel line. Part of your responsibility as a seal bearer will be speaking up in Order assemblies. Besides, I was pleased.” Surprised, I looked up. He made as if to enter but stopped. “What you witnessed tonight was sorcery's ugliest face. Many believe that common men and women are inferior. I hope,” he said, lowering his voice, “that you can do more for this country than help destroy the Ancients. There are minds that need changing.”

“I can't imagine that's something Lord Blackwood will like.”

“Nonetheless, it's what I believe. Don't fret, and don't think too harshly of George. He dwells on his responsibilities to a punishing degree. I'm sure he'll brood on what you said for the next few days.” Agrippa glanced about the room once more. My stomach lurched at his obvious sadness.

“Do you wish me to change rooms? I can't stand how much pain my being here seems to cause you.”

“No, this is as it should be.” Agrippa closed his eyes. “I've gotten to avoiding this wing of the house. This room needed a new occupant, and I'm happy to find a lovely young lady living here again. Now get to sleep.” With that, he was gone.

Lilly took my dress off, put it away, and unlaced my corset. I pulled the pins from my hair, cursing Blackwood under my breath. I got into my nightdress and stared at my reflection in the mirror, feeling bone-weary.

“I don't know how I can face them again.”

“I think the gentlemen are more with you than not,” Lilly said. “ 'Least that's what Jimmy told me, the first footman. Says Mr. Magnus in particular is on your side. Apparently he had some strong words for His Lordship after you left.”

“That's good to know.” The thought of Magnus berating Blackwood was pleasing. I was sure he'd done an excellent job.

“You should rest now, miss. Gram used to say it looks better in the morning.”

“Thank you, Lilly.”

She stopped at the door. “Miss, Jimmy told us downstairs what you said to Lord Blackwood.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I come from Potter's Borough, south of the ward. Thank you.”

She left before I could respond.

I
WOKE FROM A DREAM OF
Gwendolyn lying beside me, silent and rotting in death. I didn't think I could go back to sleep after that image. Outside, it was pitch black. I lit a candle and stepped, shivering, onto the thin rug beside my bed. I hastily threw on my wrap and headed downstairs. Candle in hand, I retraced my steps to the library. The fastest way to calm down after a nightmare was by reading history.

When I crept into the room, the fire was, surprisingly, still lit. My hands were cold, so I moved before the hearth. I craned my neck and looked at Agrippa's portrait. He'd been younger when it was painted, his hair black. What must it have been like to have Agrippa for a father? For a moment, I selfishly wished my own father hadn't been William Howel, a faceless phantom I'd never met.

There was the picture of that great estate again, the gleaming white one hidden in a dark valley. I turned to it, entranced by its serene and somehow terrifying beauty.

Someone coughed, startling me. Blackwood was seated with a book open on his lap. He appeared as bewildered as I.

“What on earth are you doing here?” He stood hastily. He had not been to bed, never taken his jacket off.

“I wanted something to read.” I didn't know where to look. Just seeing him again made my stomach cramp.

“Ah. Anything in particular?” Even his voice irritated me. His eyes brushed the length of my body, and then he looked away.

“I hadn't given it much thought.” I pulled my wrap even closer around me.

“Might I make a recommendation? This is a basic introduction to the Ancients. It's been instrumental in drawing up plans to attack them.” He offered me the book in his hand,
The Seven Ancients: Theories and Observations
by Mr. Christopher Drummidge. The book was slim but handsomely bound. I opened to a sketch of R'hlem the Skinless Man. His exposed muscles almost glistened on the page; whoever had painted this had done an excellent job.