Magic In The Storm

Copyright, January, 2012, Merry Banerji. All
rights reserved.

No part of the Smashwords edition of this
book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means —
graphic, electronic or mechanical — without permission in writing
from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages
in a review. If you have obtained a copy of this from someone else,
you are strongly encouraged to purchase a copy for yourself.

Published by Anessa Books,
www.anessabooks.com

As always to my husband for
his unfailing love and support. And to the memory of Kate Duffy who
said that this would definitely be my breakout book, but there was
no way she was going to buy it
—
always honest and yet oddly
supportive.

June 21, 1794

T
he wind whipped through Tatiana’s hair, prying
it free from her forehead where it had been plastered with sweat.
Heat swirled around them threatening to burst into flames.
Vallentyn jumped as a bolt of lightning shot into the ground just
feet from where he stood coddling that infant in his arms.

“Tatiana, stop this! Stop it right now. You
cannot kill our son.”

“Our son?” she repeated, fury burning through
her. “And what of my daughter?” she shouted over the gale of hot
wind that wove around them. “What of the prophecy? What...” her
voice faltered.

She was tired. Too tired. Although the birth
had been easier than many of the others, she was getting old. Only
her fury at this injustice kept her awake now.

How could this have happened? Her child, her
beloved, her daughter. Seventh child of the seventh child in the
seventh generation—a boy!

Tatiana shoved down the pain that threatened
to overwhelm her and instead burst forth with another bolt of
anger, coming even closer to Vallentyn this time.

“I don’t know, Tatiana. Truly, I don’t know.
But you cannot kill him!” Her husband stood his ground and pleaded
with her even as the sweat poured down his forehead.

In a very brief moment of weakness, Tatiana
almost felt for him. But then she caught sight of the abomination
in his arms and the hot wind picked up once more.

“I can and I will,” she shouted. “He was not
meant to be. I was to have a girl. She was to be the most powerful
Vallen in generations. As powerful as Morgan Le Fey.” Tatiana could
barely keep the tears from her voice. “My Morgan. She was to
be...”

“I know, Tatiana,” Vallentyn’s voice filled
with soothing magic. “But he is still our seventh child. Perhaps he
will be powerful. Perhaps the prophecy will still hold...”

“Perhaps? Perhaps nothing! Perhaps he will
burn in hell!” The temperature around them rose even hotter.

“Perhaps we all will, but you cannot kill
him. Swear to me that you will not.” Vallentyn’s pale blue eyes
looked deeply into her own and she could feel herself crack and
cool. How could he do this to her? He was not nearly so powerful as
she, and yet... “I swear.” The words burned through her. They
scorched the air and hung there dripping sweat and then were blown
away on his cooling breeze.

The child peered at her from within the
protective cocoon of his father’s arms, his large dark eyes framed
with black lashes so like her own. He reached out a small fisted
hand toward her, but Tatiana turned away. She hated him as she had
never hated before.

May, 1815

A
driana Hayden didn’t even have to turn around.
The quiet click of the door closing and the sigh of the sofa were
all that she needed to hear to know that her dearest friend and
companion, Henrietta, had come into the room.

She finished dabbing the black paint onto her
canvas before stepping back and deciding that she had probably put
too much. Well, she didn’t care. It was perfect and it reflected
her mood so precisely Adriana imagined she wouldn’t even need to
say a word to Henrietta.

She would paint the whole thing black if it
wouldn’t ruin what was turning out to be a rather nice depiction of
a stormy sea. The water thundered, crashing with violence onto the
rocks at the base of a sheer cliff. Menacing clouds hung overhead
within moments of letting loose a torrent of rain.

“Oh dear,” her companion said quietly, over
the roar of the sea in Adriana’s mind.

Adriana closed her eyes for a moment to stop
them from stinging and then swallowed down the anger that had risen
to the top of her throat again. “They wouldn’t even let me see
him,” she said, without preamble.

“Who wouldn’t?” Henrietta asked.

Adriana turned around into the quiet of the
room. Henrietta was sitting, as always, with her back perfectly
straight and her legs crossed at the ankle and tucked ever so
slightly under the worn, comfortable sofa. Her brown hair was
pulled up so tightly Adriana wondered that it didn’t hurt, but her
hazel eyes spoke volumes of sympathy, for which Adriana was
grateful. Adriana resisted the urge to run up to her dear friend
and throw her arms around her.

Instead, she lifted her chin and replied,
“The clerk at Sir William’s establishment.”

“So you didn’t even get to see Sir William?
You didn’t show him your work?”

Adriana shook her head and turned back to her
painting. Carelessly, she dabbed more black paint on where it
wasn’t needed, darkening the sky even further.

“But that’s not right!” Henrietta said, full
of indignation for Adriana. “What reason did he give?”

Adriana couldn’t even bear to turn around to
face Henrietta again; the hurt was still too painful. She bit her
lip to keep herself from either screaming in rage or crying like a
thwarted child. She swallowed hard, again. “The clerk told me that
he was certain that my watercolors were very pretty, but Sir
William Agnew did not deal in a young lady’s dabbling. He only sold
the work of true artists.” She paused at Henrietta’s gasp, but then
continued. “He suggested that I give my work to some handsome young
gentleman in the hope that he will marry me.”

“No, he didn’t!”

“Oh, yes.”

“Why, the nerve! The gall! The temerity of
such... such...”

“A man,” Adriana finished for her.

“An imbecile is what I was going to say.”

“Perhaps they are one and the same,” Adriana
said, allowing her mouth to quirk up in a little smile.

Henrietta just harrumphed.

Adriana turned around and attempted to put a
real smile onto her face. How was it that Henrietta always made her
feel better? No matter what had upset her, Henrietta always slipped
herself right up under Adriana’s hurt and pried it away.

“It’s all right, Henrietta. I’ll just try
someone else. I don’t have to sell my paintings through Sir
William. I’m certain there are plenty of other art dealers who will
take a look at my work.”

“But Sir William is the best,” her friend
argued.

“Yes, but another dealer will be able to sell
my work just as well. He may not get the prices Sir William could
command, but at least we’ll get the money we need.”

“Oh, Adriana, it’s such a shame to have to
sell your beautiful work...”

“But necessary. Absolutely necessary,” she
said with all of the conviction and certainty she felt, and that
was substantial.

“You wouldn’t have to sell so many or worry
so much about price if you just left me...”

“I will not! How could you even suggest that
I leave you here to deal with Lord Devaux yourself?” She took the
few steps that separated them and knelt down on the floor at
Henrietta’s feet. “We will wait until I have enough money for both
of us to survive. I will never leave you.”

Henrietta squeezed Adriana’s shoulder
gratefully. “But...”

There was a knock at the door. Before Adriana
could respond, Lord Devaux himself walked into the room.

Adriana stood up. “Cousin!”

It was as if the rainclouds from her painting
had just entered the room. Suddenly it felt cold and dark, despite
the sun that still shone through the tall windows.

Next to her, Henrietta popped up from the
sofa. “I... I’ll... Excuse me,” she slipped past Lord Devaux as
quickly and unobtrusively as she could.

Lord Devaux didn’t even acknowledge
Henrietta’s fast–retreating back. He just allowed his eyes to rove
slowly over the small, bright room, taking in all of her paintings
piled two, three, sometimes even four canvases deep along the
walls.

Adriana’s arms slowly wrapped themselves
around her middle as she felt, in the pit of her stomach, the
disgust that covered her cousin’s face. His eyes slowly came to
rest on her and his lip finally raised in a sneer.

“What a waste of money and time,” he
drawled.

Adriana closed her eyes for a moment. “What
is it that you want, my lord?” To her own amazement, her voice came
out calm and even.

“I want to be rid of all this...” he waved
his arm around to indicate all of her hard work, “...this garbage.
For once and for all, Adriana, I am finally going to get this trash
out of my house.”

Adriana found herself having to work hard to
keep breathing, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. He
couldn’t! He couldn’t get rid of her paintings. They were her life.
They were the only thing that she truly cared about, and her only
way out from under his thumb. “You promised me I could keep my work
and my studio if I acted as hostess at your political dinner
parties...”

“...And kept my house. Yes, I know. But you
won’t be doing that for much longer.” Lord Devaux sighed and walked
around the studio slowly, the look of disgust never far from his
pinched lips.

“I had hoped to get more years of service out
of you when I agreed to take you in.” He turned and looked at her,
his beady blue eyes glittering with malice. “No one else would, you
know. No one else in the family was willing to take Hayden’s
daughter. He was... odd, what with his experiments and strange
notions. But then, so was my cousin, your mother. I suppose that’s
why they got along so well.

“And you were such a scrawny little thing—you
were what, five when they perished?”

Adriana gritted her teeth. “Six.” She took a
deep breath to dispel the anger that was growing inside of her.
“You know I’ve always been grateful for your... charity,” she said.
She had thought to say ‘kindness’, but there was nothing
kind in the way Lord Devaux treated her. There never had been.

“Yes, naturally.” He made his way back slowly
toward the door. “I just hope Henrietta will be as useful as you’ve
been,” he said. “I’ll need someone to arrange my parties for me and
to be my housekeeper. Although she was never very good at it before
you took over, perhaps she has learned something from watching you
do it for these past five years.”