The Spark of a Feudling (9 page)

“I have been told that a thank you is in order, Mr. Buttercroft.” Richard's voice still had the power to send Christian's head exploding into shards of agony and he winced before turning to face his employer.

“I did what I had to, Your Grace.”

“Yes, but for a Carules boy, and an untrained one at that, to fight off an entire battalion of soldiers—” Richard tipped his head, considering Christian before he continued, “—that is impressive indeed.”

Christian didn't respond. Instead he turned back to the stalls with his pitchfork, hefting clean hay for the horses.

“It is rare that a Carules can even do Edren spells,” Richard continued.

What's even rarer is an Edren who can do Carules spells. But your daughter can. And my mother didn't have to torture her to teach her.
He tossed the hay viciously at the wall, surprised at his own strength. Bits of hay dust burst into the air, making Richard sneeze several times. Christian smiled wickedly.

Several sneezes and sniffles later, Richard cleared his throat, obviously trying to regain his composure. “I'm an inquisitive man, Mr. Buttercroft, as you may know. Thus I am curious as to how you and your mother can do these spells.”

Christian sighed and turned back to the duke, leaning on his pitchfork. “We can do them because we were taught. My mother learned from her mother's employer, and she taught me.”

“I am interested in teaching you more, Mr. Buttercroft. Would you consider joining my daughter and me in our lessons?”

Christian had been set to tell him no. His speech had been planned in his head since Charity told him that morning that Richard was going to ask.
Train me like you “trained” me the other day? I will pass, thank you.
But the Duke of Adlington knew his weakness, and had used it against him.

“Yes, I will join you and your daughter for lessons. That's very kind of you.”

Richard's face lit up in what Christian could only describe as triumph. “I had planned on visiting with your sister today, but if you are up for a lesson, we can begin immediately.”

Christian's stomach knotted. Somehow, the duke knew. He
knew
that Christian suspected him of torturing Charity, and had added it to his arsenal of things he could use against Christian. The man was pure evil, of that Christian had no doubt.

“Of course, Your Grace. I will finish my morning chores as quickly as I can.”

Richard smiled indulgently, dabbing at his nose with a white silk handkerchief. “No need, Mr. Buttercroft. I will arrange for one of the other grooms to do your chores while we are learning.”

Feeling like he had just offered himself up for slaughter, Christian laid down his pitchfork and followed Richard into the manor and down the stairs leading to what had once been a dungeon and still had the feel of terror etched into the walls and hanging in the air. Ada waited at the bottom, standing in the darkness with only her sparks as a source of light. Richard sent a shot of pure fire at the large chandelier and the room brightened to rival the sun outside. Christian blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to get used to the sudden light, finally opening them to see Ada gaping in horror at him. “What is he doing here, Daddy?” Fear made her voice thick, and her olive skin whitened.

“I've brought him on as an apprentice of sorts. He was such an asset to our battle the other day that I think he can be as powerful as any mediocre Edren warrior. He will be a fine addition to my guards — imagine it! I will be the only noble in all the land to have a Carules soldier.” He puffed his chest, but Ada didn't look at him. She watched Christian, begging him with her big brown eyes to turn and run. She couldn't protect him from her father.

He shook his head, just a bit, before Richard turned to glance at him. He motioned for Christian to leave the stairs and join Ada in the middle of the room. “Let's get started, shall we? This is a new one I've been trying to teach Ada. It's called a
ginsti
.”

Ada whimpered, quiet enough that Richard could not hear her, but Christian could. So this was the spell that he'd been healing her from every time she met with her father. She raised her hand, but it shook enough that the spell didn't hold.

“Ada, what have I told you?” Richard sighed. He turned to Christian. “You try, Mr. Buttercroft. It really is a pretty spell, don't you think?” Christian slowly tried to copy the spell, and his didn't fizzle and collapse like Ada's had, but when he pushed it toward the other end of the room it floated lazily and was gone before it hit anything.

Richard stood back, watching them. His face was grey with disapproval. “It seems you both need incentive.”

“No. No we don't, Daddy. Please.” Ada whirled toward her father, skirts sweeping across the dirt floor. “I'll do it right this time.”

Christian hated to see her beg. His Ada was powerful and strong. This man made her frightened and weak, not herself at all. Sparks burned and he traced the spell in the air, shoving it toward the wall on the duke's right, close enough that it singed the man's expensive day jacket. “Forgive me, my lord,” he muttered.

“See Ada, even a Carules can master this after one try. Why can't you?”

“I'll work harder, Daddy. I promise.”

“Yes. You will. Work harder or I will hit him with whatever spell you cannot do.” He motioned toward Christian with his head. Suddenly Christian was very clear about why he was here — it wasn't to learn the spells, it was to be used as a threat against Ada.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Hit me with them. Leave him alone.”

“Well…” Richard scratched his cheek idly, as if considering her offer. “We did try that, didn't we? And it didn't work. You still can't do the spell.”

Christian wasn't aware of the sparks leaping from his fingers until Richard glared at him pointedly. “Thinking because you can burn a passable
lirik
that you can fight the most powerful sorcerer in the entire land, boy?”

I think if I was fast enough, it wouldn't matter how powerful you are.
“No, Your Grace.”

Richard nodded, his face smug before he turned to scowl at Ada. “Do it again. Both of you.” He waved a hand in Christian's general direction. “And just for fun, if you fail, boy, I'll hit her.”

Ada trembled from head to foot, so hard that the red and black curls Christian loved so much escaped from their braid. With jerky movements, she brushed them away and raised her hand. Even from where Christian stood he could see that her flames weren't leaping like they usually did. They were forced, curling in and around themselves.

The spell failed.

Before Christian could even blink, he got hit. The pretty little spell scalded him like someone had attacked him with a fire poker. He winced, but refused to make a sound, glaring at Richard. The man just looked amused, but otherwise ignored him entirely. “Do it again.”

Ada sobbed.

“Wait. I have an idea.” Christian strode across the dirt floor to Ada's side, blocking Richard from her view. Keeping his voice low, he said, “You are focusing too much on the fear, Ada. Focus on using this to protect Charity. Pretend, up here—,” he tapped her temple gentle and she gave him the barest hint of a smile, “—that we are being invaded again and this is the only spell you can use.”

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling and nodded, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. Christian stepped back to give her some room. She dropped her head to her chest, breathing hard, and when she raised it she had the same steely determination he recognized so well.

Ada would not fail this time.

She jerked her hand up and flew through the spell — wide, sweeping movements. The curlicue burn sizzled in front of her, nearly as big as her entire upper body. With a growl growing at the back of her throat, she shoved it forward. It raced the length of the dungeon and smashed into the wall, leaving bright scald marks in the rock.

“I did it!” she squealed, clapping her hands, the warrior gone and replaced by the little girl he'd grown up with.

“It's about time. Now do it again.” Richard sighed, sounding bored and, if Christian wasn't mistaken, a little disappointed.

****

They both survived the training, although it was the cruelest form of torture he'd ever been through. He, luckily, caught on to the new spells quickly, and only forced by Richard to hit Ada a few times. But Ada was a slow learner, and every time she had to attack him, he could see her heart breaking a little more, her spirit crushed under Richard's fine leather boot.

“I cannot do that again. I won't,” Ada whispered as they wandered the dirt path to their pond. She hugged herself tightly, and even in the darkness Christian could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. He wanted to heal her, or comfort her, or kiss her until she forgot it all, but with Richard's guards following them, it wasn't an option.

Charity walked between them, although she had yet to say a word. She peered at Ada through her white hair. “Did you try my suggestion and start practicing the spells beforehand?”

Ada shook her head, rubbing her temples with a badly burned hand. “No. I haven't been able to get back in to his study to get the book. It's always locked.”

Charity shook, briefly. Christian wouldn't have noticed it if she wasn't right next to him, leaning on him a little for support when she got tired. “I can get it.”

Ada pulled up short, her boots making scuff marks in the dirt. “No. You will not.”

Charity gave her a sad smile but said nothing else.

“Somehow we have to get Charity away from this place. That will keep us all safe.”

It was Christian's turn to sigh. They brushed through the path Ada had created with her flames to the pond in the center and he slumped against a fallen log. Ada knelt next to him, and without a word, her hands warmed with the soft healing flames, working on each burn, each cut and bruise, until they were gone.

“Even if we did run away, Ada, there isn't a corner on earth that your father wouldn't look for you.”

“My father hates me.” Her voice broke. “I think he will kill me one day.”

Charity wandered, like a wraith, through the fog, disappearing in the thick mist and reappearing later. “He doesn't hate you, Ada. He thinks one day you will save us all. He is not wrong, although the way he thinks you will save us is not the truth.”

Ada tipped her head, glancing with a frown at Christian. He hadn't a clue what his sister was talking about, either. “Charity, what do you mean I will save us all? Save us all from what?”

Charity disappeared. Seconds later Christian heard a splash. He surged to his feet, running toward the noise. “Charity!” he yelled. Ada rounded the other side of the pond, waving her hands like she could cut through the fog.

“Arrgh!” she growled, and sparks lit at her fingers, fighting through the darkness and pushing the mist back. And then she screamed.

Charity floated face down in the pond, her white hair spread out like a cloud on the water. Christian wrenched his boots off and dove in after her, swimming hard through the slime and the moss. He grabbed her and pulled her over, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as he towed her to shore.

“I can't swim. What should I do, Christian? How can I help?” Ada babbled, racing back and forth at the water's edge. The pond was small, and he didn't have far to swim but it seemed like the water was sucking him down, and Charity was dead weight.

There was another splash, and Christian risked a glance up to see Ada, holding tight to the bank, up to her neck in pond water, reaching her hand out toward him. He passed Charity to her, and between the two of them they got her to the edge. Ada scrambled out of the water, tripping over her heavy skirts as she pulled Charity up.

Christian wasn't entirely sure where he found the strength to climb out of the pond himself, but he did and landed on his knees, gasping for breath as he warmed Charity with his healing. Ada knelt on the other side of him, her flames swirling with his into a faded purple that wrapped around Charity's neck, disappearing into her skin.

His sister started coughing and sputtering. Christian rolled her onto her side, pounding her on the back until she vomited pond water onto the mossy earth. “Is there more? Do we need to heal her elsewhere?” Ada asked. Christian could hear the hysteria running just below her words, even though she fought to keep it hidden.

“No, I don't see any injuries.” Christian checked his sister, peeling her eyelids back. Her eyes glowed faintly — a look he was becoming painfully used to. She wasn't in a vision, but she wasn't here with them, either.

“Christian, have you noticed… every time Charity tries to have a vision or speaks of a vision even, she has these — these attacks?”

Christian had not noticed, but now that he thought back on it, he realized Ada was right. “Let's take her home. Somehow, we have to find a way to keep her from your father and his experiments.”

Christian scooped her into his arms. She was soaking wet and the air was cold, very cold — the first winter snow couldn't be long off. Charity had been sickly since they were small, and one caught chill could end her entirely. It was like reliving the same nightmare over again — racing through the briars and down the dirt path to the manor. Just like the night before. Ada followed him quietly, and her lack of worried conversation made him think she was plotting. When Ada plotted, she usually ended up in dangerous situations. He was beginning to not enjoy the plotting so much.

Scarlett seemed to be expecting them as she swung the door open. “Again,” she moaned, and Christian could hear the heartbreak in her words. He didn't answer as he carried Charity to her room and laid her on the bed, turning away so Ada and his mother could strip her wet things off and put on a nightgown.

Abruptly, Ada said, “I know what I have to do.” Squeezing his hand as she brushed past him, she left before he could even ask her what it was she intended now.

“I knew there was a plot brewing in that beautiful head of hers.”