Chapter 15
We’ve attended a hell of a lot of balls in the last few months, but this one is different. Maybe it’s because this one has nothing to do with the Retterheld, or maybe it’s the fact that Kay started fussing the moment she woke up.
Not that I haven’t been fussing too. Just about different things.
We’ve spent the last forty-eight hours poring over maps and sorting supplies, but it still feels like there’s so much more to do.
One task that falls on me is sorting out tonics and tinctures that might come in handy on the trip.
To start with, I focus on raiding my parents’ belongings, specifically my mother’s cupboard of healing potions, pulling out anything my magic says will still work.
Once I have stripped the cupboards of all they have to offer, I set Mother’s tonic to simmer on the stove for Kay then head to the orangery, keen to make the most of whatever is on offer in here, too.
There’s a whole section that Summer will be able to utilise for food, and with a slight dose of magic I ensure that the plants will produce more than enough to feed not only her, Kay, and Jonas – and hopefully William, too – but also any other visitors they may have.
We have the coin for food, but despite everything that has happened between us, the urge to make sure Kay is looked after is deeply ingrained, and to have fruits and berries on hand like this if cravings start is the least I can do for her.
With the suppression tonic simmering away, I decide to make another supplement, this time for pregnancy.
I find I am surprised by how calming the process of harvesting the seeds, leaves, and roots can be.
The linden blossom cannot tell I’ve got Issen blood in my veins, and there’s no difference in how I pluck nettle and dock leaves now that I am rich, compared to when I was in the slums. Nature doesn’t care who or what I am.
If only the rest of the world were so tolerant.
I’m collecting a hefty handful of fenugreek seeds when a throat clears behind me.
‘William?’ My voice rises with surprise when I turn to find my brother at the door. ‘Is everything okay? Do you need something? Is it … are you …’
Images of that icy white-patterned skin rise in my mind, but I struggle to find the words. Yet as his hand touches his stomach, it’s clear he understands what I was trying to say.
He shakes his head. ‘No. Yes. I mean … no, I don’t need anything. I’m fine. I was just wondering—’ He cuts himself off, once again shaking his head as he hesitates.
Panic strikes. Has it spread further?
I scan his hands, his face, his neck. There’s no sign of it there. Not a hint of the death sentence that hides beneath his clothes.
Maybe it’s just that talking to his newly discovered sister still feels awkward.
I get that. Every time I see him I’m struck with an overwhelming mixture of disbelief and awe that tightens my chest and causes my eyes to prick, combined with a mind-numbing fear that he might somehow be taken away from me again.
Getting to talk to my brother is a gift I never thought I’d get, and now I’m going to throw it all away by leaving so damned soon. But if I don’t, then I’m sentencing us all to death.
At least this way I might be able to find him a way to stop the spread.
‘I know you’re leaving soon, and I understand why I can’t come,’ he says.
‘You’re right – I know you’re right – but I was wondering …
you know …’ His voice trails off, his eyes flicking to the plant I’m in the middle of harvesting.
‘I know I don’t have the same power with plants that you do, but maybe …
maybe you could show me some things? Stuff our mother used to do? ’
I don’t need to contemplate. The way my heart hitches answers for me. ‘Yes. Yes! Of course. Always.’
A sudden thickness obstructs my throat as my heart fills with the knowledge that my little brother wants to spend time with me. Sure, I will be leaving in a matter of hours, but if anything, that makes it all the more precious. ‘I’d love to show you a few things.’
I stand and start to show him around the maze of plants, telling him stories of our family’s time here when he was just a baby.
‘They were good parents then,’ I say when we’ve collected all we need and are headed to the kitchen to begin the pregnancy tonic. ‘Always thinking about us first. Always pushing us, but just the right amount.’
‘Can you tell me a little more about Father?’ William asks. ‘Not much good is said of him.’
Given how we were around the plants, so much of my conversation was focused on our mother and it makes sense that I would talk about her with more ease.
She tried to do her best by us, even when her world was crumbling, whereas Father allowed himself to get lost in his grief.
Even now, I have a hard time reconciling that with the love I still hold for him.
‘What do you want to know?’ I ask, pushing my own pain aside.
William’s brow furrows. ‘I know he was born out of wedlock. Was his mother stripped for carrying a child outside of marriage?’
‘No, no,’ I assure him with a hand on his shoulder.
‘Those strict rules only tend to extend to the named families in the High Hold. His mother was from one of the outer rings. I don’t know which …
the fourth or fifth perhaps? His father was Lord Kultavaris, but like you said, he was a bastard, so Grandfather left him in the rings to rot.
’ It feels like more of a crime now that I know what it’s like to be cast out.
I can’t help but think of Kyor and Thea – and the babe she supposedly bore.
The thought of them together makes me shudder and I push it down. I’m not thinking of Kyor now. Not when this is one of the last pieces of time I will get to spend with my brother before I leave.
‘Grandfather and his wife never managed to produce an heir themselves, so when they learned how powerful Father was, Lord Kultavaris decided to recognise him formally so he could be brought into the High Hold to carry on his father’s title and lineage.’
‘Wow.’ William’s horror is replaced by a look of awe. ‘That must’ve been an amazing opportunity for him.’
‘I’m sure he was grateful for the chance,’ I agree, ‘but life wasn’t easy for him.
There were a lot of people who despised him for his roots.
People who thought he didn’t deserve his place among the lords and ladies, despite his father and his power.
He had to work twice as hard to get half the recognition. ’
Memories of my father stir, ones long forgotten – the late nights, the meetings, the constant attempts to appease everyone around him without betraying his own morals.
Yet somehow he walked that tightrope with precision and a smile on his face.
Always gracious, always grateful. He had a skill, a way of getting even the sternest heart to soften around him. Charisma, I suppose.
My heart fills with an unexpected heat. I spent so long with the other version of Father – the drunk so consumed by grief I doubt he would have recognised his own reflection – that I almost blocked out of the memory of who he was before.
And now that I’m remembering, now that my brother is here, I would give anything just to tell him Florian is safe and well, and to feel the strength of his arms around me in a hug. He used to give such fierce hugs.
As the heat in my heart threatens to burn, William clears his throat and I pull myself back into the moment.
‘Sorry,’ I say, forcing a smile to my lips.
‘I was just remembering how powerful he was,’ I lie, although now that’s exactly what I do.
‘And also skilled. Nobody could ever sneak up on him.’ I grin as a memory stirs.
‘We had this game where we would blindfold him, and we’d have to creep up and touch his shoulder before he could turn around and catch us.
But he always won. Always. If he hadn’t been such a formidable wind weaver, I could have sworn he had the power to see through the blindfold.
’ I laugh as the memories rush in, as fresh as the days they were made.
Those days were joyous, and I wish I had truly appreciated them at the time.
I smile at William, grateful to him for bringing old memories to the forefront.
‘He was strong though, right?’ William asks. ‘You said he was powerful, too.’
‘Just a little.’ I grin. ‘Once, he lifted an entire battalion up. He held them a foot above the ground with the power of his wind alone.’
William’s jaw drops. ‘He did not.’
‘He did. I saw it myself.’ As I drift into the memory again, my smile fades slightly. ‘I think he was secretly hoping Kay’s powers would match his own.’
‘Do they?’
‘Not yet,’ I say simply. I take the potion off the heat, smiling in satisfaction at the bright cerulean mixture.
‘He would be so proud to know you followed in his footsteps,’ I say softly. And then I steel myself, for William deserves to know the whole truth of his parents – the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.
Maybe it won’t be so bad for him though.
After all, he didn’t have to live through it.
‘It broke him when he thought you’d died,’ I admit.
‘It broke all of us. But Father … he never managed to put himself back together. I don’t think he even wanted to.
He didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t have you in it. ’
A shadow crosses William’s face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I put him through that. And you, too.’
‘You did nothing,’ I say, gripping his shoulders firmly. ‘Absolutely nothing. Do you understand?’
I pause, swallowing the knot forming in my throat. Then I take a breath and deliberately shift my tone. ‘Come on, Kay’s brew is done. Let me show you more plants,’ I say brightly, brushing away the cloud that’s settled over us. ‘What else would you like to learn?’
It’s a clumsy diversion, but thankfully, William doesn’t push further.
‘Well,’ he says, the corner of his mouth lifting, ‘I wouldn’t mind if you made me some arrowroot concoction. I’ve heard it can be useful,’ he says with a guileless smile.
Arrowroot tonic is known to dilute the effects of alcohol entering the body, in some cases preventing people from getting drunk at all.
Great for lords trying to have the upper hand when they’re in negotiations over a nightcap or two.
Of course, incorrectly brewed, and you’ve got a highly toxic compound in your hand.
I offer him my most withering big-sister glower. ‘You’re too young to know about that. And just because you don’t get drunk doesn’t mean it doesn’t cause the same damage to your liver and the rest of your body.’
‘I’m not saying I’m going to use it,’ he protests. ‘But I know some people who’d pay over the odds for the tonic, especially one made by the gifted herself.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe my sister’s the gifted.’
The pride in his voice causes a glow of warmth to burn within me, although it’s extinguished far too quickly.
‘You do truly understand why people can’t know, don’t you?’ I ask him, needing to hammer the point home, to see it for myself that he understands the severity of his situation. ‘William, the king believes you are dead. He cannot learn otherwise, not ever.’
‘I know,’ William replies, and a sadness glazes his eyes. It makes my heart hurt and I’d do just about anything to make that look disappear from his handsome features.
Anything, including going against my own better judgement.
‘We’ll make a small batch of arrowroot tonic,’ I tell him. His eyes light up the way I hoped they would. ‘Pick me some of that.’ I point to an umber-coloured plant with iridescent leaves. ‘And be careful. The sap can sting.’
Thirty minutes later, we have another basket halfway with a range of plants from vetiver to galangal. William followed every instruction to the letter and asked many questions as we worked. I can already tell he is a boy who loves to learn.
‘Does your magic work the same with all plants?’ he asks now. ‘You can just touch plants and flowers and make them grow?’
‘With some, yes, but it varies. Sometimes the growth is not immediate, but my extra magic ensures they will become fruitful and healthy in time. Sometimes it’s that my powers allow me to access something in the plant that normal folk wouldn’t be able to or, at least, not at such a great intensity.’
‘So is some of it spell work?’
‘Plant and spell work go together hand in hand. They’re infinitely stronger combined than they could ever be alone.’
‘Then maybe I should learn it too. You know, to honour her? If you think that would be all right. I could learn the spell work, couldn’t I?’
‘You could, and I can’t think of anything she would have liked better,’ I reply.
‘I know that you’re going to be as safe as you can be on this trip,’ he says, his voice suddenly quiet. ‘But if you do meet the Torailians—’
‘I’ll be careful, I promise,’ I interrupt.
He blushes. ‘Oh, yes, I know, but that’s not what I was going to say.’ He clamps his mouth shut and I wish I could take my words back.
‘What were you going to say? What were you going to ask me?’ I press, only for the colour in his cheeks to deepen.
‘Well, I’ve heard before that they have these arrows that go wherever you want them to. That you don’t even have to aim them. I was wondering … if you did see them … if you’d be able to get one for me.’
‘Oh.’ My lips remain parted for a moment as I work out how to reply.
On the one hand, it’s great that my little brother thinks I’m capable of surviving a confrontation with the Torailians – and could even come out of it with a souvenir – but on the other hand, the Torailians are well documented as not having magic, and if their arrows don’t miss, it’s likely because it’s a skill they’ve spent a lifetime honing.
They also haven’t been seen, let alone fought, in decades.
But that doesn’t feel like something he wants to hear.
‘If I meet and survive any Torailians, I promise I will bring you back one of their arrows,’ I tell him. And from the way he grins in response, I almost want to trespass into their territory just to fetch him one. Almost.