4 Dove #2
I sipped at my lukewarm rose tea, staring into the fire’s dancing flames.
Well, that could be done easily enough. The mage had shown me how to add and remove another person to the enchantment.
But I hoped I could get rid of her before I even bothered with that.
With luck and a bit of convincing, that woman would be out on her ass before dinnertime.
I pictured myself gleefully pushing her out the front door so she stumbled and fell on the stone path.
She would glare at me, then trudge away rubbing her bruised bum in those tight brown leather pants while I waved farewell.
Don’t think of her ass! What is wrong with you? I shook my head to clear the image, taking another glug of tea. She’s horrible, and you’re going to resolve this now.
With that, I set down my teacup and second pastry.
Fetching a thumb-length rock from the small trunk by my bed, I relaxed into an armchair and closed my eyes, letting my fingers move slowly over the rock’s bumpy surface before settling into a familiar position.
One hand below, one hand above. I held it in place and breathed deeply, letting the inner pool of my magic rise from within and twine around it.
Once I could feel that every inch was covered, the rock bathed in magic, I allowed it to release, sink into the surface and transform.
This felt as natural as breathing. As lovely as the sun’s sudden touch on my skin, warming me through. I focused for a bit longer than usual, wanting to get this perfect today, and my magic responded, eager for the challenge.
After another minute, I pulled my strands of magic back, letting them rejoin the pool within me once more. Blinking my eyes open, I held up the rock.
Which was a rock no longer—resting on my brown palm was a beautifully cut, vivid red ruby.
Small but stunning, it drew the light of the fire and subtle sparkles played within.
Exquisite. Mother would be pleased. And when she was pleased with my daily creation, she was always in her best mood.
There was nothing my mother loved more than a lovely jewel gotten for free. Or her art collection.
Or me, I supposed. Father and I were probably somewhere on that list. Jewels, art, Father, gold, the manor, hazelnut meringue cookies, and then me.
I tossed the jewel up and caught it, tucking it into my skirt pocket.
Enough feeling sorry for myself. Mother was the way she was.
I was the way I was. We may never see eye to eye, but at least we had food and beautiful clothes and warm rooms again.
Things had gotten a bit dire before, when she and Father had burned through all our family’s gold—including my inheritance—gradually leaving us with empty coffers, empty rooms, and increasingly empty stomachs.
But that was over a year ago. We were all safe now.
Because of me. Because of my gift. I’d saved our family, and I continued to put food on the table. Art on the walls. Servants paid. Debt collectors satisfied. My parents would do well to remember it. I was not some silly, obedient child that they could still order around and bend to their will.
With righteous defiance blazing in me once more, I donned my most dramatic feather wrap from the armoire and swept out of my rooms, leaving them unlocked so Petra could clear the tea tray later.
I stormed down the halls, reining in my emotions as I went.
Mother never responded well to outbursts.
Thankfully, it was quite a journey to get anywhere in this house, so I had plenty of time.
First, I checked her rooms down the hall from mine—empty. Then the upstairs library and downstairs parlors, before making my way to the far left of the house, where a small door was ajar. I should have known.
“Good evening, Mother.”
“Dovey! Join me; come sit.”
Patting the seat next to her, Mother looked over a shoulder at me.
We were in the cozy solarium Father had built several years back, when Mother was in a phase of claiming she “missed the Isles.” So he had constructed this glass-walled room just for her and filled it with tropical plants.
The endeavor was ridiculously expensive, of course.
And I thought she’d only visited the Southern Isles…
twice? In her whole life. They’d never even bothered to take me.
Moving closer, I perched on the settee next to her, patting my hair to make sure it was in place.
Then I caught myself and stopped, letting my body lounge back in the seat.
I was trying to untrain the hypervigilant etiquette that she and my tutors had engrained in me from a young age, but, goddess, it was hard.
“A bit chilly out here this time of year, isn’t it?” I said, ignoring the slight pinch in her mouth, disapproval at my posture.
“It is. Winter will be creeping up on us before we know it. We’ll need to get the cold weather charm on these walls redone soon, for the plants.
But how lovely it is here in the early evening light, no?
You almost wish you could paint it.” Clutching her furs closer, Mother smiled at me. She was in a good mood tonight.
“Perhaps I will,” I said, following her gaze to the soft, fading light outside.
Through the glass walls, we watched a few birds flit around, last stragglers before nighttime.
The wide expanse of our grounds spread like so much pointless and empty manicured space.
In the distance, the dark trees of our wood looked mysterious, and I had a sudden urge to sneak out of the house and disappear. Just lose myself among them.
Perhaps never come back. I could live in the forest, find some villagers to build me a little cottage and just… cook soups? Whittle? Here, my mind drew a blank, as I hardly knew what a penniless person living alone would do.