TWO #3
“Enough!” he snaps, and my sympathy vanishes.
I hate it when Broderic gets into his I-Know-Best attitude.
“You receive your birthright tonight. You should get ready.” He shifts back to face the fire, the coffee still untouched, and flings a verbal knife at me.
“Too bad you won’t be able to properly wield for years. Not that it would help much anyway.”
I stare for a moment, my chest heaving as a dozen retorts, ranging from cutting to devastating, jump to my lips.
It’s not my fault inherited magic wakes when it wakes.
That it could take months before it even stirs and then still requires years of training to actually wield.
Or that with each generation, the magic seems to grow weaker, as though the well were running dry.
Sometimes it doesn’t manifest at all. Throwing it in my face isn’t fair.
I open my mouth to tell him he’s being a dick, but what’s the point? He’s unreachable in this mood.
In the end, I stomp out of the room without another word.
I don’t bother stopping in the sleeping chamber I’m sharing with Isidore.
The last thing I need is for her to start on me, too.
She hasn’t even tried to talk him out of it.
Neither has Kieren. Maybe if they would, Broderic would see what I’ve been trying to tell him all along.
Maybe we could find another way together.
I grab my new coat from a hook by the door and head out, determined to find my way through the maze that is the royal palace. I need air. I need to breathe. I’m going to suffocate under the weight of words like duty and birthright.
I wind through corridors, pretending to look at the tapestries and oil paintings while checking for exits. There are so many turns and twists that it’s like the castle doesn’t want me to escape.
Rounding a corner, I spot a group of last night’s initiates. I duck back behind the wall before they see me. Talking with them is the last thing I need right now.
“That’s what happened,” one says in a hushed voice.
“No member of Velesont would ever do that.” Her companion shakes his head in disgust.
My pulse ratchets faster with each word. They aren’t talking about me. They can’t be. How would they know what happened during my Petition? I peek around the corner, careful to stay hidden in the shadow of the alcove.
“I knew the second I saw her.” It’s the blonde from last night, her nose impressively high in the air. “I can’t believe she’s actually from a patron line. How embarrassing.”
That pretty much seals it. I don’t want to hear the rest. Not after my own brother was so condescending. That’s enough for one day.
Pressing my body close to the wall, I sneak around the corner and discover the front hall. I dash toward the door, not slowing until I’m outside.
Cold air crashes into me, flurries dancing on the wind.
I consider heading back to where it’s warm.
Instead, I swivel on the top step and stare at the city stirring to life below.
The palace complex sits at the top of Wintour like a crown.
A dense fog blocks all but the tops of the buildings: roofs and spires, glass domes and chimneys pumping plumes of smoke.
I gulp down a deep breath, but my frustration lingers. I don’t care about the stories people are sharing. But I do care that Broderic is acting like the events of this weekend will save us all. Well, at least his actions.
Money troubles are one sort of prison. Arranged marriages are another. It doesn’t matter which you choose, you’re still a prisoner.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I don’t hear the front entrance open. A moment later, Kieren is next to me.
“You couldn’t let it go.” He shakes his head. “You’re lucky he didn’t bite your head off.”
I start down the steps before he can drag me back to make nice with my brother. “Broderic is being silly. Our accounts are low, but we don’t need to be rich.”
There’s a difference between self-sacrifice and martyrdom. Not that Broderic is in a mood to hear that, nor am I in the mood to explain.
“He just wants to take care of you,” Kieren says softly after we reach the bottom of what feels like a hundred steps, sadness tracing the words as he follows me down the wide stairs.
I wish that mattered to me.
“I can take care of myself.” I nearly slip on the fresh snow dusting the paved private drive. The soles of my new boots—another unnecessary expense for this trip—are still slick.
Kieren sees but doesn’t comment. “Should I go back inside, then?”
I sigh. Kieren always gets stuck in the middle of our battles. “No, stay.”
“Come on.” He crooks his arm. “We’re going to explore Wintour.”
I stare at the iron gates that separate the palace grounds from the outside world. They are a different kind of cage. One I can choose to open. One I can escape—for a little while, at least. “Is that allowed?” I tease, wishing I felt as light as my tone. “I wouldn’t want to get lost.”
“Ah, but you are not ten years old.” Kieren grins at me. “And since tonight you officially become Lady Icaros, I think you’re permitted.”
I grimace at the title. “Please never call me that.”
“Of course.” He gives a solemn nod before tacking on, “My lady.”
I push him into the snowbank.