Chapter Two #2
“Went to clean the fireplaces and noticed the water was missing for her lessons,” Jeremee whispers on the other side, pressing a heavy carafe into my hands. It’s identical to the Illusion, no doubt what inspired my lady’s trick. For once, I’m grateful he’s here, as selfish as it may be.
“Thanks,” I whisper back. “Now go, before she sees you.”
His green eyes widen. “What happened to your hands?”
The water magnifies my irritated palms cupping the glass.
“Nothing,” I say, bumping the door with my hip. “Talk later.”
He grabs the door before it slams. “I haven’t started on the fireboxes and grates in the dining room yet. She has a guest this evening, so it must be done today, but I can only clear them during her lessons in the parlor.”
“Right, of course.” I move back.
True enough, Jeremee steps inside carrying bags and brass fireplace tools.
While my cotton uniform dress may be worn and repaired, it’s still a stark white to his gray tunic.
Unlike Crests, Scarps do not need to dress up like window treatments.
A Scarp must carefully time their duties to remain invisible to High Fae.
Leaving him to his task, I reenter the parlor, closing the door behind me so that he will not be spotted.
“Perfect,” Eli calls, gesturing for me to enter. Beside him, Kassandra squints at the water in my hands.
“Where’d you get that?” she demands.
Her fury is a flame I can’t help stoking. It’s the only control I have.
I lower my head. “From the table, my lady. Like you said.”
“You insolent little—”
“Shall we try butterflies first?” Eli clears his throat. “Please?”
The head of a House, begging for reprieve.
So we’re not the only ones who find each other’s company torturous.
Why she pointed a painted fingernail at me in that lineup two years ago, I will never know.
On either side, Scarps had quaked as the mistress stomped about, having already hired and fired all other backup Crests, at least the ones who hadn’t ended themselves or run away.
Untrained at service and manners, the Scarps were still the next best thing compared to Bases, and, freshly grieving my mother, I hadn’t cared when Kassandra picked me. I care now.
She huffs. “Butterflies? Fine, let’s go with bloody butterflies.”
The water sloshes from the carafe in my hands. As I peer over the lip, a butterfly formed of water smacks me in the face. I jerk away, spluttering, nostrils burning.
“My mistake,” she says.
Outstretching the carafe does nothing. A dove splashes me next, then a bee, a blue jay, a spider, and although they are small, my nose and mouth fill.
I gasp for air but inhale only water controlled by root magic.
A giant raven floods my face, and for once, I wish it were an Illusion because maybe then I could breathe. My vision blurs.
“Kassandra—” Eli’s voice hardens.
“I’m trying!” she whines. “Like you said, I need to work on my water play.”
“But the faerie—”
My lady shrieks, the water splattering to the ground. I cough viciously, weak with relief, air filling my lungs.
“What is that!” she cries.
Wiping my eyes with my sleeve, I take in my mistress pointing at something behind me. I whirl around.
Jeremee stands on the threshold, bag of ash in hand, arms and face dirty, an angry glint in his gaze. My heart turns to ice. He doesn’t move, as if he wants the High Fae to truly see him. As if he violates the rules for a good reason.
I need to bring her attention back to me.
Pivoting to my lady, I let the carafe slip through my fingers. Water arcs through the air, splashing her. She screams again, jumping back. Meeting her bedraggled appearance and gaping stare, I keep my expression flat and try not to show any hint of satisfaction.
“My mistake,” I say.
The plane of magic yanks in her direction, the air pressurizing like a killing freeze.
I fall to my hands and knees, and Jeremee stumbles, gripping the frame for a hold.
I grab the pitcher, my genius calling to the puddles seeping into the oak.
The water rises and coils into the glass once more. The stench of swamp pollutes the plane.
The High Fae may be stronger than any faerie, but that doesn’t mean we’re weak. Especially not my genius. For years, my mother begged me to hide its strength. Back then, I didn’t want to, but now—I can’t. In the days after her death, my magic putrefied to something sour and persistent.
Any other High Fae would kill me for the display of power, and for disobedience. But not Kassandra. No, something deep and delicious flickers in her gaze instead. Like the cat that plays with its food but finds the rat’s hide tougher than expected.
Lord Eli frowns, glancing between us.
As if remembering herself, Kassandra covers her mouth, flushing again. “Ugh, I don’t care why you’re here, just get out!”
“Yes, my lady,” Jeremee says.
“And drag her out by the hair if you have to. She reeks!”
I stand, pitcher in hand like a weapon, and curtsy. “My lady.”
“Disgusting faerie.”
My indiscretion now eclipses Jeremee’s. I will be the one remembered and punished. As we scurry away, I almost laugh.
The only thing my mistress and I agree on is how much we hate each other.