Autumn Rose: A Dark Heroine Novel (11 page)

When the town came into view, I searched for the church and graveyard we had passed when I had dropped her off. To my complete relief, frantically walking through the graveyard was the young duchess. I waited until she had passed through the gate in the dry stone wall, and then dropped to the ground behind the church tower.

She didn’t hang around once she reached the lane—though she didn’t push herself as far as her magic would allow but moderated herself to a jog. I took after her as quietly as I could; cursing the crunch of the gravel path and opting for the grass verge instead, weaving between the graves. All around, wilting flowers lay in mildewed jars.

I halted at the gate and waited for her to reach the top of the hill at the path’s end, where I could just make out the cottages and their tiny doors giving way to the vast branches of a maple tree. When she crossed the summit, I broke out into a jog, too, and quickly emerged at the turning she had directed us to the week before. On the other side of the road, I could see her diving between the unruly shrubs in her yard and hear the slam of a front door.

I let out a sigh of relief, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t let her be alone, not with those thoughts running through her mind.

Yet when I reached the opposite sidewalk, something made me pause. There were no gates, or guards, or lodges, but I was acutely aware, as I passed the sign bearing the avenue’s name, that this was her territory and that I was trespassing. It was like being a kid again, trying to steal apples from the crown orchards; they were not fenced and we were never told not to go there, but we knew that what we were doing was wrong.

I took a few cautious steps and glanced around nervously. It had been a long time since I had walked around a neighborhood alone and unguarded.

I stopped when I reached the edge of her front yard. It wasn’t an unpleasant house—it was quite charming in a small, rustic sort of way—but it was hard to believe that the duchy of England, with all their wealth and property, lived here; much easier to imagine the field day the paparazzi would have if they knew the details of their lifestyle choice.

I gripped the pointed post of the white picket fence. It was common knowledge the House of Al-Summers had always rejected pomp, but this . . .
this
I had never expected.

Then I noticed something that made my blood run cold. In the driveway were two cars.

It took a minute for my heart to stop racing. I knew her parents worked away in London. It had never for one moment occurred to me that they might actually be home for her.

I shook my head and let out a sharp breath. She was not alone. I could go. Yet at the same time, it seemed like a perfect opportunity. Human or not, her parents were nobility, and I would have to introduce myself at some point. It would be an advantageous move.

But even as I placed my hand on the gate, I knew that I could not do it. I could not face them, look them in the eyes and shake her father’s hand. Guilt—for now, at least—prevented me from intruding upon their lives any further.

I looked up at the house, half expecting, half hoping—but knowing it would be better if I didn’t—to see a flash of gold. There was nothing.

She is safe now. Her parents will take care of her.

And so I let go of the gate, turned, and walked away.

“If your mind is anything to go by, I’d say you’d been to dinner with a vampire, and you were the main course.”

I did not reply. Behind my closed eyelids all was dark.

“Fal, I’m your cousin. What is it?”

“You remember Autumn Rose as a child, right? How would you describe her?”

“Confident, pretentious, bossy maybe. Good talker.”

“Yes. She was. But that is not the wreck I’m at school with. That is not the girl we came here for.”

There was a pause.
“It’s this place, Fal. It’s godforsaken.”

Autumn

M
y parents were home, and there was no faking illness with the shrewd eyes of my mother attuned to any pattern she didn’t believe colds could muster. A cold that miraculously healed in time for work the previous weekend only to return exactly a week later was not a believable cold; that was why I was up with the bright break of the next day and in school just as the caretakers were unlocking the doors.

The sun had not yet risen high enough to warm the bench I sat down on, so I stretched the tips of my toes beyond the shade and let my legs bask in the growing heat as the light worked its way up toward my skirt. I slid a little lower, letting my head rest on the back of the bench.

I closed my eyes. He wouldn’t be here for another twenty minutes at least, and it would be half an hour before the buses arrived.

Why did he bring
that
up yesterday?
It made me uncomfortable; more than uncomfortable. I was admitting a stranger into the innermost workings of my mind; and as much as he obviously thought to the contrary, we
were
strangers. Playing as children to pass the long hours at balls did not make us friends. I didn’t even properly remember the visits before I was twelve, and I had not been the only child of high birth to move in such circles at that time. There were dozens of us. Yet in just two weeks he was privy to things I had not divulged to a single human at Kable.
How does that work?

I summoned a globule of water, about the size of a pea, into my hand and let it skate across my palm, perfectly intact, and down to the base of my wrist. It was soothing—a trick my grandmother had used to get me to sleep when I first went to live with her.

I felt the clouds close over the sun and reluctantly opened my eyes, thinking it must be time to find somewhere to hide out until homeroom. I blinked a few times, before the globule burst and I scrambled to my feet.

Leaning against a nearby bench was the prince. The remnants of a small smile on his lips disintegrated as our eyes met and he began the stuttered apologies of someone caught red-handed.

I dropped into a low, cautious curtsy, unsure of how else to react.

“Don’t,” he muttered. “Just don’t.”

Instead of standing back up, I sank onto the bench.

He sat down beside me. “Tell me you wouldn’t do it?” he asked in a near-whisper.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Have you seen someone about this? Had therapy?”

“Right after she died. It didn’t help.”

“But it’s got to be better than this. Look what happened yesterday!”

I said nothing for a while, resting my forearms on my thighs and leaning forward; that way I couldn’t see him. “Have you heard of something called coping ugly?” His silence answered me. “Sometimes things—and emotions—that might otherwise be bad are the only way we can cope.”

I briefly glanced back to find him shaking his head.

“But how can you still let it affect you? Why not start looking forward instead of back?”

“It’s not just her.”

“Then what else is it?”

I remained mute. He sighed before I heard the bench creaking in protest as he leaned forward; out of the corner of my eye, I could see his arms, clad in the thin wool of his jumper, just inches from my own, bare.

“You have a job.” It was a statement, not a question. “Runs in the family, huh?” He let out a chuckle then stopped abruptly. “St. Sapphire’s was lucky to have your grandmother as a teacher. She was one of the best.”

“Yes.”

The dark blue jumper disappeared from my view. “Does it not bother you that your parents work in the city? The banks have a lot to answer for these days.”

I shrugged.

“Listen, I was wondering if you would agree to a fight this lunchtime? Only to retirement, not first blood. I’ll run it past Sylaeia in homeroom . . . i-if you want to, that is.”

I sat quietly for a few minutes. I heard him shift.

“The Extermino could come back and attack here anytime. We should keep ourselves ready.”

I scoffed. “We wouldn’t stand a chance against them. But yes. I would like that.” I rose to my feet, hearing the rising chorus of voices from the parking lot as a busload of students arrived.

“I have a few useful tricks up my sleeve to use against them. Oh, wait, you’re going?” he questioned, scrambling to his feet.

“Your entourage has arrived, Your Highness.” I bowed my head in the direction of the entrance and curtsied as he narrowed his eyes at the oncoming crowd.

“My what?” he said, but I had already turned and retreated, hearing his title, and mine, rise on the wind as he was swamped once again.

“I will not go! You cannot make me!”

The child fastened the ribbons of her straw hat beneath her bun, a few stray hairs covering the clumsy knot. Usually, she would tie a neat bow, but she could not do that while walking, especially so fast, with careful emphasis on every step to make sure that it echoed. She climbed the staircase, intending to lose herself within the pre-lesson crowds of the dining hall, but her grandmother followed close behind. Her footsteps were the echo of an echo, and they were relentless in their pursuit.

“Child, it is your tenth birthday! You cannot turn your back this time.”

The girl was careful to keep her back to the older woman, weaving between the crowds toward the top end of the middle table.

“Why not?”

“Because already you ignore your parents when they travel to the city on business.”

The girl smiled the smile of someone much older, revealing a gap in her bottom row of teeth, partly closed by an adult tooth.

“As do you, Grandmother.”

“Sylaeia was fine with it, he said we should practice defensive magic, just in case.” The prince hoisted his bag higher, marching across the field with me at his side. “But the headmaster was a pain. I don’t know why he’s so against it. Does he want Extermino knocking on his door?”

“Kurt Holden,” I muttered.

“Yes, but that was years ago, wasn’t it?”

“Valerie still remembers,” I replied under my breath, extremely conscious of the way the prince’s fan club had swollen in their ranks to include most of the school: the wildfire gossip network had kicked into action once again. Most settled on the banks nearest the school buildings, while a few of the older, bolder sixth-formers continued on with us toward the very end of the field. When we stopped and deposited our bags, they carried on to a sunny patch in between the trees.

“Right, no weapons and the first to retire loses. But don’t push yourself too hard, we need to keep a shield up to protect the students.” He began unbuckling his scabbard from his belt, and my eyes, without seeking my permission, wandered down. “I don’t suppose you’re the type to put a wager on this, are you?”

I blinked a few times and shook my head, hastening to cast my own sword aside, along with my flimsy shoes—they would only get broken.

He began backing away, and as he did, I felt the buzz of a shield erupt from the ground up. It rose above our heads, enclosing us in a dome forty feet high. He continued back, a smile appearing on his face. I recognized that smile: it was the one he wore for the media—a wry grin of quiet confidence.

“I should warn you, Duchess: I won’t go easy on you.”

“No, Your Highness,” I responded, adding my own magic to the shield. My muscles tensed and I was shocked by how quickly it was draining me. It was then that I questioned what on earth I was doing. I had as good as admitted to him in the car the week before that I hadn’t used any serious magic for well over a year; in contrast, he had the best education and disciplined training money could buy.

Suddenly, a bolt of what looked like lightning crossed from one side of the shield to the other, accompanied by the same shattered-glass sound my curse had created when it had been absorbed by the prince’s shield the day before. At its source were Christy and Gwen, flat on their backs. The prince laughed as they got up, both girls completely confused until the shield rippled a little and revealed itself. They flushed and hurried around its edge, followed by Tammy and Tee.

I did not share my opponent’s amusement. Beyond my friends were Valerie and her own group, and it was their leering expressions that reignited the anger I had felt the day before. They
wanted
me to fail.

The prince saw me looking and cleared his throat. I turned my attention back to him and curtsied as he bowed, as was customary.

“What are the three ways of casting?”

I was taken aback by the question. I hadn’t expected a quiz, and it took me a few moments to answer, though it was basic knowledge.

“With the mind, the voice, and the hands.”

“And what is the first way any Sage learns to utilize their magic?”

“With the mind.”

“Why?” Before I had a chance to answer, a deep-orange streak—a hex, I could only assume—appeared from thin air and sped straight toward my chest. It was utterly silent.

I could only trust my mind to react quickly enough, and it did. Without so much as a breath, a shield appeared as a second skin around me, deflecting the hex back toward the prince. He, of course, was ready, and his own small shield appeared as he flicked his hand casually, directing the remnants of the spell toward the larger dome shield, where it crackled and died.

He answered his own question. “Shields.” We both tensed. I knew I should resist, but my eyes flicked toward where the students lined the banks. It was not so much fear in their faces, but shock. Seeing, for the first time, a Sage cast without a single word or movement was quite something—I could remember mirroring their awe as a child.

I half expected him to cast in my moment of misdirected concentration, but he didn’t, and I turned back to him, wondering if he was going to ask another question. Instead I found his face quite blank. More seconds passed and I eventually realized that he was waiting for me to make a move. I was not prepared to do that. Everybody knew the Athenean princes were fast; any aggressive attack on the prince would just make it
far
too easy for him. Casting when he was concentrating on a spell was my only chance.