The Spark of a Feudling (10 page)

****

“Mother, I will go to London,” Ada announced as she swept into the parlor where her mother was doing some sort of sewing project Ada had never taken an interest in.

Vivian looked up, a hint of fear flashing across her face before she realized what Ada had said and shock replaced it. “You will, truly?” Vivian exploded to her feet, rushing to take Ada's hands. “We have so much to do. We must pack. And order your new wardrobe. And somehow we've got to make you fit to meet the queen.” She was already mentally creating a list longer than Ada's skirts when Ada broke in.

“On two conditions, Mother.”

Vivian froze, her hand coming to rest on the door frame. She turned slowly, her shoulders set like she was cringing inside. “What is it, Ada?”

Ada raised her chin. “One, I want Governess Buttercroft's daughter, Charity, to accompany me as my maid.”

Vivian's chin dropped. “But—but she—but your—”

Ada cut her off. “My maid now is fine, Mother, but if I am to embark on a new course in my life, I wish to take my dearest friend with me. I know there is no way I would be allowed to bring Charity with me as my guest. And besides,” Ada crossed her arms over her chest, looking away toward the window. “Father already told me she could be my maid.”

“He did?” Vivian did not sound convinced. Ada met her gaze and nodded. “We won't leave for at least a fortnight. Charity can be trained. I'll take two maids! It's the newest fashion in London, Mother.” Ada knew she sounded desperate, but she couldn't help it. The entire reason she agreed to go to London was to get Charity out of the house and away from her father. If her mother didn't agree, Ada was truly at a loss.

Vivian wrinkled her nose delicately. “Everyone has two maids now?”

Ada nearly sighed. How did her mother honestly expect her to know? She'd never been to London. She had no communication with anyone in London — or anywhere else, for that matter. It was a whole city of non-magical peoples. And it scared her more than facing any battle did. Instead of answering, she changed the subject. “And two, Mr. Buttercroft will accompany us as one of our grooms.”

“No. Absolutely not. I want you far, far away from that boy.” Vivian jutted her chin out like a stubborn child.

“Then I will not go.” Ada crossed her arms over her chest to hide her shaking hands. If her mother refused, Ada would have to take Charity and Christian and run away. And pray the wrath of her father did not follow them.

Vivian squinted at her for several long seconds. “Fine. I will make the arrangements. But not before—” Vivian paused and held up one finger, freezing Ada's triumphant smile, “—not before you promise me that you will behave. No sorcery. No magic. No flames, sparks, spells, climbing trees, or swearing. You will be a lady. And you will stay away from that boy.”

Ada didn't hesitate. If it meant keeping Charity safe, she would do it. “Yes, Mother. I give you my word.”

****

“You are going to London? Surely you jest, Ada.” Christian felt like his own throat was trying to strangle him, closing in as it was. Or maybe it was his heart, trying to escape and lodged uncomfortably, blocking all air?

“Christian, please understand. I cannot think of another way to keep Charity away from my father.” Ada's voice was small and pleading. He knew if he turned to look at her, there would be tears in her eyes. So he didn't turn. Instead, he shoved his pitchfork viciously into the next load of hay and flung it into the fresh stall.

“We don't even know if your father is doing this, Ada. Maybe she's just losing her mind.”

There was a gasp, and something small and hard smacked him in the back of the head. He dropped his fork, grabbing his skull and whirling. “What was that for?”

Her beautiful face was nearly burgundy with rage, her eyes shooting daggers as she glared at him. “Take. That. Back.”

He sighed, stretching his neck and wondering why he had fallen in love with a girl who had such an incredibly hot temper. “I'm sorry, Ada. I don't mean that. But I won't see you for such a long time. And there will be all those men fighting for your hand — men your father
wants
you to marry. What chance do I have?” He stepped over the hay and pulled her toward him, holding her hands tightly in his own.

She blinked at him like he was daft. “Of course I'll see you. We have to have a groom in the city, Christian. It will be just as it is here, only safe. No Father.”

So he would go, but only to watch her be courted by every eligible bachelor in London? Was that better than staying here and imagining it happening? “I will go. As your groom.” He let her hands drop and turned away, stooping to pick up his pitchfork. He attacked the hay again, this time with more force than before.

The prong of the pitchfork broke.

Christian swore, throwing what was left of it across the barn.

“You're angry.” Ada had backed up several steps and now stood at the wide doors leading outside.

He spun on her, feeling the sparks come unbidden even as he realized sparks should not come unbidden to a Carules healer. He did not care. “Yes, Ada, I am angry. You care more for my sister than you do for me. You risk everything to save her without a thought to how it will affect me. Do you honestly think, when you get to London and have all those high-born men panting after you that you will remember the
groom
waiting at your window? Will you even remember Charity?” He advanced on her, but she didn't move. Her chin came up, which he should have realized was a warning, but he ignored it. “For once, Ada, tell the truth. You are going to London so you can leave us behind.”

She slapped him. The sparks from her fingertips burned his cheek. And then she whirled and raced for the estate.

He raised a hand to his cheek, feeling the welts rising. The flames in his blood had gone cold. With a heavy heart, he rested his head against the barn door, staring at his feet. If she went to London, he would lose her forever. If he'd ever really had her at all.

****

She didn't speak to him for over a week. She didn't come to the pond, or to their trees. She didn't even leave the manor unless it was at night. If Charity's visions were to be believed, she was sneaking out nearly every night to fight in battles that seemed to be erupting more and more frequently in the surrounding areas. He even waited up one night, sitting in the shadows across from her balcony, but she never appeared. By this point, he didn't know if Charity was even able to get a real vision, or if it was all madness.

Charity saw her every day, all day long, while she trained tirelessly for her new position as Ada's maid. She told Christian of the seamstresses being brought in, of the endless hours of packing trunk after trunk. “You'd think they were moving to London for the rest of their days,” Charity murmured in exhaustion as she curled on her side in her bed. Christian didn't say a word, just pulled her quilt over her shoulders and leaned to kiss her temple.

Maybe she is.

“Lady Adlington has asked that you accompany them to London,” Scarlett said as he came wearily into the small sitting room.

He stared out the window at the manor. The fine manor, with rugs more expensive than a year's worth of his clothes. With a single room big enough to fit their entire home. This is what Ada was used to, and this is what she would seek. His throat threatened to close once again, but he forced it to allow the words to be spoken. “I will not go.”

****

Ada's entire body hurt. Fighting in battle seemed to be the only way to silence the pain of her broken heart, so she fought whenever she felt it call. But she had no healer, now, and the burns and bruises had to fade on their own. Governess Buttercroft had healed her face once during lessons, but the rest of her injuries she hid well. Not even Charity knew of them.

But the pain of her body was nothing compared to her heart. Christian's words had made a permanent home in her mind — she heard them whenever she wasn't fighting. Sometimes whispered, sometimes screamed, they never went away. After all this time, he knew her so little.

“You will fetch many offers this Season, my dear,” the seamstress said around a mouthful of pins, many of which bore Ada's blood. Standing still for hours on end was a ridiculous task no one should be charged with. She refrained from telling the woman that she wanted no offers this Season. Who would believe her, if the boy who had loved her for her entire life didn't even believe her? So she said nothing, but when she met Charity's glowing silver eyes, she knew her friend understood.

“That's the last of them. I'll be back for another fitting in a few days.” The seamstress stood up, her bones crackling like Ada's sparks when she was very angry.

“And you'll be able to deliver the dresses to London? We are leaving late next week.”

The seamstress nodded. “Yes, my lady. I'll be traveling to London myself, and will bring them with me.” Her speech had a bit of a cockney touch, like she'd been born on the wrong side of London but did her best to hide her poor upbringing. Ada studied her curiously, but the woman refused to meet her eyes.

“It's because she feels your power and is frightened. Your mother is not powerful. She doesn't frighten anyone,” Charity said quietly as they watched the woman go from the front entry. “She's also very disconcerted because of the way you treat your maid.” This last bit she said with a smirk — the kind Ada hadn't seen from Charity in quite some time.

“Your brother has refused to accompany us to London,” Ada said, turning her head toward Charity and speaking in low tones so that Vivian wouldn't overhear them.

“His pride has been wounded. He will heal. He will miss you and he will come.”

Ada studied her for several seconds, trying to squash the hope blooming in her chest before it killed her. “Did you
see
this, or do you merely anticipate that he will?”

Charity gave her a sympathetic smile. Ada's heart cracked at the pity in her eyes. “I know my brother well, Ada. I do not
see
things like I once did, but I feel positive that he will come.”

Ada told herself she had too much to do to worry about Christian and his tantrum. She refused to think about his kisses while she lay in bed at night. She refused to let tears soak her hair and she refused to sob into her pillow. When he saw that Charity was safely away from the duke, and that she was healed — that the attacks had stopped, he would understand that this had all been for his sister. Then, perhaps, they could heal their relationship.

But she expected an apology first.

The day they loaded the carriages with their many trunks and luggage was the first time she had seen him in a fortnight. “Mr. Buttercroft,” she said stiffly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye but refusing to give him her whole attention.

“My lady.”

“Ada, remember your manners. Hold your head up, keep your spine straight. Smile at all times.” Scarlett bustled around her, tightening the bow and straightening Ada's bustle. “And don't attack anyone unnecessarily.”

Vivian swooped past them, her skirts so wide they nearly took up the entire front steps. “There will be no attacks at all. Ada has promised — no magic,” she said over her shoulder, waving her hand through the air.

She heard Christian's sharp intake of breath next to her, and Scarlett's face darkened. “You promised this?”

“You love your magic,” Christian said at the same time, speaking over his mother's words.

“I love Charity more,” she snapped. Turning her back on him, she hugged Governess Buttercroft, which was a completely inappropriate thing to do, but she didn't care one whit. “I shall do everything you taught me. I will make you proud.”

She held her head up and her back straight as she walked away. She kept the tears from escaping until she climbed into the carriage. Charity reached over and patted her hand. Ada gave her a weak smile, but couldn't quite tear her gaze from the window. Or more precisely, the boy staring after her as she left him behind.

London was like nothing Ada had ever dreamed. There were people everywhere, non-magical people bustling up and down streets, dark shades over their heads to protect from the rain. The buildings were very close together, and the roads were paved with cobblestones. There were no dirt paths here. And the smells —the smells of rotting fish and decay when they passed the wide river. The air felt sickly, here. Not for the first time since they'd left, she missed her home. And Christian. He hadn't even said goodbye. Granted, she hadn't given him the chance. She wished now that she had.

“Ada, darling, you've hardly said a word since we left Adlington. Do speak up. No one is going to court a mute.” Vivian was preening, fluffing her dark hair and pinching her cheeks.

“Mama, it is dark out, and we are the only ones in the carriage. No one can see your flush now.” She sighed.

Vivian threw her a harsh glare but said nothing.
If she keeps pinching her cheeks, she'll leave bruises. And won't that be becoming?
Perhaps it was exhaustion, but Ada couldn't suppress a giggle. At Vivian's scowl, she snapped her fan open and hid behind it. Charity, as always, sat demurely in her seat, watching them patiently. Ada's other maid, Genevieve, and her mother's two maids had traveled in the other carriage.

Her mother kept a townhouse in London just for the Season. It was much smaller than the manor at Adlington — tall and rectangular, and looked like every other townhome surrounding it. Ada sighed as she let the footman help her from the carriage.
I leap from tree branches fifteen feet from the ground. I dove off the back of a running horse. I think I can handle climbing out of a carriage.
But it didn't matter. Here, she was not herself. Here she was merely the only daughter of a very wealthy nobleman. And daughters of very wealthy noblemen do not leap from trees or dive from horses and they certainly didn't help themselves from carriages.

Ada was positive her corset was becoming tighter as the minutes wore on. She felt like she hadn't drawn a full breath since that morning, and could barely breathe at all now.

“Do get some rest, Ada.” Vivian swept into the house, hands held just so as if she thought the entire city watched her walk through her own door. “We'll start calling on my influential friends in the morning. By evening tomorrow, I am positive that invitations to all the Season's events will be waiting for you.”

Ada glanced at Charity, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “How grand for me,” she murmured.

Charity giggled.

It was customary for servants to sleep in servants' quarters, which were in the basement of the house. It was cold and damp there, and Ada refused to let Charity even think of it. “You may sleep with me. Where it's warm and you can't catch a chill. Tomorrow, I will speak to Mother about making that place more hospitable for everyone else.” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of any of their servants sleeping there.

“It just needs a fire in the hearth,” Charity said, but she didn't argue when Ada snuck her up to her room.

It took both maids to free Ada from her many skirts, petticoats, and her blasted corset. Charity helped her into her nightgown while Genevieve undid the plaits in her hair. “I can brush it myself, thank you. Please, go rest.” Ada took the brush out of her exhausted maid's hands and shooed her out the door. Sitting in front of the vanity, she brushed the long black and red curls, watching the firelight catch them. Turned just so, they looked like flames brought to life. Ada missed her magic. She missed her spells.

“I brought you something,” Charity whispered suddenly.

Ada looked at her in the mirror, raising a brow. “Oh?”

Charity scrambled over the bed to the trunks waiting by the window. Ada wondered, through her haze of exhaustion, when they had been brought up. She watched her friend dig through one, then two of the trunks, finally emerging with a satisfied smile and a mischievous glint in her silver eyes. In her arms she held a book.

An ancient book.

“Charity!” Ada gasped, nearly knocking over her stool as she hurried to Charity's side. “When did you do this?”

Charity shrugged delicately. “In one of my meetings with your father. I thought you might like to practice.”

Ada raised wide eyes to her friend. During the horrors that Charity's mind dare not even remember, she had somehow taken the time to steal a spell book to protect Ada? Impulsively, she reached across the book and hugged her dear friend. “I'd be lost without you.”

Charity smiled. “And I you. Now get off to bed. You've a long day tomorrow.”

Ada tried to sleep. Once the lights were turned down, she closed her eyes and begged for kind dreams. But all she could see was Christian, standing on the stairs as she pulled away. And poor Charity, in the bed next to Ada, tossing and crying out. “Please, Father, don't be the cause of her nightmares.”