The Spark of a Feudling (14 page)

The rest of the room recoiled in horror, as if Christian would explode and kill them all. And honestly, Ada wasn't positive he wouldn't. She did not recognize this man in front of her. Would she have to fight the boy she'd loved her entire life to protect these people she didn't even know?
That is the duty of an Edren.

“No one need die tonight,” William said. He alone stood between Christian and the rest of the room — he hadn't backed away even one step.
You are a brave fool, Mr. Langley
.

“Christian,” Ada whispered, her voice cracking. “Please don't do this.”

Her voice seemed to trigger something in him, and the tight set of his shoulders relaxed. He turned on his heel toward her, studying her for several seconds, his expression wholly unreadable. His face, which she'd always been able to read so easily, was closed to her. Without looking at anyone else in the room, he brushed by her and stormed out of the doors leading to the balcony. Only Ada had heard his parting words.

“I'll be in the gardens at midnight.”

****

“We are ruined,” Vivian wailed as they escaped to their carriage and the horses raced them toward the townhome. “No one will invite us to anything ever again. We are social lepers.” Turning wild eyes on Ada, she screamed, “Who will want you now?”

Ada barely heard her, despite the sheer volume at which Vivian screeched. She was lost in her own thoughts. What had happened to the boy she loved? When had he become frightening and cold? How could one man change so much over the course of a few months?

“We will have to return to Adlington. In shame.” Vivian broke down in sobs and Ada watched her without pity. She didn't like her mother. The knowledge should have surprised her, but it didn't. She was just too tired to deny it any longer. Where she had always craved her father's affection and his pride, she hadn't craved anything at all from Vivian — except peace.

“No one will want me, Mother. So all these years, you have been right.”

Vivian wailed harder. Disgusted, Ada turned and stared out the carriage window.

I will be in the garden at midnight.

Once home, Vivian called for a doctor, certain her heart was broken. The doctor gave her something to help her sleep and left, clucking his tongue. Ada sat in the parlor and watched him go. “There will be no more callers, Charity. Thank goodness.”

Charity sat across from her. “You seem relieved.”

“I am.”
Except for William. I will miss William.
“But this means we will return home. I will have to come up with a new plan to protect you.”

Charity paled and abruptly changed the subject, a tactic that Ada didn't miss. “Tell me about my brother.”

“He is different, as I said. Angry. And bigger.” She frowned. “How is that possible?”

Charity looked down, trailing her fingers across the soft velvet cushions. Ada noticed her long, pale fingers shaking. “He asked me to meet him in the gardens at midnight.”

Charity looked up, eyes widening. “What did you say?”

“I didn't get a chance to say anything. I don't even know which gardens he meant.” Suddenly Ada was overwhelmed with exhaustion. “And… he frightened me, Charity. He is not the Christian I know.”

Charity bit the inside of her cheek, as if reigning in some inner turmoil. “But you are a powerful Edren, Ada. What could he do, against you?”

Ada stared out the window into the darkness. “I could be the most powerful sorceress in the world, and it would mean nothing. I cannot fight him, Charity.”

Charity nodded, relief flooding her delicate features. “I believe it wise that you not go. If your reputation was not ruined already, it would be after a midnight meeting with a dangerous stranger.”

“It doesn't matter. My mother says no one will want me. I will be free to live my life in Adlington. I will be a warrior, as I was meant to be. I will never set foot in London again.”

Charity gasped, raising a hand to her mouth. “You can't really mean that — that you will live your life alone?”

Ada got up and wandered across the room, trailing her hand across the piano keys, leaning to smell the fresh flowers delivered that morning by one of her suitors. What an incredibly long day it had been. The clock on the wall struck the eleventh hour, its gong echoing over and over again through the house. “I do mean it. My heart will always belong to Christian. I cannot love another.” Turning with a forced smile, she said, “Anyway, I am a powerful Edren. I was not meant to be a socialite or someone's docile wife. I am meant to be a warrior. And I am a tired warrior. Shall we go to bed?”

Ada lay very still until Charity's breathing evened and she was certain her friend slept. Rising in the darkness, she tugged on a simple day dress and found her cloak — until now she'd had no need of it. Then she stole silently through the house and escaped onto the street. Behind her, the clock started ringing in the new day.

Her slippers made the barest hint of a sound as she ran through the city, back to the grand house where the party had been held. It had taken the carriage nearly an hour to get there, but she made it in less than a quarter of that. Even so, she was afraid he would be gone, and even if he wasn't gone, the gardens were expansive and there was an intricate maze in the center.

She would never understand the British fascination with mazes.

But of course, that's where her heart pulled her, straight to the maze. She wandered for an eternity, searching, not daring to call out. She wasn't even certain she was in the right gardens until she caught the barest hint of his scent.

“I wondered if you would come.”

“I almost didn't. You have changed, Christian Buttercroft.” In the darkness, she couldn't see the hard lines of his face or the anger in his beautiful brown eyes she remembered so well.

“I'm glad you did.”

She could hear the vulnerability in his voice and she wanted to hold him. To brush the reckless brown hair away from his forehead. Her fear faded, and he was her Christian once again.
Always. Forever.

“What happened to you, Christian?”

“You have changed as much as I, Ada. You've become their puppet. Small, frightened, needing someone to protect you.”

“William was protecting you, if I recall. Or he thought he was.”

“William, is it?” Christian's voice darkened and she moved backward, the thorns in the rosebushes catching at her cloak. “He saw the sparks. He knows I'm a sorcerer. They all do.”

“Yes, but he is under the apparently mistaken impression that blue flames mean you're a healer. When did that change, Christian? When did I lose my healer?”

“When you left him for London.”

“I left you to protect your sister!” she cried, feeling the flames wake up in her blood as anger coursed through her.

“And yet I come here to find her alone and you being fought over by several men.” Christian moved, advancing on her slowly. She refused to back away any further.

She planted her hands on her hips and raised her chin. “Yes, Christian, because it was a ball. And your sister is alone but she's
better.
There have been no attacks since we left Adlington.”

This gave him pause. “No more attacks?” The kind boy she remembered was still there, in the hopefulness she could hear in his voice. She strained her eyes against the darkness, longing to see his face.

“Not one.”

He raised his hand, she could just see the shadow of movement in the dark, and stepped closer. “Ada, I—I'm sorry.” He dropped his head to his chest and lowered his hand.

“You hurt me, Christian.”
I felt like my heart cracked at least once for every look we ever shared.

He raised his hand again, this time stepping close enough that his knuckles just brushed her cheek. “I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, Ada, more than anything.”

Without warning, she pulled his head down to hers, rising on her toes to meet his lips. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her tight, so tight against him. The flames in her blood awoke, rushing through her veins and she could feel the hard lines of him against her soft curves. His lips left her mouth and moved to her jaw, his hands rubbing restlessly up and down her back. One slid up to cup the back of her neck, holding her there against him, his forearm pushing her even closer to his chest. He trailed kisses down her neck, hungry and demanding. “Christian,” she whispered, caution finding its way through the haze brought on by his kisses.

He ignored her, his free hand trailing up her rib cage, groping, bruising, and she gasped and tried to push him away. “Christian, stop!”

He growled, pushing her back into the hedge. The thorns tore at her cloak and her hair, his embrace like iron; unyielding. He was so strong, so solid. Fear took hold, real fear, and her flames responded. Sparks lit from her fingers and she shoved him,
hard
this time with her sorceress strength, blackening his shirt where her palms hit. His grip broke and he stumbled back.

“What—” He swore.

“Do not touch me, Christian Buttercroft.” She glared at him fiercely, and by the light from her flames she could see the cold anger dying slowly in his eyes.

“Ada, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me.” Christian ran a hand over his face and through his hair, turning away. His breath still came in ragged gasps, but hers seemed frozen in her throat.

“I must go. Charity will wake soon,” Ada whispered, knowing he could hear the pain in her voice by the way his shoulders hunched at her words, protecting his heart. It wasn't true, though; the sun wouldn't rise and chase away the night for several hours yet.

“Will I see you again?” Christian asked, her Christian this time, vulnerable and hurt instead of dark and angry.

She bit her lip. His gaze followed the movement, landing on her mouth, and she saw the hunger reawakening in his brown eyes. “I believe, thanks to your appearance last night, that we are now social outcasts and will be returning home.” She backed away, toward the opening in the maze, memorizing his face for the days she would be away from him. “If you return to Adlington, then yes, Christian. I will see you again.”

****

Christian watched her go. He could follow her. He could beg her to stay, or to escape with him.
Or overpower her,
the angry flames hissed. Before they could control him again, he quickly burned the call spell he and his mother had perfected so many years ago. When she sent an answering spell, he counted in measured beats backward and fluidly burned the
saldepement
spell into the air. They'd never tried it from such a great distance before. He had ridden to London with a passing group of Carules, who followed the Edren battles and healed the wounded. With them, the angry flames had been silent. It wasn't until he saw Ada in that ballroom that they'd awoken, fierce and undeniable.

The shimmer of a doorway expanded before him, and he could see Scarlett on the other side, worry pinching around her eyes. He hadn't told her he was leaving, had only left a note. He stepped hesitantly through the doorway and snapped it shut behind him.

“One day, Christian, your actions will have serious consequences.”

Thanks to your appearance last night, we are now social outcasts
. “They already have, Mother.”

She was in her nightdress and wrap, although she did not look at all like she had been sleeping. Perhaps not since he'd left several days ago. “Please, Christian. Please let us leave.”

“I can't, Mother. If we leave now, where will we go? What will we do? Follow the Edren armies around like lapdogs, running when we're called? Find another family to be slaves for?”

She paced the small cottage, long light brown hair wild around her face. It was safe here; the wild flames stayed hidden here, and Christian could think clearly. He could breathe without pain, except for the cracks in his heart that Ada had left. “It doesn't matter, Christian. Living as wanderers with no home would be better than living here and watching while you lose your mind.”

He shook his head, sinking into the armchair. Suddenly exhausted, he put his elbows on his knees and dropped his head to his hands. “I will learn to control it. His Grace will teach me to control it,” he mumbled at the ground. This was an argument they were having almost daily, and one she wouldn't win. Without another word, he rose to his feet and went to his room, leaving her alone in the darkness.

****

Ada may have been a social outcast now, but her father seemed not to care. She was still his warrior, still rumored and whispered about and feared, and that made him proud. Christian had slowly realized, during her absence, that though the Duke of Adlington was harsh and short-tempered and pushed her beyond her limits, even bordering on abuse, he was overwhelmingly proud of his only child. He seemed to be of the mindset that love was supposed to hurt, apparently.

The carriages returned during what had to be one of the worst storms of the year. Christian had been working particularly hard on his spells that day, and now he watched lightning split a sky that seemed to be the exact color of his flames. He was too tired to move, in too much pain even to raise his head, so he watched out the window and tried to remember what, exactly, Richard had done to him that day. Or any of the other days.

As always, it remained a mystery.

He heard the rumble of the carriage as it pulled in the courtyard. The storm had blocked out any sounds of their arrival until they were upon him, and he had no time to prepare himself. Although there wasn't much he could do anyway, hurting as he was.

“They are home, Christian. My daughter is home,” Scarlett cried, grabbing her shawl and flinging it around her shoulders as she raced out of the door, into the storm. He heard her gasp as the first pelt of rain hit her, but she didn't return. The door slammed behind her.

Ada is home
.

Christian's heart healed almost completely, except for the small fissures that would never be erased. She was home, and things would go back to normal.

He was able to sit up by the time she burst into their cottage, eyes sparkling in outrage. “What has happened to you?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “Tell me the truth, Christian Buttercroft, or so help me—”

He would have raised a hand to ward her off, but it took most of his energy to sit up. “I have been practicing Edren spells.”

Her dark, dark brown eyes narrowed, her hands spit sparks. His own angry flames responded, giving him energy, and he mustered a smile. “Your father has been teaching me in your absence.”

Suddenly, all the fire went out of her, and her face paled as her breath left her in a
whoosh
. “What do you mean, teaching you?”

“I can do almost all of the Edren spells now.”
And some of my own.

“I am thrilled beyond belief,” she said drily. “Yet you have no burns, no injuries that I can see, and still you don't rise from your bed. So tell me the truth, Christian.” Her eyes hardened, “What has he done to you?”

Charity appeared behind her. “Your father has been experimenting on him. Trying to make Carules offensive spells as powerful as Edrens. He wants to create an army, and there are many more Carules in the world than there are Edrens.” With a rueful, sad smile toward Ada, she said, “Your race has nearly wiped itself out.”

“How—” Christian almost asked how she knew that, so used to her visions controlling her and not the other way around. But Ada had been right when she said Charity was healed. The glow in her silver eyes dimmed.

Ada whirled on him, her hands squeezing convulsively at her chest, like there was a pain there she was trying to stop. “How could you let him do this?” she whispered.

“I didn't have a choice. You ask what he has done to me — he's made me powerful. As powerful as you. Now, if you don't mind, I should like to rise and dress.”

Tears welled in Ada's eyes and she spun away, hurrying out of the room. “I don't know you at all, Christian Buttercroft.”