The Spark of a Feudling (4 page)

The battle was not what Ada had expected. It was chaos. She had no idea how anyone knew who not to kill. They were all Edrens, and no matter how hard she squinted, she couldn't see discerning colors on their clothing or in their flames. So she held her place behind the knoll, waiting until someone could possibly tell her who she was supposed to attack.

Harrison reappeared at her side, bruised, bloody, burned. His clothing smoked and smelled like scorched mold. She wrinkled her nose. “I don't know who to fight.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “You fight everyone.” He spread his arms wide. “They are all your enemies.”

She straightened, putting her hands on her hips. “That doesn't make any sense. Why are they all my enemies? I don't know them. I don't know why they fight. We could be fighting for the same cause!”

“War does not make sense, little one. It is a waste of humanity.”

Ada turned her eyes back to the battle before her, disgusted. She found the flames dying inside her, settling to warm the pit of her stomach. “Then I want no part of it. I will not kill without a reason.”

“Have you done what you came here to do?” Davis asked from a distance away, where he leaned against a tree, sparks idly shooting from his fingertips.

“No. But this — how am I supposed to gather knowledge there?”

“Ah.” Harrison nodded solemnly. “You listen to the screams.”

The screams of the dying? That's not horrific at all
.

“You can't hear them from here, Ada,” Davis said, striding over to them. “You have to be there. You have to look in their eyes as they die. Offer them a quick death or greater pain, and they will tell you their secrets.”

The thought sickened her. She opened her mouth to tell them she was going home — she'd been wrong, clearly, to think she was a warrior. But a spell shot through the air, slamming into her arm, and knocked the words right out of her. She screamed in pain and whirled. The fire she thought had settled burst to life, and she felt the sparks explode from her hands. Without thinking, she sprinted up the knoll and threw herself into the battle, heedless of Harrison and Davis both yelling behind her.

She couldn't see who threw the spell. There was no way known to the sorcerers how to track magic traces. It didn't matter. Any one of them could have done it. And then her eyes met the man's across the field, his pudgy smug face.
He
had thrown that spell.

She went after him.

Screaming words she didn't know she knew, she burned the spell into the air and shoved it. It raced after him and his eyes widened in alarm — clearly he hadn't realized such a small thing could be so powerful or move so fast. As the spell shot through the air, she followed it, ducking and diving away from attacks that came from all sides. As it hit him and knocked him backward, she threw another and another, until he lay on his back, twitching and screaming.

“Who sent you?” she yelled into his face, swallowing her horror. “Tell me who sent you! Why did you attack your own people?”

She heard his secrets.

“The Duke of Adlington paid us to attack the English troops!” he sobbed. “Please, leave me be!”

She couldn't leave him be. She couldn't let him lie there and suffer. With a swift slice of her hand, she burned the spell and pushed it into his chest. He screamed once more and lay still. Felled by a girl half his size.

Harrison and Davis fought their way toward her, protecting her from the rest of the battle. “I tortured him,” she murmured.

“And you gave him a quick death. This is war, little one, and you were as kind as you could be,” Harrison said over his shoulder, watching the battle that went on around them. The rest of the warriors seemed to have forgotten them, standing on the fringe as they were.

“There are spells, Little One, that can cause so much pain a man begs for death, but they do not kill. These spells are dying out, but I find them useful to hold on to.” Davis also watched the battle beyond them.

Somehow in the midst of all that chaos, she remembered Governess Buttercroft's lesson from years ago:
“I will teach you many spells, Miss Aleshire, that you will not find easily on any battlefield. Many of our spells are dying out, being replaced by more aggressive, more terrifying but certainly not more useful spells.”
So it was true, then.

Harrison turned to watch her, concern in his dark eyes. She wanted to tell him how grateful she was that he was here with her, that he had not made her come alone, and that he protected her now while she tried to absorb the knowledge that somehow, her father was a traitor.

Her hair had somehow come loose from her braid and stuck to her damp neck. She tried to untangle it, only catching sight of the spell flying at Harrison's back out of the corner of her eye. She swore and dove, throwing everything she had into hitting him and knocking him out of the way.

Somehow, her small frame succeeded and Harrison toppled sideways. The spell hit her squarely in the stomach as she flew through the air.

“Davis! Get her out of here!” she heard Harrison bellow, but it was from a distance as the spell ate away at her.
Lirik
. Only a
lirik
could kill this fast.

Davis scooped her up, holding her tight to his chest. Leaving his friend still lying on the battlefield, he sprinted through the spells and the smoke and the screaming and the blood, up over the knoll and into the safety of the trees.

She tried to curl in on herself. The pain was agony. She could
feel
it tearing through her soul, eating the flames that fed her power.

Christian. Christian, I need you
.

****

Christian had been sitting at Charity's side for hours. Or minutes. Or an eternity. He had no idea. Scarlett had worked on Charity without ceasing, administering anything and everything she could think of, commanding Christian over and over to try to heal her. Finally, Charity's silver eyes had closed and she had fallen into a troubled sleep. Scarlett lay down next to her, smoothing her hair away from her face as she whimpered.

Christian. Christian, I need you
. Her words exploded in his head like she'd yelled them into his ear and he sat up so quickly he toppled his chair. Charity shrieked in her sleep and Scarlett burst to her feet, blue flames licking her fingers.

“What? What is it?” She spun, looking for threats.

“It's Ada. Something's wrong.” Without another word, Christian bolted from the room, flinging himself through the front door. He knew the guards would be watching, but they didn't care what their stable boy did. He sprinted down the path, into the forest, leaping over huge rocks and tree roots and through streams he couldn't see but his magic told him were there. He had no idea where he was going, but there seemed to be a tether from his heart to hers — he always knew where Ada was. He ran straight to them, nearly colliding with her father's guards as he raced through the thick trees.

“What happened to her?” he bellowed, jerking Ada out of Davis's bloodstained arms.

“She was hit, saving me,” Harrison answered. “Can you help her?”

If there had been time, any time at all, Christian would have paused at that. How exactly had his tiny little Ada saved the giant Harrison? But there wasn't time. He laid her on the thick grass, searching for the wound. But there was so much blood.

“There!” Davis snapped, jabbing the air above her stomach.

Flames roiled across Christian's hands and he held them above her, letting the flames soothe the skin before he tried to touch it. They swirled through the air, seeping and mending the broken, charred skin.

“Does she breathe?” Harrison asked, crouching close to put his face next to her mouth.

Christian ignored him. He didn't care if she breathed or not. She
would
breathe, or he would die with her.

“She does.” Harrison sat back, relieved.

“Can you not heal at all? Stop the blood flow from her shoulder!” Christian snapped.

Harrison gaped at him. “We're Edren. We don't heal.”

“I'm Carules and I can throw a
lirik
if need be,” Christian muttered under his breath, but he couldn't argue with them now.

She moaned.

They all froze in shock, and then redoubled their efforts. Davis jerked his shirt off and held it to her shoulder while Christian's blue flames leaped and danced from his hands, fighting the poison eating through her body.

“Christian. I knew—” she whispered as her skin healed, leaving only pink burns behind.

“Shhh. Don't speak. You're still very weak.” He moved from her stomach to her shoulder, pushing Davis' shirt out of the way. It was stiff with dried blood and she shrieked when he ripped it from the wound. “Forgive me, dear one,” he whispered, his mouth near her temple, kissing the pain away. “Forgive me.”

“I knew… you would come. I knew you… could heal me.” Her eyes fluttered open, dazed with pain, dark orbs barely reflecting the moonlight.

“Always, Ada. Forever.”

“My father is playing both sides of the war, Christian. Why? Why would he do that?” Ada paced furiously, as if she hadn't been at death's door only hours before. Her hands lashed out at the briars, every so often sending a sheet of sparks to burn them out of her way — to give her more room for pacing.

“You found this out last night?” He kept his voice mild, leaning back against a rock and staying well away from the force of her wrath.

“Yes. Secrets. From a dying man.”

Christian raised an eyebrow. “I've never heard of this before. How did you do it?”

For the first time in several minutes, Ada paused, brushing her curls away from her face. “I tortured him. I chased him down, and I tortured him.” The sparks scalded her skirts where her hands fisted. “And then I killed him.” She turned wide eyes on him, and he could swear he could see the very depths of her soul. There was something frightening there, something he'd never seen or sensed before. “And he told me my father had paid them to attack the English troops. Their own people.”

Christian pushed away from the rock, coming cautiously toward her. “Ada, whatever your father plans, there must be a reason for it.”

She squinted at him like he'd grown another head from his neck. “Weren't you the one who put this asinine idea into my head?”

“I… well, that is to say—”

“Never mind.” She sighed and sank to the ground, trailing sparks idly through the air. “How is Charity?” she asked without looking at him.

“Much recovered. My mother believes she just needed rest. Perhaps she got too tired and couldn't find her way out of the vision.”

Ada leaned over, dousing her flame in the small pond. The air hissed and steam rose, curling through the air. “Did she ever say where she was all day?”

Christian swallowed hard. He had his suspicions, but he'd just gotten himself back into Ada's good graces. He wasn't going to tell her now.
Later. I'll tell her later
. “No. She can't remember anything after walking into your father's study.”

Ada looked up sharply. He should have known she was too astute not to realize what he implied. Scrambling to her feet, she swore as her tangled skirts pulled her back to the ground. When she finally looked up, her face was white. “Christian.”

“Ada, that isn't what I meant—”

“Christian, do be quiet.” She put a hand to her forehead. It shook violently. “The rumors, Christian.” She paced again, but this time there were no angry sparks.

Christian closed his eyes. If it made him ill to think Richard could possibly be the monster they'd all been running from, he couldn't imagine what it did to Ada.

“What if he's the one stealing the seers'' sight?” she whispered, but her words seemed to shatter the air around them. Their peaceful clearing was thrown into chaos by her accusation.

“Ada, this has been going on for years.
Years.
We would have known. It isn't possible that he could have all those seers at the estate and we not know.”

She seemed to ignore him, wringing her hands and pacing so quickly around the pond she was almost running. He could practically see her mind working, calculating, going over every person ever to visit the estate. And then she pulled up short. “Charity.”

He frowned, confused until his sister crawled slowly from under the briar tunnel. “Am I still welcome here?”

Ada's chin dropped. Christian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you are, sister. We're glad to see you're feeling better.”

“What do you mean are you still welcome here? Have you lost your mind?” Ada bellowed, seeming to forget the manners Christian's mother had drilled into her every day for the last eight years — a lady does not raise her voice.

Christian grinned.

“I don't know. That's why I'm asking.” Charity looked small and lost. Ada hurried over and slipped a hand around her waist. Christian remembered her carrying Charity to him the night before, just like that. Luckily, this time Charity was able to stand on her own.

“Charity, I don't care if you completely lose your mind and start singing the praises of sheep dressed in the finest dresses found in Paris. You will still be welcome wherever I am.”

Charity gave her a tremulous smile, a bit shaky, but a real smile. “What have I missed? Anything exciting?” she asked.

Ada leaned her cheek against Charity's. “No, darling. Nothing at all.” But those dark, dark eyes found Christian across the clearing and he could read them as clearly as if she'd spoken. Her father was hiding something, and he knew Ada was going to find out what it was.

****

Ada had lived in fear of her father her entire life. She'd been hit by too many of his weird little spells. She'd been yelled at and belittled, and the only time he was ever proud of her was when she killed things like a ruthless assassin instead of a highborn lady. Despite all that, she lived and breathed for his praise and acceptance.
Ada, you are a confused girl. Very, very confused.

But she had made a promise to Charity eight years ago. She would protect her. And if her friend was in trouble, Ada had to do something about it. Which meant she had to swallow her fear of the Duke of Adlington.

Or sneak behind his back.

Since that seemed the less frightening method, Ada chose that route first. Her father had a rigid schedule, and Ada knew it by heart — learned as a necessity for staying out of his way and away from his cruel spells since she was old enough to wander the estate alone. So she knew that he went riding with Harrison and Davis every morning when the sun came up.

She grabbed her cloak, which was more for comfort than actual need, and swung it across her shoulders. The castle, even at this early hour, was bustling, and the flurry of activity made it hard to creep unnoticed, through the castle. She pulled her hood up and clung to the shadows near the wall. His study was up three flights of stairs, and Ada sprinted them, cursing the colored-glass window in the roof that illuminated the entire staircase. “Why has no one invented a spell for hiding oneself?” she muttered breathlessly as she reached the landing. The hallways to either side of her were silent — even her father's steward wasn't allowed here without Richard present.

Ada could only imagine what he would do to her if he found her. She trembled so violently that her hood fell back, but she refused to leave. She had to protect Charity — even if it meant protecting her from Ada's own father.

Glancing quickly over her shoulder, Ada wrapped her cloak tight in her fists and hurried down the hall, grateful that her leather slippers were silent against the stone floor. One, two… three, Ada counted silently in her head, pausing before the third door. She pushed against it in the vain hope that Richard had forgotten to lock it, but, of course, he had not. She swore under her breath, using Christian's favorite word. She liked the way it rolled off her tongue.

She had hoped the door would be unlocked, but she had planned on not being able to get in that easily. Reaching into the deep folds of her cloak, she withdrew the steward's keys. Her hands shook badly enough that the keys clanked, echoing in the silent hall. She had studied them for several minutes the night before, when she'd snuck them away from the man during dinner, but they all looked the same and she had no choice but to try them one by one. With each screech as she slid the key in the lock, her blood seemed to freeze and her choice of words grew more colorful.

It took four tries before the lock finally clicked. Checking once more over her shoulder, she pushed the heavy double doors just hard enough that she could squeeze inside, and shut it behind her. Then she hurried over to her father's desk.

It was covered with missives of all kinds. Swallowing hard, she picked up the top one and scanned it, grateful that Governess Buttercroft believed a lady should be able to read as well as throw a
lirik
. It was from someone with a very French-sounding name, asking for aid and information. Sickened, she dropped the page and grabbed the next. The same, from Spain. Each and every letter on his desk was from one side of the war or the other, asking for the powerful Edren family's help, for weapons, soldiers, and secrets. My father is a spy. A traitor to the Crown.

But nothing on seers. She dug through his drawers, searching for hidden panels. Failing that, she climbed underneath and felt along the floorboards, but there was nothing. Finally, she turned to the walls lined with books, running her finger frantically over the dusty spines. There was not one titled
How One Might Steal a Seer's Sight
, so she looked for general spell books or ledgers. Finally, she pulled one that looked ancient and was only partially hidden in the shadows, and flipped it open. Dust exploded into the air and she sneezed violently, three times in a row.

“Bless you, daughter.”

Ada screeched and dropped the book, whirling. “Daddy.”

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her for who knew how long. “What are you doing?” he asked, looking pointedly at the book lying at her feet.

“I—” She had no idea what to say.
I think you're trying to steal my best friend's gift and I'm trying to prove it.
Yes, probably not that.

“That's a very old spell book to be throwing on the floor.”

Ada hastily crouched, grabbing the book to her chest. “I'm sorry. I just… I…” Spell book. Right. “I was looking for spells.”

“Governess Buttercroft isn't teaching you the spells you need?” Richard raised a dark eyebrow, but otherwise didn't move. Luckily, his hands, and their dangerous flames, were crossed behind him.

“Yes.” Ada lifted her head. “She is. But those aren't the spells I'm looking for.”

Richard's cold blue eyes studied her for several minutes. She refused to look away, clenching her teeth tight against his stare. “What spells, exactly, are you looking for?” he finally asked, the air around him practically crackling.

“The spells you do. The ones you made up that no one else knows. I want to learn those spells.”

His entire countenance changed. He straightened, his face alight. “You want to learn my spells?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you just ask me?” He strode toward her, removing the book from her hands and returning it to its place on the shelf.

Why indeed.
Think, Ada
. “I was afraid you would say no, that it wasn't a woman's place to know spells that…”
cruel
, she thought, “painful,” she said aloud.

“Normal women, yes. But you, Ada, you are not normal.” He beamed with pride, taking her shoulders and smiling into her face. “You are already one of the most powerful sorcerers the Edrens have ever seen. I can make you into the most powerful sorcerer the world will ever know.”

Something clicked in Ada's mind, a memory of a very young Charity, eyes glowing, saying in her hollowed out voice,
“She's not the most powerful. There will be another one, one day, who puts her power to shame.”
Was it possible that Charity had been talking about Ada? “You really think you can make me that formidable?” Ada whispered.

“I have not a doubt, daughter. If you want it, there will be no stopping you.”

Ada wasn't sure she wanted it, but she could think of no better way to monitor her father's actions than to spend as much time training as possible. For Charity. “Of course I want it, Daddy. When can we begin?”

Richard beamed. “I believe now would be a good time.”

He led her out of the study, locking it behind him and raising an eyebrow at her as he handed the heavy key ring over. “I trust you will be returning those to their rightful owner?”

Ada felt her entire face flush. “Yes, Daddy.”

The estate had what would have been a cellar. At one time, when the attacks were coming much too often, they had converted it to a dungeon with holding cells. Ada hadn't been down there since, and she hesitated at the entrance, shivering at the gust of cool, dank air. She couldn't feel the cold, but the fear was there, irrational though it may be. Richard scowled at her. “A great sorcerer shows no weakness, Ada,” he snapped.

She swallowed hard and lifted her skirts, following him into the darkness. When the door behind her clanged shut, she bit back a scream, shoving her fist into her mouth to keep from crying out. In front of her, sparks lit, chasing the darkness as Richard let flames loose from his fingertips, like a human torch. Why have I never thought of that? She lit her own flames, holding her hands out in front of her to ward off the terror creeping in from every side.

Her father had reached the bottom of the staircase. She could just make out his form, striding confidently across the room. The glowing embers of a spell formed in the darkness, and he pushed it forward. It flew through the dimness, igniting a great chandelier in the center of the room. Shadows were chased to the furthest corners and Ada could finally see clearly.

The room had been cleared of cells, and food, and everything else. It was a huge, empty expanse of space, although there were still suspicious dark stains where the chains had once held prisoners to the walls. Ada looked away quickly, remembering the blood spilling from the man she'd killed only a few days before.

“Come, Ada. I don't have all day to wait for you to stand terrified on the stairs.” He sounded sickened, the pride from earlier completely gone. Ada clenched her teeth, let the flames at her fingertips die, and knotted her skirts in her fist. She took the stairs two at a time and hurried across the dirt floor to stand next to him.

“Let's begin with an easy one. I call this
ginsti
. Just a twist of your wrist here,” he raised his hand and burned the spell into the air before them, “and a dip of your finger here and you're done.” A beautiful little spell hung in the air, waiting to be pushed toward its target. The red flames burned and fizzled, crackling in the still air. “Now you try.”

Ada bit her lip, studying the spell. The sparks lit at her fingertips and she slowly traced it into the air. But where his burned brightly even in the bright lights, hers fizzled and went out. “Try again,” he snapped.

This time her hand shook, and it didn't resemble his in the slightest. “Concentrate, Ada!” he yelled. She yelped and jerked away from him, tracing it more quickly this time. It almost held, but not quite.

“Like this!” Furious with impatience, he grabbed her hand and jerked it through the motions. When it still didn't hold, he dropped her wrist like it had scalded him and burned the spell again himself. And then he shoved it at her.

She screeched as the spell hit her in the same shoulder injured during battle. It burned, weaving through the top layers of skin.

“Now you know how it feels. Learn to do it right, Ada.”

She felt the tears in her eyes but refused to let them fall. That would only make him angrier and she wouldn't give him more reasons to hit her with his spells. Richard rarely hit with his fists. It was the tricky little spells she had to watch out for.

Raising her hand, she started again. There would be more attacks coming, she knew. She'd lived with this half-man, half-monster her entire life, although she hadn't realized what he truly was until now. Even knowing what he was, she ached for his approval. He was her father, after all.