The Spark of a Feudling (7 page)

“I am on my way to battle.” Ada raised her chin defiantly, fighting a smile when Lady Charnock looked beyond horrified.

William did not fight his smile. It bloomed across his face as he met her eyes. Ada was starting to think smiling must be his natural expression and anything else was uncomfortable for him. Or else he found everything amusing. Both confused her. “I wasn't aware that there was a battle near here.”

“I'm not aware that there is, either. I just feel it calling me.” She shrugged, trying to do it delicately so that she didn't send Lady Charnock into fits.

“Breakfast is served, Your Ladyship,” Harriet said from the doorway. Her eyes swept angrily over Ada to settle on William, softening so she looked like an overgrown puppy.

Thank the heavens.
Ada rose to her feet, belatedly realizing William should help her up. Her mother would be so disappointed. And probably in hysterics at the thought of Ada behaving in such a way when they went to London for the social season.
Good thing I'm not going to London,
Ada thought with a determined scowl.

William placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her from the room. Again her skin seemed to jump, and the wildness of her flames calmed under his touch. Maybe because he wasn't magical, as she was? Ada thought hard, trying to remember, but she was fairly positive she'd never been touched by someone non-magical.
That must be the cause of this strange reaction
, she told herself, but she didn't really believe it. There was a pull toward William that she didn't understand, and had only felt toward one other person in all her life.

Christian.

The earl was away, so it was only the three of them at the overly large table. William sat on her left. Lady Charnock sat across from them, and they ate quietly. Ada answered questions when they were asked, but she was confused and, now that she had eaten, she was also exhausted.
Battle hungry flames? Where'd you go? Wake me up or we will die in battle.

“My lady… I'm not a sorcerer, but perhaps resting before battle is advisable.” William's voice broke through her haze of sleep-deprivation and she started. Good heavens, she'd nearly fallen asleep into her food.

“I don't want to trouble you,” she said, but her words sounded slurred. When had she last slept? She couldn't remember, since the night before she'd been riding like a demon through the forest and the one before that had been spent overcome by butterflies and thoughts of Christian. Maybe the night before, although she couldn't remember. And training with her father had made her doubly exhausted.

The battle that kept calling her had chosen a very inopportune time.

“I believe my son is right. Rest, and you might live through the battle to fight another day.” Lady Charnock, if Ada wasn't mistaken, looked a bit amused and even more shocking — concerned.

“I couldn't intrude on your kindness.” She tried not to slur her words but she was so very tired. Her dazed mind wondered if the servant girl had drugged her. Or poisoned her. That would be problematic indeed.

“Harriet, show Miss Aleshire to the guest room, please.” William's voice wafted through the fog and she felt him help her to her feet, holding her up when she nearly collapsed.

She was a mighty warrior. This was unacceptable. Ada would normally have Christian heal her, but without him she was unsure what to do but allow herself to be led to the quiet chambers. William left her there in Harriet's care. “I do not need assistance. Thank you,” Ada mumbled, dismissing her. As soon as the perturbed woman left, Ada crawled into the grand four-poster bed, barely remembering to remove her boots first. She was asleep before her head settled into the softness of the down pillow. The last thing she remembered seeing were the flowers in the vase on the nightstand.

****

“Mother, can we not try calling her again? She's been gone since last night. She took Alexios and her father isn't even trying to find her.” Christian was aware that his voice sounded frantic, but it couldn't be helped. “Charity, can you see her? At all?”

“She's very tired, Christian. The spells her father is teaching her are stronger than she is, and they have overtaken her.” Charity's voice was odd, her silver eyes glowing. It was the first time she'd been able to call a vision in the six hours that Christian had been asking. “But do not worry, brother. She's well taken care of. I see her in a soft bed. I smell flowers.”

“We can't call her, Christian. We never taught her the spell. She isn't open to it.” Scarlett looked at him, pity in her dark brown eyes. “Ada is fine, Christian. She's a warrior.”

“But she's young and not prepared for the outside world, Mother. She's never left the estate before, and certainly not on her own. She doesn't realize how often I have to heal her — when she doesn't eat, or when she's upset. She gets very sick and without me there…”

“Then she will need to learn. Christian, you aren't her personal guard, and you won't always be there for her. One day she will be gone, moved on to a new life, and she can't take you with her. You have to let her go.”

“You're wrong. She isn't going to leave me, Mother!” Christian stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over in his haste. “I have to find her. I have to bring her home.” He spun on his heel and stalked away, listening to his mother and Charity both calling for him. He didn't stop.

“Christian. I've been looking for you.” The duke seemed to materialize out of the shadows cast by the weak sun against the manor.

“Me? Why?” Christian asked, belatedly remembering his place.

“Well, I figured you would be my best option for finding my daughter. You know her better than anyone.” Richard's voice was too smooth. There wasn't the worry in his eyes, or the panic running through his words that should have plagued him. Christian squinted, trying to read him, but he failed. The man's face was carefully blank.

“I'll do whatever I can to help,” Christian said, hating the way his voice cracked. The duke could not know how Christian felt about his daughter, or they would send him away and he would lose her forever.

“Follow me, please. I may know something that can help us.” Richard turned sharply and stalked away. Christian was overwhelmed with foreboding, but if that man thought Christian could help find Ada, then Christian had to trust him. Dragging his feet forward, he followed.

Richard led the way to his study, producing a key and unlocking the door. Christian's heart sank when he heard the lock snap shut behind them. He was taller than Richard, but he had no offensive spells except the few that Ada had tried to teach him. And even those he wasn't entirely sure he could fight with yet. They were still so new.

“Relax, boy. I'm not going to attack you.” Richard turned away from him, scanning his shelves of books. Christian moved closer, stealthily, so as not to draw attention to himself.

They were spell books, all of them. Shelves upon shelves of spell books. Richard dragged his finger along their spines until he found the one he wanted, an ancient looking thing, yellowed with age. “I believe…” Richard plucked the book from its place and carried it to his desk, thumbing through the pages. Dust billowed into the air and Christian sneezed. “That there is a spell here that will put you into Ada's head. I would do it to myself, but I don't know her like you do.”

While he searched through the pages, Christian studied the room. The rugs were imported from the Orient. The desk was huge, made of rich, dark wood, and the doors matched exactly. Over Richard's shoulder were full length windows, looking out over the countryside and the thick forest beyond. Adlington was beautiful, and Christian hoped never to leave.

Richard made a distressed noise, drawing Christian's attention back to him. “It says one must be a seer to put themselves in another's mind. I wonder if Charity would be able—”

“Charity is too weak. But I am her brother, perhaps I have some of her gift.” Christian knew the thought was ridiculous, but he couldn't let the duke send for Charity. It might kill her.

Richard studied him for several seconds. “It is worth a try if it will help us find my darling daughter.”

The words were endearing, but they felt fake to Christian. Even so, he would do it, because Ada was darling to
him
, whether or not she was darling to her father. Or maybe it was that the duke didn't realize how fragile Ada really was? He put so much stock in her powerful abilities, he seemed to forget that she was only a young girl who had never been far from home.

“Sit down, Mr. Buttercroft. Try to relax. It will be less painful if you do.”

“Painful?” Christian yelped, half-sitting in the soft leather chair across from Richard.

“Well, of course. All spells are painful, if they are not your own.”

Christian turned that thought over in his brain, but it didn't feel right. Ada had taught him, and it hadn't hurt at all. He tried to settle himself into his chair, unable to swallow for the fear in his throat.
Please don't take my flames. Please don't take my flames. Please don't take my flames.

Or my sanity.

He opened his eyes in time to see Richard pushing the spell directly at his face. Before he could move out of the way or even brace for the impact, he felt it sink into his skin, reaching for his brain, and then pulling. But the spell was wrong. It couldn't find what it was looking for, and the flames seemed to expand, to flood toward his heart, pulling and tangling and burning, pulling on his heart like it could rip it from his chest. And his skull felt like it was on fire. He grabbed at it, clawing at his face, trying to make the pain stop. He didn't realize he was screaming until there was a pounding on the outside door with screams to match his own.

Richard flicked his wrist and the spell died within Christian. He slumped in the chair, not having the strength to even sit up straight. “What is going on? What are you doing to my son?” Christian could not remember a time that his mother had sounded so angry, so frightening.

“He volunteered to help find Ada. The spell called for a seer but he convinced me that he could do it,” Richard said smoothly. “It didn't work, however. You are free to take him home. But if Charity is willing…”

“Charity is
not
willing, my lord.” The words fell with distaste from Scarlett's tongue. “She has not yet recovered from her last episode.”

“Of course. We don't want to be overtaxing one so sickly. I'll call my guards to help your son home.”

“No.” Christian forced himself to his feet, feeling like he would vomit all over the expensive looking rugs. His skull pounded and he couldn't see except for brief, blazing splotches of color that seemed to scald his eyes. And his heart — every beat felt like it was bleeding out. He wished it would stop, just for a moment. The pain was more than he could bear, but he stiffened his spine and walked past the duke, escaping into the hallway. The door shut behind him with a hard click that nearly sent him to his knees.

“Let me heal you,” Scarlett said frantically. Christian couldn't see her flames but he could feel them. And he felt his body recoil from them, knocking them back toward his mother. She gasped as her own spells hit her.

“I'm so sorry. I don't know—” But the pain was too much and Christian did collapse this time, falling right at his mother's feet.

It was dark when Ada's eyes opened. She'd had the most horrific dream, of Christian being tortured by demons. She could still hear him screaming in her mind, even when she sat up, lighting her sparks to the candle on the nightstand. “Christian. Oh Christian, I'm coming.”

But the battle. The battle called to her and the flames in her blood were more demanding than her heart. She was pulled toward it, despite her every effort to walk away.

She rose, pulling on her boots, and slipped out the door. In the hallway, someone had left a tray, piled with pastries and breads. She hesitated, wondering if the servant girl had poisoned them. But that would only land her back in bed, which seemed to be the last thing Harriet wanted, so the pastries must be safe. She scooped them up, loading her pockets. The last one she bit into, relishing the taste of cream on her tongue.

The house was still. The moon through the windows was high in the sky. Everyone must have been sleeping. Mortified at having slept the day away in a complete stranger's manor, she felt her hateful blush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. She was grateful for the darkness.

Moving quietly down the stairs and to the front door, she found her cloak hanging with a few other finer, cloaks — none of which were stained or bloody like hers. She swung it across her shoulders, grateful for its familiar weight. She glanced once over her shoulder before making her escape. Whatever she had felt toward William, she was glad to be free of it. Glad that she would never have to face these people again — and the embarrassment that came with it.

She found Horse in the stables, but no stable hand to be seen. She knew in Adlington, the stable boys took shifts sleeping with the horses, but here the barns were silent except for the snorting and pawing of the other horses. She slipped the bridle over his head and then threw on the blanket and saddle before leading him out and down the sweeping drive to the road. Only when she was out of sight of the manor did she mount up and gallop away. She had every intention of going back to Adlington. But somehow her hands led the horse in the opposite direction, into the forest and toward more highwaymen, and probably more killer rabbits.

Toward battle.

She only came across one group of bandits, and they were fleeing toward her. They didn't even stop as they raced past, terror making the whites of their eyes glow in the darkness. That was how Ada knew she had found her fight. Her second clue was the red bursts in the distance, lighting the sky. Horse reared as they came to the edge of the forest, and Ada slid off his back. The battle was beyond the trees, and she didn't want him to get hit by a wild spell. Or stolen by bandits stupid enough to come this close to an Edren war. She led him through the forest, tying the reins to a low branch so he could reach to eat the grass. Pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders, she raced into the fight.

Last time, she'd waited until someone had attacked her. This time, she didn't want to hear secrets. She didn't want to decide who deserved to die under her spells. She was
angry
, so angry, and she wanted to stop everything in her path.

She burned a
lirik
, throwing it viciously at the very first person she saw. She barely watched as it hit the man in the back and he shrieked as he fell. She kept burning and kept pushing the spells, catching bits of secrets here and there. About France, about Spain and England and the queen. And her father.

He was much more involved than she'd realized. Much more powerful.

She took their secrets and filed them away for later. The flames in her blood screamed to be let loose. She paused, chest heaving as she spun in a circle. She was by far the smallest thing in the clearing, and the only woman.

The thought gave her great pleasure.

No one expected anything of her here. She was tiny and looked as threatening as a field mouse. Sparks escaped from her fingers, lighting the grass at her feet. As flames licked her boots and her skirts, she jerked her hands up, and the flames grew with her, surrounding her in their heat. She shoved them forward, screaming, and as if they fed off her anger, they blew away from her, enveloping everything around her.

Men fell, rolling, trying to escape the flames.

She leaped from the ring of fire, burning another
lirik
and shoving it at those still on the ground. She barely caught sight of the spell coming from the left and ducked just in time. She fell to one knee and burned another spell. It found the man who had tried to kill her. He screamed once and was gone, an inferno of dust and blood.

The others seemed to have found a common enemy in this battle — her.

Spells came from all sides. She dove out of the way, grinning wickedly as two darted past her and into the men on either side. Clearly that hadn't been her intent.

She burned another spell, and one right after, shoving one forward and one backward and rolling away. More spells blew over her head, hitting men attacking on every side of her.
Let them kill each other. I'll wait.

Leaping to her feet, she threw another spell, wishing that there was one that could take out many of her threats at once. A
lirik
was a powerful kill spell, the only one she knew, but trying to fight off one man at a time wasn't working.

So she sprinted, racing around them, feeling her skirts rip and tear under her feet, but she didn't slow. She burned spells as she ran, winding through men all at least a foot taller than her. And they all tried to kill her.

They all failed.

Instead, their dull red spells hit each other, killing much faster than she could. Another spell burst through the smoke and the screaming and the flames, coming right at her. She leaped, tucking into a ball and rolling through the air. She felt it burn her curls as it sailed underneath her, blowing into the man chasing behind. She landed, fell to one knee as another spell blasted over her head, and burned the
lirik
, taking out the man so determined to stop her.

He would not attack her again.

The smoke and the flames were so thick now that it was hard to see beyond the hand in front of her face; her hand, but not familiar for its hungry flames at her fingertips. There were shadows, like wraiths in the mist, but they came and were gone before she could even burn a spell to chase them with.

The field was silent. Slowly, the hunger faded, the anger, the surreal force that had been driving her in the past… who knew how many days now. It slowly died, and the monster inside her quieted. She rose to her feet, suddenly exhausted. She was bleeding and burned, and she had no idea when she'd been hit. Or how many times.

The spell hit her in the back, knocking her forward so she collapsed on her own fires burning out of control. She screamed as it burned, but she could tell it wasn't a
lirik
. Whatever she'd been hit with wasn't a kill spell. She rolled, struggling to pull herself out of the burning grass. Whoever had thrown it was gone, and the field was empty except for the gray ash of those who hadn't made it through the battle. Forcing herself to her knees, she stumbled to the forest — looking for Horse, watching for whoever had attacked her from behind. She felt the burns in her back. Christian was going to kill her. Hopefully he'd heal her first.

Always. Forever.

Horse stood at the edge of the fire, pulling frantically on his reins, still tangled in the branches. “I'm here. I'm here.” She held out a hand to soothe him, dodging hooves as he tried to rear away from her, eyes wild with fear. Ironic, that the finest horse of a flame-throwing sorcerer was afraid of fire.

Strong hands, much bigger than hers, reached above her, deftly untangling reins from the branch before shoving them into Ada's chest. “That was stupid. Are you daft? You could have been killed.”

Ada blinked up at William. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you. I didn't believe you were really going to battle. I — I didn't believe someone so tiny could be so—”

“Wicked?” she asked, her voice hollow around her exhaustion.

“Powerful.” He gave her a pointed look. “There is no wickedness in war. Only one side against the other.”

“You are very wrong about that, Mr. Langley.” There, she'd addressed him correctly.

He studied her for a long minute, trying to read her meaning before his eyes wandered to her burned, bloody shoulder, the same that she'd hurt in her first battle. “You're wounded. Come to my estate and I'll bring the doctor.” Without asking, he pushed her up onto Horse.

“No. Your doctors cannot heal me. I have to go home. To my healer.”

He took the reins and led the horse through the trees, jogging lightly. “A Carules, then?”

She frowned down at him. “You seem to know quite a bit about sorcerers for not being one.” Could he possibly be a sorcerer and she just not know it? They had no distinguishing marks. And whoever had thrown that last spell had disappeared before she could see who it was.

He shrugged lightly. “I'm fascinated. I always have been. Growing up with the mighty Duke of Adlington looming over our village makes one curious.”

His horse waited at the edge of the woods, pawing at the air as it watched the flames. “You need to tell your village to start a brigade or those flames will eat every last house.” She felt like maybe she would fall from her horse.

He glanced behind him, as if just noticing the inferno, and nodded. Mounting, he said, “Can you find your way to my estate? I need to sound the alarm.”

“I'm not going to your estate…” Her voice trailed off as he spun the big black and white animal and raced away. “Blast.” Defeated, she nudged Horse forward, following the road back to his manor. The bells on the church house peeled through the weak sunlight, and villagers emerged from their houses, bleary eyed, still in their nightdress, but racing for the fountain. And she heard them muttering about the Edren sorcerers and the trouble they cause.

“We're protecting you. Don't you realize that?” Ada murmured, although no one was near enough to hear her. Their words hurt. She'd nearly died, and many others
had
lost their lives. All to keep the war away from their village. Let the sorcerers fight, and protect the knights, the dukes, earls, villagers, peasants. Everyone.

William hadn't returned by the time she reached his estate, and she guessed he was helping with the brigade, which was admirable. “He said you would be hungry.” Harriet met her at the front gate. “He also said he doubted he'd be able to talk you into staying. So I packed a basket.” The girl wasn't glaring at Ada anymore, and Ada wondered what had changed. She was too tired to care, though.

“Why did he follow me? Is he also a sorcerer?” Ada asked bluntly.

Harriet laughed. “No, m'lady. He used to pretend. When we were younger…” She hesitated, and Ada had a brief flash of what Harriet remembered — they had been friends as children, just as she and Christian and Charity had been. But William had grown up and moved on, as Ada should.

But Ada refused.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the basket gently and trying to give Harriet a real smile. She could be Charity, in Ada's village.

Harriet blinked, seemingly confused by Ada's kindness.

“I need to be on my way. I have to get to my healer. Thank you for the meal.” Ada tried her best not to sound as exhausted as she felt.

“Are you sure you won't stay? We can summon the doctor. He's very good.”

Ada just shook her head, too tired to argue. Then she turned Horse away, loosening the reins and letting the big black animal pick his own pace.

He leaped into a gallop and ran like the hounds were after him.