You Are Mine (33 page)

After retrieving the brush, she says,
“I'd better give you one of those boring buns then.”

The tugging on my hair is familiar,
though uncomfortable. I hadn't realized how much I've enjoyed her
new way of styling my hair over the tight pulling. “Thank you,
Waverly.”

“
No problem. If it's what
Zade wants, I'll do what I can to help with it.”

If she knew it was my idea and he's
reluctant to let me, would she still be willing?

“
There,” she says. “All
set.”

The clock says there's still twenty
minutes left.

“
Would you mind giving me
some face paint as well?”

“
But you never paint your
face.”

“
Today, I do.” Though I'll
hate every minute of the cakey mixture. “I want to make a favorable
impression for Zade.”

Without another word, she deftly
applies a hefty amount of face paint. More than I've ever worn
before, though not more than mother. Its chalky, fatty smell makes
me sneeze. How have women worn this for years?

“
It'll smear, so let it
dry.”

With pink cheeks and lips, eyes lined
with black, I don't look like myself. But neither do I look like
countless other woman who have painted their faces. There are
angles to it, subtle, but there. Slashed at the corners of my eyes
and across my cheekbones. I'm owned by a Chancellor, but on closer
inspection, I'm different.

I close my eyes and take a breath.
“Thank you.”

She places a hand on my arm.
“Courage.”

I open my eyes and force a smile.
After pulling on the cloak Zade gave me, I head for the door. I can
do this. I will do this. The carriage leaves in ten minutes. I will
not miss it.

***

Zade holds out a hand and helps me
from the carriage. Despite his spell aiding my carriage sickness,
my stomach still feels off. Once I'm steady, I realize we're at
Councilman Daniel's and Annabelle's house. This makes some of the
tension leave, but not enough to really do any good.

A footman opens the door for us. He
pauses when he sees me. Zade stares at him until, without saying a
thing, he leads us to a long room. I hesitate at the door. The
footman scurries back the way we came. Conversation drifts to
us.

Zade's mammoth arms cross and a scowl
mars his face. “Come along, woman.”

Feeling shamed, though he's probably
only doing it for show, I follow him alongside the table. It's
almost as long as the room, with twelve chairs around it. A few
warlocks are already seated. They fall silent as Zade passes. Or
rather, when I trail after him. I hasten my pace.

A servant is behind every chair. They
each wear a cloak like mine. That explains why Zade wanted me to
wear it. At least I'll blend in a little more. At the end of the
long table is another one, smaller and placed across the end to
create the shape of a T. Three softer looking chairs spread across
it. Two windows, behind the smaller table, let in light. When Zade
reaches the chair furthest to the left on the smaller table, a
servant moves toward it. He holds out a hand to stop the
servant.

“
My chair,
wench.”

The command is foreign coming from his
lips, but I've lived in a world with commands longer than without
them. I automatically do his bidding. When he's seated, I step
behind him and slightly to the left since the servant is on the
right.

The light from the window warms my
back, but I don't move the cloak. I clasp my hands together beneath
it. My body is rigid. Though I don't look up, I feel eyes on me.
Watching me. Wondering about me. Waiting to hear a reason for my
presence. Or to shun my presence.

Others enter, but I don't look at them
either. I focus on the swirling pattern in the rug.

Someone asks, “What's she doing
here?”

It takes me a moment to realize why
I've stopped breathing. Father. He can't hurt me. I'm not his. I
take a deep breath. No reply comes. I chance a peek at Zade through
my lashes. He's scribbling away, pointedly ignoring Father. The
floor returns to being my main focus. This is pointless. I'm not
going to learn anything, but rather be reminded of how life is. How
it still should be.

I draw the cloak tighter around me.
Despite the warmth of the room, I'm more grateful than ever for the
shield it offers. Several more minutes pass of men entering.
Silence continues. Is it always silent or is it just me? Warlocks
always seem full of talk and boasting, but I don't know if it's the
same at a meeting.

Finally, someone says, “The Grand
Chancellor.”

I start to look up, but Zade's hand is
behind his chair pointing to the floor. I duck my head back down.
The only sound is the Grand Chancellor striding closer. His chair
creaks as it's pulled back. He passes right by me, his cloak
brushing against the tips of my shoes. I force myself not to take a
step back. It's easier since the window is close behind. I've
nowhere to go.

He takes his chair.
“Proceed.”

There's a shuffle of movement. I
chance another peek, though Zade is still pointing down. A
tarnished is being led in the room. By the curves beneath her robe
and delicate nose, I'd guess a woman. What's she doing here? I
thought no woman had been before.

Her eyes are glazed, but her face is
pure and clean save for the black tendrils of ink curling over her
face. A servant helps her onto the table. My breathing quickens.
What is going on? She lays with her head at the Grand Chancellor's
place. The tournament flashes through my mind.

The Grand Chancellor casts a golden
spell. After the gold recedes, silver gleams in his hands. At first
I think it's part of the spell, but then realize the object holds
its shape. The sharp blade of a dagger. It darts toward
her.

My vision sways. Sacrifice. They're
going to sacrifice her. My small breakfast threatens to come back.
I focus on breathing. Once I've more control, I force my gaze away
from the scene and clench my fists. No matter what happens, I can't
do anything. No screaming, no fainting, no intervening. What would
yelling do? The fact that I'm here is going to endanger Zade more.
Calling out would only make his fate and my own worse, not save the
girl.

There's not a sound. I count to
twenty. Maybe it's not what I thought it was. I chance another
glance, hoping I misunderstood.

The girl's eyes have gone from dazed
to lifeless. Her face is white, making the ink more vivid against
her skin. The tip of the dagger drips crimson on the table next to
her.

A hole is above her collar bone. From
it runs a thin, red line staining the side of her neck. No other
blood taints the scene, but she's clearly dead. I bite my lower
lip. Hard.

Chapter
Thirty-Two

I
t's difficult to tell under the light of the sun, but the
Grand Chancellor appears to be glowing again, just like after the
sacrifice at the tournament. He claps three times. Four servants
come in and take hold of the woman's remains. Pinpricks of light
fill my vision. I hold my head down and take slow, deep breaths.
Despite my efforts, I almost faint. I think of my sisters. Let them
fill my thoughts. Finally, the world comes back into view. Though
still dizzy, I resume standing straight.

The scraping of chairs and chatter of
voices fills the room. I knot my hands together. The servant next
to me moves to the Grand Chancellor. I sneak a glimpse. The council
is relaxing, servants filling their glasses, one is getting his
shoulders massaged. Once the glasses are filled, the servants
return to their posts.

“
Before we get to the
agenda,” the Grand Chancellor says, “I'd like to be informed why a
female is in our meeting.”

“
Hear, hear,” Father says.
“If she were mine, I wouldn't permit it.”

Zade straightens in his chair. “I
believe that's no longer your decision. I've a right to do whatever
I wish with my possessions.”

“
You can't break the law
no matter your ownership. One of my own possessions has been
informing me of what's going on in your household.” Father's words
cut into me. Bethany. What information has he gotten from the spell
on her? Coming was a bad idea.

“
What information is
that?” The Grand Chancellor asks.

I hold my breath as Father says,
“They've been visiting the tarnished area of town. Getting dresses
that are two pieces and not just one. Dresses they can get in and
out of by themselves.”

Silence. Are they going to tarnish me
now and kill Zade for not keeping control of me? I stare at Zade
though I can't see his face. I didn't mean to bring this on
him.

“
I don't think there's a
law that dictates how women dress,” Councilman Daniel says.
“There's only the guidelines in the Woman's Canon.”

My chin quivers. I work to hold it
still. Will his words be enough to save us?

“
Unfortunately,”
Chancellor Ryan says, “he's correct. Maybe we should look into
changing that.”

“
Put it on the agenda for
a different day,” the Grand Chancellor says. “Today is full and we
have yet to address the issue of why a woman is
present.”

Will they really let us wear what we
want? Not punish Zade or me for it? For now at least, it appears
that way. But it also sounds like they are going to make plans to
correct the oversight. I don't know whether to be relieved, angry,
or sombered by the thought.

“
But
—
” Father starts, but the Grand Chancellor ignores
him.

“
She may be your
possession, Chancellor Zade, but I see you're still not used to our
customs. No woman except the sacrifice has ever been allowed to our
meeting. Are you offering her as one?”

My airway constricts. I picture myself
laying on the table. I grip my hands tighter. Is the altar about to
become my final resting place? I won't allow myself to be taken
without a fight.

“
I'm sure you'd love the
power of her blood, but that's not why she's here.”

Power of my blood? What does that
mean? Is that why the Grand Chancellor was glowing? The magic in
her blood combines with their own?

“
Then, please do tell us
why she's here so we can move on to more important
matters.”

“
I felt it would be a good
lesson, having her here submitting to my will. In fact,” he turns
toward the servant next to me, “give her the jug, she can keep my
glass full.”

The servant next to me thrusts the jug
at me. Wine splashes on my cloak. I grab hold of it and try to
mimic how the others are holding it. It's heavy.

A murmur fills the room.

“
He's brilliant,”
Councilman Daniel says above the noise. “Jonathan, fetch my
wife.”

The servant behind him scurries from
the room. The chatter grows louder. I almost don't dare hope
Annabelle will arrive. Through my lashes, I watch the Grand
Chancellor's body grow taut. Next to him, Zade lounges back in his
chair, content to study the paperwork before him instead of the
growing fray around him.

The voices speak too fast for me to
keep track of.

“
Can they really do
this?”

“
There's no law against
it.”

“
We should make
one.”

“
Wait, let's not be too
hasty. Maybe it's a good idea.”

“
It's a good idea. Did you
see how pale she was? I thought she was going to faint.”

“
She's still pale. I'm
still expecting her to fall on the floor.”

I grip the pitcher tighter and keep my
gaze lowered.

“
Women don't need to hear
warlock's work.”

“
Not like it'll make a
difference to them. Except maybe to teach them to be more
respectful.”

Their comments increase my desire to
hold myself together. The debate continues. More are for it than I
supposed would be. Not for the reasons I'd like, but it's better
than nothing.

Finally, the door opens. Risking a
peek, I see Annabelle wandering toward her husband looking
confused. Relief fills me. She's halfway across the room from me
and I can't say a word, but I'm no longer alone. Councilman Daniel
motions for her to get behind him and promptly ignores her. She's
given a jug like me, which she cradles to her body. She risks a
peek at me, her face free of emotion, then lowers her
head.

The Grand Chancellor taps a finger on
the table. The arguing quiets, attention shifting to him. “First
order of business?”

“
Isn't it that there are
women present?” Father asks.

“
Clearly not, Councilman
Stephen.”

Father's face is a livid
red.

Someone clears his throat. “Last time
we didn't finish discussing the latest changes to the tarnished
law.”

Though I was already listening, I fix
my full attention on the discussion and push the discomfort of the
situation to the back of my mind.