A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(26)
“I suppose you have plans that Lord Blackwood won’t like at all.”
“On the contrary, I’ve designed an educational outing.” He grinned with excitement but said no more.
—
WE RUMBLED ALONG IN AGRIPPA’S CARRIAGE, Blackwood and Magnus seated opposite me. As we drove, people on the street smiled and bowed to us.
“The carriage has Agrippa’s seal on the door,” Magnus said. He waved through the window. “They love Master Agrippa. They’ll love you as well.”
“Unless I fail.” I was still focused on yesterday’s lesson. “What happens if I don’t receive the queen’s commendation in June?” I asked Blackwood, certain he of all people would answer with honesty.
“You won’t be a sorcerer, Miss Howel.” He stated it matter-of-factly, as if I’d inquired about the weather. “On the rare occasion that an Incumbent cannot complete the assigned maneuvers, his stave is taken from him and he’s removed from the family record in disgrace.”
“So I’d receive the same punishment as someone who’s trained these past two years?” The panic of my botched lesson came thundering back, but I held it inside.
“They need to know you’re the one named in the prophecy. If you’re not what Her Majesty seeks, you won’t be encouraged to develop those abilities,” Blackwood said, his tone effortlessly cool. I doubt she’ll be capable, he’d said to Agrippa. “Most feel that women should not learn magic.”
“Do you?” I raised my eyebrows.
“I support whatever the Order thinks is right,” he said after a moment of careful consideration. How very generous.
“Blacky, much as I adore your conversational contributions, I really think we should focus on enjoying the day,” Magnus said. He knocked Blackwood’s hat off his head for emphasis.
They took me to St. Paul’s Cathedral, at Blackwood’s suggestion. Magnus stifled a groan as we walked up the church steps. We passed along the nave, and I marveled at the marble floors and golden ceilings decorated with angels. Down in the crypt, we visited Christopher Wren’s tomb, surrounded by an iron gate. The grave was topped with a slab of obsidian.
“Wren came from a fine sorcerer family,” Magnus said. “That’s why the obsidian. All sorcerers try to be buried with some piece of it on them.” He whistled, listening to the echo play off the walls. “Nice place for eternal rest, but I prefer Poets’ Corner in Westminster Abbey. You wouldn’t like it, probably. You’re not one for poets or playwrights, are you, Miss Howel?” Magnus paused before a collection of prayer candles. With a sweep of his stave he lit them. Their glow highlighted his hair and played on his cheekbones. If he wanted me to notice how handsome he was, perhaps he was succeeding.
“I didn’t say I hated them, only that I had no time for them.”
He responded in a low, powerful tone, speaking the words, “?‘What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel.’?” His voice reverberated in the great space, soft yet clear. “That’s Hamlet.”
“You should’ve been an actor.” I was impressed.
“Do you think?” He seemed pleased. “Sometimes I imagine I’d give up sorcery and duty just for the opportunity to tour the countryside with a small troupe. Mother always said I had a knack for voices.”
Blackwood came by and hushed us.
After my tour, we stopped at an inn for lunch, complete with chops and potatoes and ale. A few more months eating this way, and I might attain some feminine curves. Magnus entertained us with stories and jokes, but I tried bringing Blackwood into the conversation. Despite how badly our relationship had begun, I wanted us to be civil. It would make training easier.
“How old were you when you became the Earl of Sorrow-Fell, my lord?” I asked.
“I was eight when my father died,” Blackwood replied, studying his half-drunk ale. “The youngest seal bearer in the history of my family. They thought that was terribly exciting.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, and meant it. To be that young and head of a family was one thing, but seal bearers were responsible for their entire magical line. The pressure would’ve been tremendous.
“Father died battling R’hlem in his country’s service. It was a noble end,” Blackwood said, as emotionless as if he were reading the words out of a book. “What of your family?”
“Father died before I was born, mother soon after.” I felt uncomfortable, as I always did when talking about my parents. I’d no memories, no connections. I wished I could feel something more than curiosity and longing when I thought about them.
He nodded. “So you truly grew up at Brimthorn?”
“Well, I lived in Devon until I was five.” There. There was a real memory, a real flash of pain. Blackwood noticed.
“Why did you leave?”
I thought of my aunt walking away from me, back to her carriage. And me, hanging on to her skirt, begging her to take me home. She hadn’t listened. She hadn’t cared.
“Several reasons,” I said quickly. “The war, for one. I’m sorry that training in London left you so little time on your estate. As I’ve said, the girls at Brimthorn would have loved to meet their great benefactor.”