A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(5)

“Stop calling me Nettie, Rook.” I smiled. This was an age-old battle. A terrible childhood nickname, Nettie made me sound like an old lady or a hen.



“Have to call you Nettie, Nettie.” I felt him laugh. “You can’t break with tradition, as Colegrind tells us.” Rook leaned away from me and took up his vest. With a grunt, he began to pull it over his head. I held back, knowing he’d be cross if I tried to help now. “The sorcerer’s gone?”

“Yes. That was far too close.” Unladylike as it was, I flopped onto my back and stared up at the sky.

“Even if you are a witch, it’s not as though you’re Mary Willoughby herself.” Rook sighed, lying down beside me. “She’s dead and gone.”

“Her legacy isn’t, though.” For thousands of years, witches had existed on the fringe of society. They were known as strange women, a bit dangerous if you weren’t careful, but they’d mostly lived in peace. That all changed when a witch named Mary Willoughby opened up a portal between worlds and summoned the Ancients, starting this long, bloody war. I remembered a book I’d had when I was ten, A Child’s History of the Ancients. In it, there was a picture of a lady with wild black hair and insane eyes, her hands raised to a stormy sky. Mary Willoughby, the worst woman in the kingdom, the caption read.

“She was burned,” I said. “All witches are burned.” If Agrippa had found me out…well, I actually couldn’t be burned, could I? He would have to be creative with my death. Lord, what an unsettling thought.

“Seems un-Christian, don’t it? Burning people alive.”



“Especially when you consider she had help,” I said.

“Yes, from the magician.” Rook smiled as I sat up in surprise. “You taught me to read with that old Ancients book, remember? Howard Mickelmas. He helped open the gate. Never caught him, did they?”

“No, magicians are tricky by nature.” Magicians were filthy beasts, full of deception. Everyone knew that. At least witches had an air of tragic nobility about them.

“Why d’you think they burn one kind and not the other?” Rook said. “Why aren’t magicians killed, too?”

This conversation was doing nothing for my nerves. Brushing the whole topic aside, I stood and walked around the rock, clutching my shawl. Rook joined me.

“I don’t want to worry about magic any longer,” I said, standing in the road. All around us was silence, except the wind sighing through the heather. Awful as Brimthorn was, one could never match Yorkshire for moments of grand solitude. Rook and I were alone, save for a traveler on horseback in the distance. “I want to think about the shop we’re going to open.”

“It’ll be in Manchester, or maybe Canterbury,” Rook said, going along with the old game. “We should open a bookshop, with all the books bound in old leather.”

“I think that’s the most glorious smell, a library of old books,” I said. Apart from Rook, my only good memories of Brimthorn consisted of hours reading in a favored window seat. Colegrind, bad as he was, had at least been generous with his personal library. One summer, I’d gone through Le Morte d’Arthur three times. My favorite moment had to be when Arthur pulled the sword from the stone, transforming from commoner to king in one instant.



Rook shook his head. “Granted, we can’t move to Canterbury. The Vulture Lady lives on the cathedral.” He was right. On-Tez, one of the Ancients, had ruled the city for the past three years. She was a large, hideous beast with the body of a filthy carrion bird and the head of an insane old woman. The name Vulture Lady suited her rather well.

“One day she’ll be gone, and we’ll sell books and anything else we want. Now, what shall we call our shop?” I asked. Rook didn’t respond. I nudged him. “Don’t say you can’t think of anything.” Rook moved away from me down the road, hands in his pockets. Surprised, I walked beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“The shop is a story we told ourselves when we were younger,” he said, looking at me. “You could have been a governess in a good house by now, with better food and pay. Why haven’t you tried for a position yet?”

Lord, not this argument again. “I’ll apply when I want to, but I don’t want to right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might set fire to the master’s drapes,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Besides, I can’t just…” I bit my tongue, but Rook caught on.

“Can’t what?” His jaw was set, his eyes hard.

“Leave you,” I said, wincing as I waited for his reaction.



He stopped us in the road. “Nettie, I don’t want you to ever keep yourself low because of me.”

“You’re being silly,” I snapped, wrapping my shawl tight around my shoulders. “I’m going home.” With that, I turned and walked off the road at a brisk pace, tramping across the moor. I waited to hear Rook’s footsteps, but he didn’t follow me. I stopped, exasperated. “Are you planning to live out here?”

Rook remained on the road. He faced the traveler on horseback, who was only about a half mile away now. Something about Rook’s stillness was unsettling. I hurried back to him.

“Are you all right? Do the scars still hurt?” I asked, gripping his shoulder. Instantly, he crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain. When I touched him, he shuddered. Panicking, I hooked my arm with his and tried once, twice to get him back on his feet. I pulled so hard I lost my balance and fell beside him in the dirt.