A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(73)

“Which is?”

“As you’ve said yourself. Unlovable.” To my annoyance, Hargrove stuck out his tongue at me.

“You young girls are all the same. ‘Oh, my life is so impossible. No boy will ever desire me, and I’ll live alone in a hovel with sixteen cats. Such is my woe.’?” He said it all in a piercing, effeminate voice.

“I don’t pity myself. I simply know that I’m not easily loved.”

He stopped his mimicry. “What’s so awful about you?”

I’d never told this story to anyone before, not even Rook. Unsure as to why I should relate this to Hargrove of all people, I said, “When I was five years old, my aunt Agnes brought me to my Yorkshire school.” I could recall her vividly after all this time, a tall, proud woman in black clothes who wouldn’t look at me as I clung to her skirt. “I cried as she walked back toward her carriage. I yelled, ‘Please, Auntie, don’t leave me here. I want to go with you. I love you.’ That was when she turned to me and said—” I stopped when a hitch formed in my throat.



“What did she say?” Hargrove lost his smirk.

“?‘You are a horrid child. If only you could be pleasant, I would love you. But how could anyone care for a peevish, whining, solemn little thing like you?’?” The words were exact. I’d run them through my mind at least once every day since they were uttered. “And there you have it,” I said, my voice artificially bright, forcing a smile. “Nothing to be done.” I turned my face away as a tear crept down my cheek.

“Poor child,” he said, his voice soft. He reached across the table, and I gave him my hand. “Poor, poor child.” In that moment, he sounded as tender as Agrippa. “You have a good heart. It wasn’t your fault.” Then he said, so quiet I nearly missed it, “It wasn’t hers, either.”

“What?”

Hargrove released me. Placing his head in his hand, he said, “Please use the porter’s circle. I’m tired.”

“Did I offend you?”

“It’s not enough that I have several little mouths to feed and you to teach. Now I have to be bogged down by these depressing stories.”



Stung, I laid the little girl to sleep and went to the carved porter’s circle. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. Goodbye.” I lifted my skirt to step inside.

“Henrietta.” He rarely used my name. “You’ve suffered a great deal. Remember that you’re not the only one.” He laid his head on the table, as though he was exhausted.

“It was selfish of me to burden you,” I muttered, and vanished toward home.

—

THE NEXT NIGHT, I SAT BEFORE the parlor fire with Blackwood. He used cards to test my memory on the Ancients. “Zem,” he said. The firelight danced on his features, shadowing his eyes.

“A fire-breathing serpent, as long as a small ship. He’s seen frequently in Hertfordshire and has leveled, at present, two entire villages.” I squeezed my eyes shut in concentration.

“Good. What’s being done in Hertfordshire to defend the citizenry?”

“All sorcerer families with estates in the area have sent at least one son as protection. They’re also creating a series of canals in each village to bring in water as a natural deterrent to Zem. It’s a slow process.”

“Excellent.” He laid down the cards. “How have you been these last two weeks?” There was concern in his eyes. Ever since Cellini’s attack, Blackwood and the others had taken extra care of me. Lambe and Wolff showed me new strategies for chess. Dee tried especially hard not to step on my feet during dance practice.



“I’m all right.”

“Do you still need to be alone on your afternoons off?” Something about the way he said it took my attention. “You’ve become so skilled. Surely the entire afternoon’s no longer necessary.”

“Is there something you’d like to ask?”

“Some are sure to be interested in what you do. I advise you to be careful.” His tone and look suggested this was serious.

“Who’s interested?”

“Only try not to draw too much attention to yourself.” He sank deeper into his armchair and shuffled his cards. I knew that look he wore. Try as I might, I would get nothing else out of him on the subject. “Now, then. Tell me about R’hlem, and be sure to focus on his campaign in Scotland.”





Over the next nine days, I avoided going to see Hargrove. I played games in the parlor, attended lessons, and took chaperoned cart rides with Magnus. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care if I ever saw the magician again. But I woke the morning of June 19 feeling guilty. The commendation ball was in a mere two days, and I doubted I’d get a chance to visit after I became a sorcerer. Besides, he needed the last of the money. He’d earned it.

One final lesson before we both moved on with our lives.

When I arrived, we didn’t speak for the first few minutes. I laid out a sack of oranges for the children, which they joyfully snatched up. He sat with his face cupped in his hand, drumming his fingers on the table. I gave him the last of the money and spent a great deal of time folding and refolding my gloves.

“You seem distant today,” Hargrove said at last.