A Shadow Bright and Burning (Kingdom on Fire #1)(74)

“If I am, I don’t want to concern you,” I replied. “It’s rude to ask you to share my troubles.”

“I’m sorry about the other night.” He ran a copper penny along his fingers, over and over again. “Responding to such a story in such a way was the height of bad manners.” His apology shocked me. Surely the real magician had been kidnapped by faeries, and this polite copy left in his place. “I have always been uncomfortable with fragile things, like feelings and confessions. Butterflies, too.”



“I forgive you,” I said, studying an orange. “Shall we have a lesson?”

“There’s nothing more I can teach you. No, I thought today we might talk.” The penny glided over his fingers at a faster pace. Hargrove wanted to talk? Why did he seem so nervous? “Are you ready to be commended?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I said. Hargrove didn’t respond, only watched the children devour the oranges. “What is it?”

“When you first came here, I thought you’d be just like your father. I was wrong.” He slammed the coin down on the table and rubbed his chin. He looked like someone preparing to dive into an icy river.

“In what way? You think I’m not as good a magician as he was?”

“Hardly. I think with more time you could be a better one. William was a talented sort, but he had no real discipline. At least, not when I knew him.” He leaned back in his chair.

“Is my being a sorcerer what’s concerning you? I won’t forget what you’ve taught me about where I come from. Maybe before you leave for America, I can return one last time—”

“No. Once you’re commended, you cannot return.” So this would be our final meeting. Sadness lumped in my stomach, even though Hargrove could be gruff and smelled of cabbages and alcohol.



“Thank you for everything,” I said. “I’ll do what I can to help the magician cause. I swear.”

Wincing, he stood and turned his back to me.

“No, you’re not like William. You have his same impulsive rashness, but you can be reasonable when you try. I think,” he said, pausing as he turned to face me, “that you could bear it.”

“Bear what?”

“Sometimes I believe that our lives are lived in an endless cycle,” he said. “That our error becomes our children’s burden, and eventually that burden becomes their error, and so on. The only way out of it is to break the cycle. Do you understand?”

“No. I don’t think I do.”

He sat down and grasped my hand. “There’s something I need to tell you about your father. You see, he wasn’t—”

There was a knock at the door, and Blackwood opened it without waiting for a reply. When he saw me, the color drained from his face.

“What are you doing here?” he said. He half attempted to hide a small velvet pouch behind his back. Cheeks flushed and breathing deep, he looked as if he’d been running. “Well?”

What on earth was he doing here? It wasn’t Friday, his regular charity day. I wouldn’t have come if it were. To add to my surprise, Rook appeared in the doorway with a parcel in his arms.



“Nettie?” he said, shocked as Blackwood and I. We made a sort of trinity of bewilderment.

Before I could speak, Blackwood took my arm. “What are you doing?” I said, stunned by his boldness.

“We’re leaving,” he snapped, tossing the velvet pouch to Hargrove. It landed with a jingle of coins. “Charity,” Blackwood mumbled.

“It’s always appreciated,” Hargrove said drily, spilling the money onto the tabletop. “Come back anytime, miss. Tuppence for another tarot, ha’penny to read your tea leaves. Though you must bring your own kettle.”

“I will walk on my own, thank you,” I said, wrenching my arm out of Blackwood’s grip. We tromped out of the room, Rook and me walking ahead of him. I was deliberately slow, just to be irritating.

“What are you doing here?” Rook whispered.

“Paying a call.” I stumbled over the words; I still wasn’t comfortable with lying to him. “Has he had you rushing about all day?”

“Don’t worry about me.” He jerked his head in Blackwood’s direction. “I won’t let him be rough with you.”

“There’s more danger of me being rough with him.” Once below, I turned to Blackwood. “You can’t treat me that way in front of people.”

“Why are you here?” He sounded furious.

“I brought something for the children. Weren’t you doing the same?”



“Why would you visit a magician? If Master Agrippa knew—”

“I’d be so grateful if you wouldn’t tell him,” I said, trying to sound as gentle and conciliatory as possible. He set off down the street, and I hurried to catch up.

“Perhaps I should,” he said.

Well, bother gentle and conciliatory. “Master Agrippa’s certain I’ll be commended. Are you looking for an excuse to sabotage that?” It was a childish thing to say, but I wanted to lob something at him.

“Do you really believe that?” he shouted, stopping dead in the road. The crowd flowed around us. “After I’ve told you about my responsibility toward the Order? After I’ve spent hours helping to train you? Haven’t I warned you that people are curious about where you go?”