Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(11)

Mrs. Winter sighed and demonstrated a much more dignified curtsy, dropping smoothly until it looked like she was almost kneeling and then rising without pushing her way back up. And then, to my total shock, she sang a little song that sounded like Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

“Curtsy curtsy, ankles strong,

Your chin is up,

Your neck is long.”

There was no possible way for me to respond to this little performance that would not end in my being tossed out of the house for my blatant disrespect. And giggling.

“Please, sit.” Mrs. Winter gestured to the chair. “Eat it all,”

“I’ve never had much of an appetite, ma’am,” I said, sitting as delicately as I could while Mrs. Winter snapped a white linen napkin open over my lap.

“A side effect of the suppressors, I am sure.” She tutted, while slathering butter on my toast. “Your appetite will return as you indulge in a richer diet.”

Suddenly, I was struck with images from a fairy tale told to Snipe children, the evil step-mother force-feeding Hansel to fatten him up for the feast before he was rescued by the good, caring Guardian witch. I shuddered, but dutifully shoved a strip of bacon into my mouth.

I moaned and stuffed more bacon between my lips. I knew that Guild Guardian families enjoyed better food. I’d helped Mum prepare a good portion of those rich dishes since I was seven years old. But we’d never been allowed more than a testing taste. Oh, we’d had occasional special treats – peppermint candies at Yule and sponge cakes on my birthdays – but meals at home were always utilitarian, meant to fuel us for the work we had to do.

“Is this what food is supposed to taste like?” I asked. “We never had anything like this at home.”

Mrs. Winter smirked as she stirred honey into my porridge. “Well, I suspect that your senses have been stunted by your daily medication.”

I frowned, feeling a dull stab of resentment for my mother, and then feeling immediately guilty for it.

“The suppressors put you out of balance,” she said. “Your magical life source was bottled up, depriving you of a sort of essential nutrition. It’s as if one of your organs was not functioning. How is your skin supposed to glow with health and vitality when your liver has failed?”

“It wouldn’t?” I guessed.

“Exactly,” she said, crossing to the small wardrobe, where she’d deposited a few hand-me-down gowns the night before. She removed a rose poplin gown and a sunny yellow silk and held them against my shoulders, one after the other, which made my eating bacon considerably more difficult. I changed tactics and buttered a scone.

“The yellow will work for now, I think, but it’s not your color. And neither is the pink. It washes you pale, terribly. Plums, blues, a few carefully selected shades of green, they will bring out the lovely silver quality in your eyes, I think. We’ll know more when Madame DuPont brings her samples to your fitting.”

My eyebrows lifted and a bite of scone nearly fell out of my open mouth. Charming.

“Madame DuPont? Your personal dressmaker is going to make gowns for me?”

“My dear, I do not think you grasp my commitment to this… project of ours. I will do everything in my power to help you assimilate into the circles in which we tread. I have just as much to lose as you do. I do not want you to simply survive in the Guardian community; I want you to thrive. I think you have great potential. You will be afforded every opportunity and luxury available to any member of this household.”

“Can I see my mother?” I asked. “I’m sure I’d behave better if I saw my mother.”

“Not at the moment. Your mother and sister have been restricted to the kitchen. Ruth and Martha will be taking over the other rooms for now. Should you try to enter the kitchen, you will find wards in place to keep you out. You will behave yourself either way.”

Wards were complicated magic, a protective barrier formed from a combination of charm-work and potions that could prevent entry to or even hide the existence of rooms. For Mrs. Winter to have constructed one around the kitchen meant she was quite serious about keeping me away.

“I have keyed this particular ward to your magical signature, dear, so you are the only one affected. Your sister and mother can move about the house freely, but they know better than to try to speak to you against my wishes.”

“How did you key it to my magic, when I’ve only done magic once?”

“Your magic is a part of your very being, Sarah. As I’ve told you, it’s part of your skin, your bones, your hair. All you need is the tiniest bit of that magic, and you can do all sorts of spells affecting that person. Why do you think Guardians are so careful to do their barbering at home?”

“And how did you get a lock of my hair?” I glanced back at the bed where I’d slept. “Did you snip off my hair while I was sleeping? Is that something that proper ladies do?”

“If they can get away with it, yes,” Mrs. Winter said coolly as she offered me a linen napkin and gestured to my lips. I scrubbed at my mouth with it, making her frown. “Though I will admit most proper ladies’ hair-pulling runs along the lines of cutting remarks and social blacklisting.”

“I thought the whole purpose of your taking me in was that I would be able to spend time with my family.”

“Yes, but we don’t want you to become confused, now do we, my dear?”