Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(5)

Mum appeared at the entrance, wordlessly presenting Mary with the fresh arrangements of white freesia and anemones Papa harvested every day from the grounds. Their delicate scent mixed with beeswax and furniture polish, created the familiar perfume of Raven’s Rest. On a normal day, I would find those aromas comforting, but today I was agitated, my thoughts restless and spinning off in a dozen directions.

More than ever, I resented doing chores that our Guardians’ magic could easily finish. Magical folk wouldn’t dare waste their power on stasis charms that could keep rooms dust-free or floors shiny. Oh, no, they reserved that magic for such vital tasks as wrinkle-cloaking glamours or potions that kept their bodies slim. And it was good for us, Snipes were told, to have work to keep our hands busy. Otherwise, we were prone to dangerous ideas.

I moved to the antique writing desk, carefully wiping the ink pots free of dust as I heard the double doors slide open to reveal the woman herself. Aneira Winter moved with the sort of serenity that only forty years spent in the top tier of the capitol’s social circles could afford. The pale blue-grey morning gown with its rigidly corseted bodice set off a figure ruthlessly tended with diet and medicinal herbs. (A Winter would never do anything so vulgar as exercise, or even worse, sweat.) Her cornflower blue eyes were as chilly as her smile. Though striking white, her teeth were her only real imperfection. She had a slightly crooked left incisor, something that could have easily been corrected by any Guild healer, but she chose to leave it as is, as if to prove she didn’t need correction.

I’d once suggested to my mother that Mrs. Winter selected the stark decor to off-set her cool blond beauty, only to receive a smack.

“Girls,” she sniffed, without bothering to look at either of us. “Running a bit behind schedule today, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mary replied, her tone appropriately reverent. “It’s washing day, so we started a bit late.”

“Please learn to manage your time more wisely,” Mrs. Winter said, moving to her writing desk, her stiff blue silk skirts rustling.

I moved quickly, eager to finish and move on to the next room. Mrs. Winter’s discerning eye could mean another hour spent re-cleaning spaces we’d already covered, and I didn’t have the patience to do that with a smile on my face.

The lady of the house set out her special writing set and stationery, charmed with her signature sword lily scent. This meant Mrs. Winter was about to send a last-minute luncheon invitation to the social chair of some-such charity. I had no doubt this would result in a big benefit party that Mum, Mary and I would have to clean for and cater. I sighed. When the noise attracted Mrs. Winter’s attention, I whipped a dust rag from my apron and took my frustrations out on the baseboards.

“How are you feeling, Sarah?”

I turned, looking sharply toward Mrs. Winter. I couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken to me directly. Usually, instructions were filtered through Mum or I was addressed with Mary as a unit, the “girls.” What had I done to catch her notice this morning? I hoped it wasn’t so bad that it was putting a wrinkle in that indomitable brow? Mrs. Winter did not look with favor upon people who put wrinkles in her brow.

Perhaps I hadn’t managed conceal the burn mark I’d ironed into Mr. Winter’s favorite suit vest as well as I thought.

Batting down the feelings of panic climbing my spine, I cleared my throat. I slipped my hand into my pocket and found the obsidian. I wrapped my fingers around it, savoring the warmth radiating from its surface. “I’m feeling just fine, thank you, ma’am.”

“She’s been a little run down, not sleeping well. Real skittish,” Mary reported.

I shot my sister a warning glare, which she ignored.

Mrs. Winter gave Mary a flat, disinterested look before turning her attention to me again. She quirked her lips. “Actually, I was going to say that you look rather nice this morning. There’s a bit of color in your cheeks, a sparkle in your eyes.”

My dark eyebrows swung up to my hairline. Speaking to me was one thing, but Mrs. Winter never paid us compliments, particularly about our appearance. What was happening this morning? Had she seen the incident with the Guardian boy out of a window? Was this some sort of torture to get me to admit I’d damaged a precious Palmer school shirt?

“Thank you, ma’am,” I mumbled.

“Well, let’s not let a striking reflection keep us from our chores,” Mrs. Winter sniffed, her head bent over her papers. “Move along.”

Mary and I nodded and immediately began scrubbing the day’s ashes from the fireplace. Mrs. Winter abhorred the task and the residual soot that might make its way onto her clothes, so she finished her letter quickly and swept from the parlor. My sister and I breathed a sigh of relief, though Mary’s bottom lip poked out ever so slightly.

“What was all that about you being pretty?” Mary asked, pouting a bit.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, glancing at the beveled glass over the mantle. I looked the same as I always did, a thin girl with a long nose and too-large eyes of an indiscriminate blue-grey-green. My dull brown hair was pulled into its usual sensible knot at the base of my neck. The only difference was a rosy blush on my cheeks, probably from the agitation of being trampled by an attractive Guardian boy.

I moved to the mantle, carefully removing a large antique Chinese vase from the ledge. Rare true-black porcelain painted with white chrysanthemums, it was a wedding gift from Mrs. Winter’s favorite aunt. Leaving it on the mantle while the ashes floated around was asking for trouble. Of all of the objects in this room, this was the one we had to handle the most carefully. Of all the precious items in the house, this was the only item Mary insisted that I handle, because I was less likely to be punished if something happened to it.