Flamecaster (Shattered Realms #1)(47)

Now she curled into a chair and sat, staring out at nothing, the warm cup between her hands. It was a fine china cup; she could trace the designs of blown roses on it. It had belonged to her mother, the woman who mothered her in every way except by blood. Jenna always used the same cup, rinsing it out carefully each night.

She had few things to remember her mother by, and there wasn’t much that was beautiful in Delphi.

Jenna heard him knock, a quick, muted, staccato pattern that said he was alone and it was all right to open the door. Sighing, she set the cup aside and moved to the door, her slippered feet making no sound on the wooden floor. She undid the lock and pulled it open so that he could enter.

Her father was carrying a plate of food, sliced chicken and potatoes and carrots with a large hunk of bread alongside. It was a lot of food for anyone in Delphi, one of the benefits of being the daughter of an innkeeper. He set it on the small table next to her chair and kissed her on the forehead. He held her tight for a moment, and then stepped back so he could look at her. He looked tired, and his face was creased with worry lines. They were permanent by now.

Jenna drew in a quick breath. Her father would soon be gone and she would be alone. She shook her head fiercely, dismissing the thought, and he stared at her, puzzled.

She summoned a smile. “You always bring too much food, Da. Who do you think you’re feeding up here, two strapping sons?” She spoke quietly, so the sound wouldn’t carry beyond the walls of the room. She sat back down in the chair and began to eat. She didn’t believe in wasting food, even though her stomach was tied up in a knot. Her father sat in the other chair, the one reserved for him. No one else ever came to visit.

“You need to put some flesh on your bones, girl,” he said. “If your mother could see you, she’d say I’ve neglected you.”

“She would say no such thing!” She snorted. This was one of their rituals. She cut the chicken into bite-size pieces and lifted one of them to her mouth.

He watched her eat in silence for a while. When she slowed to picking, he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to her.

She scanned it and handed it back, nodding. “I saw it. Who knew that we had a health minister in Delphi? And I wonder who’s paying for all that silver? Us, probably.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, as if saying it aloud would call the demon. “Do you think this has anything to do with you?”

She looked down at her hands. “I don’t have vermin,” she said, misunderstanding on purpose.

“What if they’re looking for the magemark?” He leaned forward, his face prepared for pain.

“You’re never going to get past that old witch and her stories, are you, Father? We’ve been living scared all our lives because of her. Why did you even listen to her?”

Her father made a sign to avert evil. “She was your grandmother, Jenna.”

“So she said.”

“I believed her,” her father said. “I am convinced that she was truly trying to protect you. She cared about you, if I’m any judge, and she seemed . . . she seemed to be scared to death. She said your father was dead, that he had enemies who would come looking for you, and they would know you by the mark on the back of your neck. That’s why she gave you up. That’s why she warned us.”

“For all we know, she stole me from my birth parents and didn’t want them to find me. You are my father, and my mother is buried here in the graveyard. That’s who I honor on the Day of the Dead!” Jenna realized her voice was rising, and stopped speaking for a moment. “You are all I need,” she continued quietly.

He sighed. “We should never have allowed the monks to record your birth. We were just so anxious to have you officially ours, afraid you’d be taken away from us. And Delphi seemed so far away from Arden at the time.”

It was an old story. They lived their lives in little circles, always rounding back to the same fears, the same conversations.

“Da,” she said softly. “I don’t have time to worry about bogeys and witchmarks. If somebody’s looking for me, it won’t be because of some age-old curse. It’ll be because I’ve been betrayed, because somebody tipped off the blackbirds.”

“That’s another thing. I wish you wouldn’t . . . do the things that you do. That’s surely a job for someone else. You’re getting to an age that you should be thinking about marriage and family.”

“How’m I supposed to walk out with anybody when I’m dressed like a boy all the time?” Jenna snapped. “Anyway, why would I bring a child into a world like this?”

“This can’t last forever,” her father said. “Things will change. The Maker—”

“The Maker helps those who help themselves, isn’t that what you always said? Things will change if we change them.”

“Still. Nobody else takes the risks that you take. Sooner or later, the blackbirds will put two and two together.”

Jenna sighed. She’d tried to keep her father in the dark about some of her activities, at least.

“Everything’s a risk,” she said. “Is it less risky for a woman to walk down any street in the city? Is it less risky to work the mines every day, laying charges and setting them off? If not for Riley, I’d be dead already.”