You Are Mine (Mine #1)(84)

“Wait,” Phyllis says. “I'm here to warn you, not harm you.”

Once I'm within reach of the cord, I ask, “What do you mean?”

She eyes my breeches. “Why are you wearing those?”

“Not your concern.” My hands bunch.

“You're right.” Her voice loses the haughty tone its always had. “I've been reporting to your Father.”

I raise my brows, but don't respond. It's hard to stay unaffected when her words set my heart racing.

“My family is deeply in his debt. We have no hopes of paying it off before we die. Which will be soon for my Father. He's old. If the debt isn't paid off before he dies, my sisters, mother, and I will be tarnished.”

That could be me and my family if we were in debt. Even though I know the tarnished are so much like us, they're restricted in many ways. It makes my anger soften, but I don't budge. “And?”

“Your Father said the more information I told him, the more debt he'd forgive. When I made you drink the tea, he got rid of half the debt. Half!” Her eyes are wide and begging. “I've told him lots of little bits about the dresses and your seamstress, but he said it wasn't enough. He needed more and if I could find something big, he'd forgive the rest of the debt.”

I stride toward her, fear and rage pulsing through me. “What did you do?”

“I told him about the conversation I overheard with Chancellor Zade, the one where he promised to help your tarnished seamstress.”

My fist wants to fly into her. Hard.

Her voice is faint. “He's planning something, I know it. But he won't forgive the debt. Says I'm too valuable here and is going to keep me waiting. You helped the tarnished, can't you help me?”

“Help you?” My fist shakes from unreleased tension. “Help you? You've ruined us. Get out.”

She doesn't move. I let out a half growl, half scream. She scrambles for the door. Now I know for certain, my insisting on helping Katherine will bring trouble. I can't have freedom for myself and trying to get it for her is going to cost all those I love. What will Father do?





Chapter Thirty-Six


“Come in,” I call out.

A lower class servant I don't recognize enters. “I was asked to bring you this with utmost haste.”

A chill flurries through me as she hands me a note. I barely notice her departure. Ever since I told Zade what Phyllis said and he told me not to worry, I've done nothing but. I've never had a note from someone outside the household before. Who would send me one? Does it have to do with what she said? The chill grows colder as I open it.





Serena,

I feel I must warn you. Councilman Daniel and I have heard a growing number of rumors concerning you and the Chancellor. I'm afraid they aren't good.

I hate to be blunt, but feel I must. There is a hefty price on his life. Please be cautious.

Your friend,

Annabelle





The coldness seeps clear to my heart with icy sharpness.

I don't know how long I sit staring, unseeing at the note. Finally, I grip it to my chest and run to find Zade. He's not in the study, nor the library, nor the sitting room. Am I already too late?

Where are all the servants? There has to be someone I can ask. Yet no one is in sight. I rush to the kitchen. There's always someone there. When I clang into the room, it is full of activity, Phyllis in the midst of it all. I want to scream at her again, but it won't do any good.

“Does anyone know where Chancellor Zade is?” I ask.

“I do,” Phyllis says.

I round on her, the words flaming from my mouth like hexes. “Don't speak. You've already done enough damage.”

Everyone stops working and stares at us. My stomach twists with regret at sounding so harsh, but the words are too true to take back.

A servant I don't recognize says, “I believe he's shooting.”

Of course. We've spent so much time there I should have guessed. As I run out of the room I yell, “Thank you.”

Finding him seems to go quicker now that I know where he is. If something had already happened, the servants would know, wouldn't they? When he comes into sight, I slow. Relief replacing some of my worry, but not enough of it.

He's practicing like he always does, casting a spell that looks like some sort of bird and then shooting it. His movements are sure and smooth. Every time he hits the spell it dissolves. I feel as if I could watch him all day. But as I come closer, his face doesn't match his confident moves. He's frowning, brows creasing together. When he spots me, he schools his features so well, I almost believe I never saw him uncertain.

“You know,” he says.

“Why didn't you say something?”

“How did you find out?”

“Annabelle.” I wave the note at him. “You didn't answer my question.”

“May I?” He holds out his hand.

I give him the note, my fear replaced by confusion at his calm manner. He reads it over before throwing it in the air. An orange and red spell crackles from him, turning the note to ashes.

“It's true then,” I say.

“It is.” He sighs. “Does it do any good for you to know?”