Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(86)

“I know you miss her tonight,” she whispered. “And although it’s against tradition, I thought you should wear this again. It will make her feel a bit closer.”

The weight on my breastbone told me all I needed to know. Mama’s memento. A little silver ball with a locket of her hair inside, usually worn on the anniversary of her death. Tonight it would be pressed against my heart, exactly where I needed Mama to give me strength.

“Thank you, Henrietta,” I whispered, clasping the memento in my fist. A longing for Mama ran through me in a long current, painful and stinging. This is why I used to push it away, I thought. It hurts. But beneath the grief came a subtle rise of power. I held the magic in my heart, drawing strength from it.

Soon. Miss Mabel will be here soon.

Henrietta, so unaware of my thoughts, smiled and patted my shoulder.

“Now,” she said in a bright tone, casting a wary eye on my hair. “What are we going to do about your hair? It doesn’t look quite as wild as usual, which gives me hope that it can be contained.”

“Nothing,” I said, tucking a strand behind my ear. “I plan on wearing my hair just like this."

Henrietta’s expression dropped.

“You what, dear?”

I smiled. “I’m going to wear my hair like this.”

“Like that?” she cried, pointing.

“Indeed. I washed it, brushed it, and Camille helped me curl it a little with some kind of potion she made. It’s very shiny, don’t you think?”

I toyed with a lazy curl that rested just past my shoulder, but Henrietta didn’t seem to notice. She opened her mouth to protest, and seeing the stubborn look on my face, closed it again. There would be no winning this fight. If I would die tonight, I’d do it my way.

“Don’t tell me,” she drawled, casting a fearful glance at my feet with her doughy face. “You aren’t going to—”

“I am,” I declared proudly, sticking one bare foot out of the dress. “I’m going barefoot. I refuse to wear shoes to the ball tonight.”

Henrietta’s face flushed, then went pale.

“You wouldn’t. Not for the Anniversary Ball. Not for the biggest night of your father’s life.”

“I would,” I said breezily, moving off the stand. “He won’t mind. He’ll just laugh. Besides, Henrietta, who will notice? No one will be looking at my feet, and if they do, whatever they find is their own fault.”

“Not right in the head,” she muttered, turning away from me. “Addled. Too much heat. Needs to spend more time at something productive. Sewing! Sewing is good for the mind.”

Her prattling faded away as she moved out of the room without a farewell, obviously too bothered by my lack of restraint to say goodbye. I watched her go, then bustled over to the window. The sun started sinking beneath the trees of Letum Wood. In the distance, I thought I saw the flicker of a pair of wide, dark wings rising from the night.

???

The clock above the grand stairs rang ten times as I walked past it toward the High Priestess’s office. The ball started promptly at eleven in the evening and would run until dawn. Most of the Council Members, Coven Leaders, their families and the lesser leaders had congregated in the dining room for a lavish dinner that I’d passed on. I could just picture Fina’s red face flying around the kitchen, barking orders, making sure every dish looked perfect.

Less than two hours until my Inheritance Curse completes.

The thought set my nerves on fire. I shook my head and tapped on the door with my knuckle just once, but the High Priestess was already calling to me.

“Yes, come in, Bianca.”

She sat behind her desk, intent on writing a letter with a small gray feather. The open windowpanes allowed air to drift in, filling the room with the silky scents of grass and summer. The linea fabric of my dress kept me cool. I felt like the heat was just a silly mirage. When I moved into the room she gazed up, looked me over, and went back to her letter. It all felt the same, and yet, something was different.

“You look very nice,” she said.

“Henrietta would like to club me over the head and do my hair while I’m passed out,” I replied, settling on the chair. The soft rustle of the fabric against my legs felt like moving through a cloud. A more perfect last dress didn’t exist.

“Don’t give her the satisfaction,” the High Priestess muttered. “She has no talent for hair.”

I waited for her to finish her letter. When she finally did, her gaze slammed right into mine.

“I want to know how you feel about your father taking over as High Priest,” she said with her usual abrupt gravity. “This change will possibly affect you more than him. We never talked about it, and I apologize. Things have been busy.”

Taken aback, I sat there for several moments, trying to decide what to say.

“I was frightened for him,” I admitted. “But not anymore.”

“Why not?”

I thought back to the Empowerment, to the look in his eyes, the electric power in the air. Then I thought of Miss Mabel, of our conversation, and the sense I had that she feared Papa.

“Because he’s strong,” I finally concluded. “The strongest of all, I think. He may be one of the only witches Miss Mabel actually fears.”

“Your father is quite possibly the most talented witch and the most powerful Protector we’ve ever known. That’s what I want to talk about with you tonight. There’s a reason I allowed your father to break tradition and have a wife and daughter.”