Mine to Spell (Mine #2) (3 page)

My question broke things more than I expected. The guilt brings a sharp sting to my eyes, leaving the applications too blurry to read. I blink away the pain, wondering if they’ll sort their differences.

Waverly works on the vegetables, the snap of her knife familiar. Though she’s occupied with the task, she keeps an eye on me as I muddle through the mess of papers. And what a mess it is. I don’t know what to do with any of them, strewn as they are across the table.

What do I look for in a potential new owner? How much money they’re willing to pay for me? How much clout they have in politics and with fellow countrymen? How each one says they’re the best choice out of all the candidates? The one thing that doesn’t sway me: how much magic they will pass on to our… sons. I grip the seat of my chair until my fingers ache.

“
Maybe you should make piles,” Waverly suggests. “Stacks of men who are no good, okay, and maybe. Something like that. Then you can look closer at the better options.”

Why didn’t I think of something like that? It seems so simple. “That would make it easier.”

Yet, I still can’t do anything but stare. The words just won’t come into focus.

“
What if I helped? These vegetables are about done anyway and won’t need my attention while simmering. I could help go through and take out warlocks I know you won’t want, the ones who are obviously rude and condescending.”

The tears want to come again but not with stinging, more like soothing relief. It’s the best thing someone has said since I plunged into this crazy scheme. “That would be fantastic.”

In less than ten minutes she has a growing pile for me to go through and an even bigger pile set aside for fire starter. I’ve never been so grateful for assistance before, or so enthused to start a fire.

Looking through the applicants still brings on a headache, but at least I can focus. Once I get into a rhythm, I stop thinking about what the papers are actually for, what they mean, and it gets easier to toss them where they need to be. I divide them into more piles, as Waverly suggested, for sorting later. No decisions have to happen now, only narrowing the options.

Together we work, making progress on the requests. After some time, she says, “Why were you wondering about women using magic?”

My fingers tighten around the paper they’re holding. I try to shrug nonchalantly except if feels more like a jerk. “The thought just crossed my mind.”

The papers rustle, filling the room with their shuffling. I should let it go. Not say another word on it, but I’ve wanted to know most of my life. With the changes coming to my life, I yearn to know more than the usual, but caution urges me toward the silent survival route.

Quietly, I ask, “Do women use magic?”

I pretend to focus on the paper in front of me, but really I’m paying heed to her every move. Not that she’s moving. She’s still again, like the first time I asked. Everything seems to depend on what she says next, but she’s not speaking. She lowers the paper to the table as if it’s a sleeping baby being laid down in its cradle before studying my face. Not just looking, searching.

Whatever she’s hoping for, she must come to a decision. “Even if they did.” Her words are so faint they can barely be heard. “Chardonia would never allow it. Especially not the council and the Grand Chancellor.”

I swallow past the sudden thickness in my throat. We return to sorting, but her words don’t leave me. All afternoon they ricochet around my head, more pressing than the warlocks, one of whom may become my future owner.

Perhaps whether or not other women can do magic shouldn’t be my question. My real question should be: What will the Grand Chancellor do if I’m caught?

***

When Serena and Zade return several hours later, they stand close together. Yet, something is off. Both are stiff, as if they’re afraid what will happen if they relax. Perhaps afraid of what will happen if they let their words loosen too much and bring trouble again. I don’t know. It’s hard to comprehend the type of relationship they have. It’s nothing like mother and father's, and that is the only relationship I know. Not for much longer, though. The pile of acceptable applicants is small. Too small.

Serena takes the chair next to me while Zade sits across from us.

“
So,” she says. “Have you made any progress?”

After giving my necklace a tug, I randomly pick one of the three choices I’ve narrowed it down to. At this point, there’s nothing different about any of them. All are rich warlocks offering much for possession of me but say little else. Any warlock who said anything more always said something distasteful. “Contact this one. And make sure he pays for me before you sign anything.”

“You’re making the decision so soon?”

There’s no holding back my emotions any longer. This isn’t something I want any more than she does, but there’s a part to play. I focus all my negativity into cheer. It comes out in a squeak of giddiness. “Naturally I did, Serena. I can’t wait until I’m with my new owner. Excuse me while I go embroider a handkerchief with his name on it.”

The stunned look on her face makes an apology want to tumble from my lips, but there’s no saying the words. I spring from the room like I’m the happiest woman in Chardonia, not the one returning to a world full of hexes and beatings and warlocks. A world where my own spells will have to be even more hidden. A world I despise.

Chapter Three

The next day it takes a concentrated effort not to let sparks fly. Literally. I try to spend my time alone in my room with the curtains drawn, wondering why I didn’t pick one of the other three applications it had come down to. One who wouldn’t insist on signing the engagement contract the day after I accept it.

The spells that flare out of me are hot and angry, once even triggering a fire. I throwing a blanket over it and put it out quickly enough. The charred coverlet is now hiding at the bottom of my trunk. At least the smell was easy to chase out by opening a window.

When I leave my room, not only is it hard to keep my frustration from showing, but it’s extra difficult to pretend I’m excited to be sold, to be owned by some man who will treat me like father did for years. It was easier to pretend interest in men when I was only watching them for their spells. Now even that sounds unappealing.

Soon, I’ll be officially owned by a warlock again, instead of having the freedom of Serena owning me. Learning a few new spells is pointless in comparison to that. Why learn new spells if it’s near impossible to cast them?

It’s likely I've made the wrong choice.

The study where we’re sitting, waiting, is dreary. Not because of the weather outside the picture window, but for what’s brewing in here in the midst of forbidden books, a desk, plush chairs, and my dark secrets. I can’t stop my fingers from moving from my necklaces to my bracelets before twisting my rings and doing it all again. My face paint is thick, a heavier reminder of how I'll have to return to wearing it all the time now as society expects.

Serena breaks the silence. “May I ask something?”

Please don’t. But I force a cheerful face. “By all means.”

“I’ve been wondering, why did you choose Edward as your owner?”

“
He seemed like he might be good. There wasn’t anything aggressive sounding in his application.”

“
Yes, but…” She bites her lip. “He didn’t provide much information save for the basics.”

I shrug like it doesn’t matter. Because it doesn’t.

“It’s only…” She hesitates a moment than hurries on. “If this is truly the choice you wish to make, I’ll support it, but he was one of the highest bidders. And, well, I want to make certain you made the choice because you thought he would be the best for you and not because of the money. We have enough for our needs from my own sale. And I’m sure Zade would assist us with anything should a need arise.”

“
It’s not the money.” Or at least not wholly. I figure if one option looks the same as another, she might as well have more coin from my sell. I force all my frustration to come out as excitement. “He’ll be fantastic. I’m certain of it. And I’ll get to have Katherine design an engagement dress, and then a wedding dress. It’ll be fantastic.”

“
Awful lot of fantastic.” Her mouth bunches as if she disagrees but is trying not to say so. Not that I blame her. I disagree as well. “Well, if it’s what you want?”

“
Obviously, it is. I’m happy.” So fakely happy. “And eager to meet him when he gets here.” Which should be much too soon. When Serena sent his acceptance, his reply was swift and his desire to see me even swifter. For good or ill, he’s coming. At least it’s here at home and not at his house like Serena had to meet Thomas.

Zade enters and, without a word, begins pacing the room. Serena watches a moment before staring out her window, her hands knotted in her lap. Waverly and Presha are entertaining the girls so we won’t be disturbed and so Edward won’t see how wild they’ve become under Serena’s care. Laughing and playing as if they were boys. It’s difficult not to be jealous of what they’re gaining while I sacrifice.

Yet there’s no undoing the past. The only thing I can affect is the now and the future. The future holds nothing bright, except keeping my family safe. Nothing but standing happy yet aloof, wishing I could spell myself out of this. But the only thing I can spell away is my voice when my frustration can no longer be bottled.

It’s difficult to determine how much time passes as we wait. It’s long and cold. No forcing of enthusiasm or mindless chatter. I must save all my energy for when Edward arrives. My new owner.

“Zade,” Serena interrupts the silence. “Do you know anything of this Edward?”

“
Very little. He’s never been in a tournament, doesn’t do much publicly, and is very wealthy, keeping almost as many servants and tarnished as the Grand Chancellor.”

It's difficult to think of him having tarnished. At least servants are paid or are working off debts. The tarnished are already forced to be bald, barren, and have their face not only tattooed but the tattoos spelled to glow a different color every month to make certain they're checking in with the council. Can't have them breaking any rules. It makes me sick to think of people treating someone like my close friend Katherine that way. But maybe Edward is like Serena. Taking in as many tarnished as possible and treating them well.

Serena looks at me before glancing back out the window. Perhaps it’s something I should have thought to ask before. What will he be like? I don’t even know his age. Some applicants included it, but it wasn’t a requirement. What if he’s as old as father? What if I’m his fourth wife, soon to be tarnished with the first girl I bear? Other than having a child, this is the preferable option.

It’d be difficult to be tarnished, especially with the ever-growing restrictions placed on them, but at least I wouldn’t have an owner. Katherine would surely take me in and help me learn the ways of the tarnished. How to deal with someone keeping track of my movements. Of being filled with unbearable agony if I leave an area I'm supposed to be in. Of having that pain kill me if I don't return to where I'm supposed to be. I swallow past the growing tightness in my throat.

Dearest Katherine, ever since they changed the law keeping tighter control over the tarnished, it’s been strange seeing her tattoos glowing a different color every time I see her. It’s impossible to imagine what my appearance would be if I’m thrust under the same conditions.

The clattering of a horse coming up the drive pulls my attention to the present. My magic feels as if it’s surging inside me, struggling to be free. It wants to cast a spell. Any spell. Something to relieve the pressure shackled within me.

A few moments later, there’s a knock on the front door. Serena rises to her feet and nods at Zade. He pecks her cheek with a swift kiss before leaving, though he won’t be far. Close enough if we need him, but out of sight.

A moment later, Bethany enters. “May I present Edward Stafford?”

I give her a flicker of a smile before she moves aside to let my new owner in. My owner. My erratic magic suddenly stiffens, my pulse dropping to nothing.

The man who steps in is younger than I expect—mid-twenties perhaps—dark, thick hair, long nose, and a blank expression.

Serena recovers before I can decide what to feel about this first impression. “I’m Serena. Please have a seat.”

Without a word, he sits at the desk. A bit presumptuous, yet I suppose even if Serena has the status of a warlock, it would be hard to change a lifetime of habits. He still hasn’t looked my way. Not that I want him to, but does he even know I’m in the room? Does he care where his soon-to-be property is? What I look like? Who I am? Thomas didn’t want to see Serena before he signed the contract. Perhaps most warlocks are this way.

Yet the thought that I made the wrong choice nags at me.

“
May I introduce you to Cynthia?” Serena must be wondering the same thing.

“
No need. Just show me the paperwork.”

I press my lips together and try not to let his words upset me. What did I expect from a man who barely filled out his paperwork and offered an obscene amount of money? His bid for me was one of the highest: that must have been all he had to offer.