Mine to Tarnish (10 page)

Chapter Thirteen

“
A
ny thoughts on what you’re going to do now?” Mary asks. “Especially with Mavis? That girl practically worships you, but I don’t know if it will last if she remains down here.”

“
It will last.” At least I hope it does. “There’s a few options for us. I want to help with what you’re accomplishing.”

“
We would appreciate that, but how could you forgive her so quickly? How can you include her in your plans after what she’s done?”

Charles watches me close, as if he, too, wants the answer.

“It will take some time for me to fully forgive her. Mother would be alive if it wasn’t for her. But she would also be under Nigel’s control. I don’t think she’d want that life either. Mavis felt trapped. I think we’ve all felt that at one time or another, only when we make a bad choice it usually doesn’t cost someone’s life. Just because hers did, doesn’t mean we should forever condemn her.”

“
That’s a good thought, but there aren’t many who would do the same.”

“
Maybe that needs to change. I don’t want to help just Mavis. I want to help other tarnished and women. Help others see what they can become. Perhaps I should set up shop as a seamstress. I've been thinking on doing so a lot.”

“
A seamstress? I think we could help with that. There's a town a ways from here with a tarnished section of town that's quiet large. It wouldn't be to hard to set something up there. The problem may be keeping it going.”

“
It's a concern I've had as well. But I think it'd be a good way to reach out to more people who need our help. Plus, Mavis seemed interested in the idea when I mentioned it to her. I think she's excited for the chance to leave the caves.”

And I have the chance to take my life where I want it.

“We'll miss you down here.”

“
I'll miss you, too.”

Charles wraps an arm around me. He’s been a steady source of comfort since he pulled me away from Nigel.

“I'll have to miss you as well, Mary. I think it's time to do something more to help.”

She frowns. “It'd be more surprising if you stayed, but I can't say it's something I wished for. What if you traveled between groups who need information?”

“It's not something I ever considered doing before,” he says.

“
Something to think on. We could use more people and you're good at avoiding attention or redirecting it when it can't be avoided. Before you decide, it'd give you a chance to see Katherine. I'm sure we'll have much to keep in contact about.”

I can't help the smile that comes at the thought of still being able to see him. It didn't seem like something that would happen with what the path I've chosen but if it can, even better.

“It's a good idea.” His grin looks bigger than mine feels and mine feels as if it's going to light up the darkened cave room. “Any more news on Nigel?”

“
The story we planted about him being killed by a foreigner took better than we supposed it would. They aren’t worried about looking for you any longer, Katherine.”

Thankfully. Father never cared much about my fate. He has his money from selling me. I doubt he’ll ever think on me again. But I still think of him. “What about my family?”

“It would appear that the proper paperwork wasn’t signed before Nigel’s death. Your Father is struggling with debts incurred against his land now.”

“
And he doesn’t have me to help at the shop.”

“
No, and your brother is now a lower class servant in the home of Councilman Daniel.”

“
That will be hard for him.” He will likely struggle with his new role. Perhaps one day I will see Father or him again, but it won’t be my choice.

“
Is everyone settled?” Charles asks Mary.

“
Well enough.”

“
I’m sorry about being the cause of you having to leave your last home,” I say.

“
Don’t worry none over that, dear. With this life, we’re used to it. Besides, it was about time for it anyway,” she says.

There’s just one last thing.

“Charles, do you think you could help me with something?”

“
Of course, what is it?”

I smile. “Something that needs to be done.”

***

After everything I’ve been taught, I never thought I would consider this. To willingly make myself less than a person. Less than a person’s shadow. But here I am. I look in the mirror, follow the curves of my face, the line of my nose, the curl of my locks, see what I have. All that I am. It’s all mine. Mine to tarnish.

“I want to do it,” I say.

Charles says, “Are you certain? Once you look like a tarnished there’s no way to blend in with the rest of society.”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Charles pulls out a pair of scissors. “It will be easier if we cut your hair first. Then we’ll shave it.”

“Will it have to be shaved very often?”

“
Every morning most likely, if you want to look like the rest of us. Mavis or I can assist with it until you learn how.”

I nod, grateful he came after me that day I ran from him. He watches me a moment, then says, “Would you take your hair down please? I can’t cut it very well with it still twisted in a bun. Unless you want me to take it down for you?”

The thought of his fingers in my hair, pulling out pins and giving it freedom from the stiff bun, is nothing like when Nigel forced it down at class. Instead, sunshine spreads through me, filling a part of me only Charles has ever reached. Except I still want it to happen on my terms. Quickly, I reach up and pull the pins out. It's silly I’ve continued to wear it in such an aching way. Halfway through, I hesitate.

“
What is it?”

“
I just realized that I won’t ever need these again.” I hold out my handful of hairpins.

“
There’s time to change your mind.”

“
Posh. I never liked hairpins anyway.”

My fingers fly through my hair now, ridding it of the pins I’ve always detested. It’s difficult to imagine a life without them. Once I’m finished, I shake out my hair with both hands. The constant ache in my head eases. I give a little sigh and open my eyes to see Charles staring at me.

“Sorry.” He quickly averts his gaze.

“
It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

His gaze slowly turns back toward me, the admiration shining in them warming me further.

“I didn’t know it was so long,” he said.

“
We’re not allowed to cut it, only trim it.”

“
Right, of course. I know. It's just—” His gaze follows the flow of my hair. “Never mind. Let’s cut it.”

He moves behind me, but a minute later, he still hasn’t done anything. I glance over my shoulder, daring eye contact. It’s getting more and more comfortable, yet I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully used to it.

Without a word, he puts the scissors down, leans forward, and threads his fingers in my hair. His mouth is so close to mine, his warmth somehow managing to calm and excite me all at once. When he speaks his voice is filled with some quality I don’t recognize but want to hear more of. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Before I can process his statement, his mouth is on mine. His lips are soft and inviting. So I return the kiss, my whole being growing light and sunny and healing, little broken pieces of me slowly knitting themselves back together. Not all of them, but some. Like I’ll never be the same again, but the new parts are better, stronger than the old.

The kiss ends all too soon. The cold air is a sharp contrast to his nearness a moment ago. His gaze searches mine, and I find myself wanting another. I face him and press my lips to his. It doesn’t take any time for him to pull me closer. As his fingers wind their way through my locks, my lips respond to him in a way I never knew they could. It feels so perfect. So right, like I belong here with him, and he belongs here with me.

When we finally part, I feel a little faint. He holds me tight, pressing his forehead against mine, so we’re leaning into each other. I don’t know who is supporting whom. Perhaps we’re supporting each other, holding each other up, keeping each other strong.

We stay like that, breathing each other in. Never before have I felt like this. After several perfect moments, he leans back, trailing his hand down my arm until it reaches my hand and holds tight. When he looks at me, I know that something is growing between us. Something he feels just as strongly as I do. Something that will keep us together and build us up as we help others.

“
I like your hair,” he says. “I almost wish we didn’t have to cut it.”

“
Will you still wish to kiss me when I’m bald?”

A smile plays on his lips. “You kissed me, and I’m bald. I think your lips will be as sweet.”

A blush flushes through me.

“
Still, I wish it wasn’t necessary for you to be safe.”

“
I’ll be lighter without it.”

“
That’s the best reason yet to get rid of it.”

He circles around me again. In one swift motion, I feel my hair being lifted, then several yanks later the weight is not just free, but gone. I giggle and turn to see him standing there with my long tresses gathered in his hand.

“You know,” I say, “there’s something perfect to do with them.”

“
And what would that be?”

“
Burn them.” I let the pleasure at the thought coat each word. “They have used it as a way to keep me submissive for far too long. I don’t want it another moment. Shave the rest of it off and we’ll burn it all. I’m done with the life they forced on me. It’s time to start living my own.”

He cocks his head to the side for a moment. “I think you’re right.”

Within a few moments, he has my hair snipped close to my scalp. It takes several more minutes to shave it all off. When he’s done, I run my hand over it and laugh. The smoothness will take getting used to, but the lack of weight and pressure is freeing.

Together we gather up my loose ends of hair and head for the fire.

I hold my locks close a moment. Mother. What would she think if she knew all that I had done and what I’m going to do? As much as she always encouraged me to follow the rules, I’d like to think that if she knew what I was doing now, she’d approve. I almost keep my hair. It symbolized how the men oppressed me. Keeping it would be a way to remember that.

But the hair isn’t what gave me freedom. Neither are the tattoos I’ll soon be getting. It’s all been in the choices I’m making. Now I get to help others discover the ability to make choices for themselves. I throw my burdensome locks in the fire, the joy of freedom bursting in me. I will be bald, inked, and outcast, but all by my choice. It will be a life that will let me move as a shadow to help others. This is what’s become mine.

If you enjoyed reading this book, please consider helping the author by leaving a review where you purchased the book and/or on a review site.

You can sign up to receive notification when Janeal Falor releases a new book at 
http://eepurl.com/w66Nr
or
www.janealfalor.com
with a Release Notification link on the side bar.

The first book in the series, YOU ARE MINE, is now available. Chapter one follows.

Book One

Janeal Falor

Serena

Chapter One

My blood will entice warlocks to ask for my hand in marriage, so of course Father wants it spilled. The sooner the magic within it is measured, the sooner he can sell me off. According to the laws of Chardonia, there's no escaping it. For me that day has come.

From the way Father's bulky frame lounges on the couch in the men's waiting area as he casually smokes his pipe, one would think my testing doesn't matter. I suppose it doesn't, as long as I have enough magic to make him a beneficial connection. The greater the level of magic flowing in my veins, the better the marriage offer will be. And of course, whatever my owner wants, I must deliver. Only, I can't control how much magic is in my blood.

I shift my weight trying not to think about things I can't change, but it's hard to think of anything else as I stand in the cramped women's corner of the testing center. A soft tut sounds from mother. If anyone has reason to be uncomfortable it's her. Eight months pregnant with sweat glistening through her white face paint, though the spring day is just beginning to warm. Too many other women are crowded about waiting with their daughters. Her eyes don't lift to mine, instead staying properly focused on the ground. From the set of her mouth, the lecture about my fidgeting will come when we're home. After I've brought her favorite food to help pacify her a bit.

Keeping my head bowed, I sneak another glance at the men. They're carrying on like men do, with ample space to spread themselves across couches and chairs throughout the plush waiting room, lit by windows that don't stretch to our side of the room. Father is smoking a pipe and motioning for a glass of wine as he laughs at something the warlock next to him has said. He must not have noticed my fidgeting. His ignorance of it will make it easier to appease mother during her lecture. But it's hard to care about possibly getting out of punishment when this morning he demanded I come on the day of my eligibility instead of waiting a year or two like most.

There's movement in the hall across, disrupting my thoughts. All of us girls waiting by our mothers strain forward. They must be as eager as I am to be the next one called. Not to be one step closer to marriage, but to be done with this place. In truth, I am probably the only one eager to be away from here. While the other girls are truly eager to wed and take the only role society allows them, I've had to force enthusiasm. The role of a warlock producer holds no appeal. It's a role mother's failed at—fourteen times—with me being her first mistake. I eye her rounded belly. Maybe this time will be different. Highly unlikely. Not that I'd ever admit it aloud. I'm a mistake enough without being wholly foolish.

Someone steps out of the hall. I lower my gaze to the wooden floor. Today is not a day for getting caught sneaking glances.

“Stephen's daughter.”

For once, I wish they'd call me by name. It's not as if Serena is hard to say. I bunch my hands together, but quickly take a step forward, leaving mother and the others behind. Why did I want it to be my turn so desperately only a moment ago? My heart quivers as I near the hall, moving closer to the unknown. Keeping my strides steady, I fight the overwhelming desire to run. My request to Father this morning not to get tested was not only rejected, but my cheek still aches from the punishment delivered for asking. If I publicly defied Father, worse is sure to follow. Not only for me, but for my sisters.

By the time I get to the hall, the man is already striding away. I manage to keep pace with him, feet making barely a sound, head bowed. But each step is harder to take. Each movement taking me closer to the unknown and farther from what little freedom I have.

When he abruptly stops, a squeak of fear almost escapes me as I barely stop myself from running into him. He ushers me inside a tiny room with a grunt. A single wooden chair is the room's only occupant. Otherwise its blank white walls are lit by the strange glow of a single electric blub.

He flips the light off and slams the door, leaving me in darkness. There's no stopping the frightened squeak, but I am strong enough to keep myself from opening the door. Being left in the dark is one thing I hate about being a woman. I never wish I had been born a boy more than when I'm left in the dark. Boys are never left alone in the dark. And certainly not for days. At least this time it shouldn't be that long. They wouldn't want to keep Father waiting.

I reach out until I feel the back of the chair. Once I'm sure of its position, I lower myself onto it. My body refuses to relax, remembering when tiny paws crawled over my feet in the cellar. No matter. Girls aren't allowed to relax anyway. Not unless heavy with what may be a warlock.

The one thing I can do is close my eyes and hum the little tune Bethany sings the younger girls when they're frightened. The humming stays silent, playing only in my head. There would be more punishment if I got caught humming. It's just as well. Bethany may sound as sweet as a bird, but I'm worse than an old frog.

How long will they keep me here? They could have at least sent mother with me, since she has nowhere else to go. She could stand in one of these corners as well as a corner out there. Did she sit in the same room when she was tested? I wish she would have told me more on the carriage ride here. She only said that I need to have a lot of magic in my blood to be of any worth.  My head aches under the tightness of my bun.

The door opens and the electric lights turn on. I squint against the brightness, wanting to look at the light. Our house was only recently wired for electricity and Father rarely wastes it on us. My eyes adjust to the unnatural light so I'm able to see a man, skin like prunes, focused on the papers in his hands. When he looks up from his papers, his eyes tighten. “Get out of my chair.”

I jump. Blast! I should have known it wasn't for my use. Why didn't I think of it being there for the tester? I lower my head, hoping he doesn't discipline me for the mistake.

Once seated he says, “Shut the door.”

After closing it, I press my back against its hard surface. His focus returns to his papers. No punishment then—at least not immediately.

“Seventeen today,” he says. “Need more girls to come in right away on their birthdays.”

Does he think I had a choice? Who would come early if they didn't have to? I suppress a groan. Cynthia maybe. She's always been fascinated by boys. And the girls from class. Basically, any girl who's not me.

He delves back into the parchment. His thin nose is long until the end where it bulges out. White hair sticks out from his head as if the remaining strands are trying to escape.

“
Very good pedigree,” he mumbles. “Father most impressive. Mother's Father is Devon Mullshire. His and his Fathers' powers were excellent. Simply excellent. With that alone I'd say a warlock should court the girl before the month is over. Get over here, girl, and give me your bare hand.”

Is this a trick? Some sort of test before the real test? The Woman's Canon says a woman must always wear gloves when a warlock is present. I inch toward him, but leave my hands gloved and curled together. He can't really want me to break that rule, can he?

At my hesitance, he zaps a silver hex at me. The light strikes across my body and I attempt to hide a cringe. I suck in a breath as the feeling of needles poking my skin encompasses me. As the pain subsides, I tug off my glove and hold out my hand, silently cursing him.

The tester's fingers scratch against my hand as he flips it palm up. I clamp my jaw together and force myself not to move. He stares at my palm. Maybe he can see the magic just by looking. Maybe the rumor in class of the tester spilling my blood was to scare us girls.

A spell of black fog dances from his hands, with tendrils darting out of it like clawing fingers. I dig the heels of my shoes into the floor. The fog nears and loses its blur, hardening into a single knife. I pull away, but he yanks me back. The dark blade skims across my palm and stabs my wrist then dissipates, leaving behind pain. I bite my lip to keep silent.

The crimson on my wrist grows and drips. Before it falls to the floor, the warlock emits a faint blue spell to catch it. The light flows up to the cut and draws more liquid from my wound. While the pulling continues at my wrist, I feel a tug snagging deep in my chest. Something inside me protests as the yanking grows. Once there's about a shot glass full, the pulling stops.

A small hiss escapes me, which he thankfully doesn't seem to care about. The spell dances over my skin, closing the wound, and the last trickle of fluid ceases. Dizziness strikes. I wobble and use the still closed door to steady myself. The room sways as the tester waves his hand, and the spell stretches its beam of light and thins my blood out into a flat circle. The sight of my blood like an evil moon before me makes my stomach churn.

The minutes drag by. The dizziness doesn't leave, but lessens. I try to avoid gazing at the crimson circle. The tester's brows furrow as he studies it. My pulse grows faster. I didn't expect it to take this long. I suck in air and gradually release it. Is there something wrong with it? What if there's no magic in it at all? If I were a boy, it would have been checked long ago, but since women don't do spells, there wasn't a reason to check until now. How angry will Father be if there's nothing in it?

I sag lower against the door. The tester fixes a glare at me. I stand straight and proper though it makes the room sway again. His focus returns to my life force. The spelled light pulses twice before compressing my blood. When it's the size of a squashed pea, it merges onto one of his papers.

“
Bring your Father.” His voice makes me start after such a long silence.

I hurry from the room, grateful to get away. Once in the hall, I give myself a moment to become accustomed to my weakened state. When I think I can handle it, I walk fast down the hall. Or at least as quickly as my faint body will let me.

When I reach the waiting area, mother is still in the corner, but the women surrounding her are different than those who were waiting before. All have varying shapes of tattoos above their collarbones. The center tattoo is bordered by a second in a diverse array of lines, curves, and sometimes another shape. The border indicates they're all married. The daughters must be in testing rooms like the one I just left. Their eyes constantly dart toward the men.

Father lazes, laughing with the men. I position myself where Father can see me, but where I won't be in the way. After a few moments he addresses me.

“Finished then. Let's see how soon some chap will ask for you.” He tosses his pipe on a table. “Agatha, come.”

The crowd of women parts for my mother, who waddles behind Father. I would rather be headed to class, but wishing won't make it happen. When we're back to the tester, a second chair has appeared across from him. The room seems larger and somehow warmer. I don't know if it's really changed or if it's easier to face with mother here.

Father's frame overflows the new seat, and mother moves to stand behind him. After closing the door, I take my place beside her. The air grows hot with the progressing day and too many bodies in the tight room. I pull at my navy gown, but it goes right back to sticking to my skin.

“
Good to see you, Councilman.” The tester smiles, making his face appear kind instead of foreboding, though more pruneish than ever. It's almost like he's a different person.

“
And you,” Father says anxiously. “What are the results?”

The warlock shows Father the parchment with my blood on it. “Take a look for yourself. It's already lost some of its potency, but she's brimming with magic. Good fine stock. Should be able to secure you an exemplary son-in-law within the month.”

Father studies the parchment for a moment. “Marvelous. You've done some fine testing.”

“
Thank you, Councilman Stephen. We've all been impressed with your own work. You're a great benefit to our society. I'll make sure the paperwork gets in right away. I suspect offers will be arriving soon.”

“
Any good candidates inquiring lately?”

“
Matter of fact, the Grand Chancellor's son was recently in. Picked a wench two days ago.”

The Grand Chancellor's son? If he hadn't picked a wife previously, would I have made it on his list? I grip my hands together. It's doubtful I could handle hosting the required balls and being watched and gossiped about by all the other councilmen's wives. Having to endure my husband will be hard enough without him being a powerful and influential warlock. More than ever the thought makes me want to be back with my sisters. Father leans forward, eager as the tester continues.

“Lots of other good ones are still looking. Jonathan, Councilman Michael’s son was by the other day but hasn't found a wife yet. Neither have Frank or Walter of Norpar.”

“
Excellent. Would you make sure they are aware of Serena's submission?”

“
Of course. I'll pass it on to those of esteem. I keep hoping Chancellor Jacob will come in for a new wife. He needs to get over his dead one. So many admire you council members. He's setting a bad example.”

Father rubs his chin. “Can you imagine if she was the Chancellor's wife? That would bring good things for me. Since that won't happen, the most powerful, influential warlock in Chardonia who needs a wife would be fine. Preferably one that can pay a lot.”