Mine to Tarnish (3 page)

Chapter Three

“
S
tand straighter,” Nigel barks, a maroon hex quickly following that forces my already straight back more rigid with knife-like cuts every time it tries to ease.

Thinking of my plan, I clamp my mouth shut, and attempt to ignore both the pricking of the spell at my back and his noxious odor while carefully holding the precious cup containing the promise of my escape. It’s a lot to manage. The sun bears down, the mid-afternoon heat enough to melt my face paint. If only he would decide he needs a drink. I know I’m anxious for one, just not this one.

He returns to staring at me until after a few heavy blinks his head begins to nod. He’s supposed to have his sleeping powder tainted drink before doing this. But his head dips several times anyway before finally staying down. The pricking at my back fades with his consciousness. I slouch in relief. Except, only my posture is relieved; the rest of me is worried he’ll never want his wine.

The air grows hotter and drier as I wait. It would be so much easier if I was under one of the many trees on Father’s property. I stare at the tree, the one from which Tilda was hung. The memory of it is terrifyingly vivid even after all these years. Will that be my fate if things go poorly? After about ten minutes, I give up standing in the sun and move toward a patch of shade several feet away. Farther from him, of course. There’s a better spot of shade next to his bench, but the heat has made his rotten stench stronger, even from this distance.

As soon as I cross into shade, a faint yellow and red light whips around me, cutting into my legs. A hex. I hurry back into the sunlight, legs aching, only to find him staring at me again. At least he’s awake even if my legs are stinging from the cuts.

“
You are going to be more of a problem than I suspected. If this keeps up, instead of tarnishing you, I might have to send you to Envado and let the barbarians have you.” His lips slop out as he squints at me.

That was an idle threat. It has to be. That's the only fate I know worse than being stuck with him or tarnished.

Finally, he says, “Give me the drink.”

Relief shoots through me so violently, I’m certain he’s going to see right through the plot. I try my best to cover my feelings as I give him the drink and hurry back to my spot several feet away.

“None of that. Come here, wench.” He points at the bench next to him.

Not next to him. Just thinking of being that close has me choking. Just a few more minutes is all that’s needed. I can do this. This is the last time I must endure. After this I’ll either be free, tarnished, or dead. Such a lovely, encouraging thought.

I take a deep breath of fresh air and perch on the bench beside him. His arm, wrinkled and spotted with age, snakes around me and pulls me close to him. Despite his weak grip, I let him. Now is not the time to risk angering him.

The stench of body odor and rotting things is so suffocating, I struggle not to gag. And he hasn’t even sipped his drink yet. Instead, he leans back, closes his eyes, and lets the cup rest loosely in his free hand.

Just my luck. He’s going to fall asleep, and without the drink, which means I won’t be able to escape for fear of waking him. Will I ever have such an opportunity to escape? His grip slowly eases from around me. Any other time I’d be thrilled, but now it’s my chance slipping further away. How much can one old man sleep?

Drastic actions it must be. I clench my jaw, count to three, and then violently plaster myself to his side. I turn my head away so my gagging is less noticeable.

His eyes snap open and his hand jerks upward, spilling some of the precious contents. “What’s this? Finally warming to me?”

I keep my eyes lowered but smile. He makes a strange grunting sound before coughing, a long hacking cough that splashes more wine from his cup. I take shallow breaths, trying not to gag.

“Let me help.” I quickly grab the cup, saving as much of the precious liquid as I can. Still mostly full. It should be enough. Please be enough. Thinking of what’s at stake is the only thing that keeps me at his side as his fit continues.

When it finally subsides he grunts and takes the glass back from me. “Perhaps you’re not so willful after all, just need a bit of time to get used to me. Don’t worry, wench, it won’t be much longer now.”

Yes, as Father said. Nigel is getting old enough he doesn’t want to risk dying before he’s got me with warlock. I can’t help it, the thought sends me shifting farther from him.

“
What do you think you’re doing? We were just getting cozy.” He shoves the tainted glass at me. “Drink this.”

Merciful master, no! “I don’t think I’m allowed.”

“Course you are. Drink up. It will relax you.”

Lovely predicament. Drink it, pass out. Don’t drink it, incur wrath. Will he force me to? What will he think when I become unconscious? I should knock it out of his hands, yet then my plan would be wholly ruined. The anger and punishment is manageable. Being owned by him the rest of my life isn’t. Perhaps if I pretend to sip. Will that pacify him? Will it make me sleepy just from touching my lips? I have no idea how strong it is. Better to risk it than to lose my only chance.

I take the glass from him, raise it to my mouth, and press my lips tightly around the rim. It will be fine. I can do this.

I tilt the cup back until the liquid sloshes against me. After holding it for a short moment, I bring it back down and hand it to him. I hurry to dab my lips with my gloves hoping the improper use of them goes unnoticed.

His fingers wrap around my chin and jerk my face toward his. “Look at me.”

He knows. Somehow he knows what I’ve done. I raise my eyes to him. His drooping gaze traces over my face before landing on my lips. My chest is tight, bound with fear and rage. Please, please leave me alone and drink. Please!

His thumb swipes against my lips making me want to run away, swift as I can. He gives a leering grin before downing the entire contents of the glass. My whole body slumps as relief pours through me.

“
There, dear,” he continues, his words slurring. “You're beginning to relax already.”

His blinks are different now, more dazed and heavy. “You know, I only want strong warlock sons. That’s all I want.”

A few more blinks and his eyes close. He bows forward, chin on his chest. I wait. He doesn’t move. I give him a gentle tap. Still nothing. I nudge him, and his frail body leans back against the bench, mouth falling open.

I’ve done it. I’ve knocked out a warlock. I’ve really done it. A thrill of giddiness peaks through me. But I can’t let it overwhelm my senses. I’m not free yet.

After grabbing the glass in case they can use it to find where the powder came from, I hurry toward the tree where mother left my pack. Hopefully everything is here. If I didn’t get something, well, there’s no returning for it now.

I run the entire way, even if it’s not becoming of a woman. I should have enough time, but if someone decides to evaluate my progress with Nigel, everything could change. I cross through the bushes and over the grass. Haven’t seen much of anything, but I know Father has some good land. The only thing of worth he'll have left besides his shop now that I’m leaving.

The trees offer good shadows to stay in, though they probably help more with the heat of the day than my going unnoticed. Even if someone doesn’t come outside, I could be spotted from a window. Sweat beads on my forehead. Can mother keep those inside distracted as well? Any moment I expect to hear someone calling out after me.

The pack is right where my mother said it would be, under the tree mostly hidden by a bush. I clutch it to me and rush to the dirt road. No one is coming in either direction. I go right, toward town, and make my legs continue their hurried pace. Have I already passed the point that the spell would have stopped mother? Would she have made it this far with me had she chosen to come? It doesn’t matter. She can’t be here so I shouldn’t even worry on it. Only I wish…

I brush a few stray tears away and focus on running. Tilda tries to enter my thoughts, to make me believe her fate is going to be my own, but I won’t allow it to stay. Neither thoughts of Father or Jack or Nigel chasing me. Only thoughts of escaping, even if I’ll soon be caught.

Chapter Four

T
he day wears on, the sun waning, as is my energy. The sky is covered with clouds painted vivid red by its departure. The night air should be cooler once it arrives. Town comes into view, hazy at first but clearing as I get closer. I’ve never seen it in this state before. Because of women being required to ride in a windowless carriage, I’ve only ever seen the street and Father’s shop. Best avoid that. In truth, I should avoid everything except the house my mother told me to find.

It doesn't take near long enough to follow the directions mother gave me. Despite the warmth of the evening, I go cold. I’ve never, ever done anything like this before. Never had a purpose of my own. Never been without a chaperone. My whole being shakes. It has to stop. I’m in front of the house mother told me holds tarnished who should be able to help, but I can’t stop the shaking. I shake and shake and shake.

There’s nothing for it. I can’t stay out here on the street for everyone to see. At any moment someone could come by and start questioning me. I’ll just have to trust that whoever these tarnished are, they don’t notice or care that I’ve gone mad. Unease clings to me as I step near.

Should I go around back to the servants’ entrance? Or to the front? Mother didn’t specify. It seems odd to go to the front door, but if there are tarnished here that can help, would they use the front door? I really don’t know. The whole situation makes me want to return to mother. Except Nigel is there. Besides, my legs ache from all the walking. Back door it is.

The path to the back door is paved with stepping stones, with grass attempting to grow through the cracks. The bushes on either side have been clipped back to create a clear walkway. When I reach the door, I don’t hesitate. I force myself to walk straight up to it, knock, and lower my head. A moment later, the door opens.

“
Where’s your owner?” a male asks. Probably a tarnished by the looks of his drab trousers, but I don’t dare look up. Now would be the worst possible time to be caught breaking a rule.

“
He’s…” Where? Where? Think of a good lie. Think! “Not here.”

That was not a lie.

The male lowers his voice. “Is that so?”

I nod. Of all the times to not find a lie worth believing, it has to been when I depend upon it the most.

“Do you have a delivery?”

“
No.”

“
Then why are you here?” he sounds exasperated. I can’t blame him. I’m being rather unhelpful, but this is all so new and what if it is wrong? What if he won’t help, but instead, takes me back to Nigel?

“
I’m sorry. I believe this is the wrong house.”

As I move to go, I finally chance glancing at him through my lashes. My breath catches. It is a tarnished. Bald with ink slashed across his nose, cheeks, and forehead. Most definitely a male, his muscles visible even beneath loose clothes. With a very stern look on his ink chiseled face.

“Are you certain? You seem like you could use help.”

I could use help. I need help. I wish so desperately that he could help. But it's been years since Tilda knew them. Something could have changed. Even my mother’s sleeping powder was gained through a channel of many people. I can’t be sure he is one of them. And even if he is, Tilda was caught. What if one of them turned her in? It’s not safe. No one is safe. I shouldn’t have come. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Before he says anything further, or decides I need to be taken to his Master, I hurry away. Once I’ve put some distance between us, I get on the boardwalk, glance down the empty street, and randomly select a bench to collapse on, keeping my pack on my back. No sense in taking it off if someone is going to walk by and haul me back to Father’s. Perhaps the tarnished is already informing them I’m here. Alone.

What a dunce I’ve been. Even if today had presented the perfect opportunity, it wasn’t enough time to properly plan. Something else could have eventually happened. Most likely. Maybe. Well there are no guarantees, but coming out here in such a rush, knowing so little, isn’t the way to escape safely.

I can’t just sit here, but what other options do I have? What does a woman out in the world by herself do? Run and hide? Give myself up? No. I won’t. Anything would be a better option. They can punish me, tarnish me, or hang me, but I won’t willingly return to Nigel. I refuse to be his bride. I will not bear his children.

The walkway planks creak as footsteps near. When did they get so close? I glance up and quickly look down again. A law officer. His black breeches and orange shirt a giveaway almost as much as his baton.

What do I do? There’s no time to do anything. If I run, will it help or hinder? I’ve made one mistake after another with this fouled plot. But it’s already decided. I straighten my back, prim and proper like, yet at the same time I tense my muscles, ready to move. I won’t make another mistake. For now I won’t run, but if he attempts to return me, I’ll fight with everything I have, no matter what hex he throws. I will not return submissively. I will not succumb.

“
Where’s your owner, wench?” The law officer’s voice is stern and harsh, just as a proper warlock’s should. Almost the same question as the tarnished. It makes me want to cower, but I can’t. There’s no appropriate response, so I say nothing at all. Instead I push my feet against the ground, ready to spring.

His baton appears seemingly out of nowhere and strikes my calf. “Answer, dolt.”

I bite my lip to hold back a whimper.

“
Sorry,” a male voice intrudes, “she’s mute.”

Mute? I am most definitely not mute. I peek through my lashes to see who’s making such a claim and the sight surprises me. The tarnished from before. Why is he making such a false statement?

The tarnished continues, “Our Master didn’t want her in the shop. Last time she kept touching everything. I will return her to where she belongs.”

What is he doing? Perhaps he’s going to take me back to Father and Nigel but is sympathetic enough that he’s helping me stay out of trouble? It’s the only reasoning that makes any sort of sense. Unfortunately for him, I’m not returning. But I won’t spurn help either. And if I’ve been mistaken, if my mother was right and he’s with someone willing to help, well then, we’ll just see how things go.

The law officer smacks my leg with his baton again, bringing tears to my eyes, but I refuse to call out and break the claim I’m mute. He pulls back his baton a third time, but when he swings it the blow smacks the tarnished with a sickening thwack. The tarnished grunts and holds his chest, making my own hurt with guilt.

“
Tell him to leave her home next time. Or at least send her with a capable servant, one who’s not tarnished.” He swings the baton toward us again. “Get out of my sight.”

The tarnished wraps a hand around my arm, pulls me up, and quickly drags me away. I keep a tight grip on my pack, as if somehow the link to the few things will give me strength.

Once we’re out of sight of the law officer, the tarnished leads us down an empty, dusty lane. This is far enough. If I’m going to be fighting to get away from him or using his help to get away, I want to know it now.

I yank my arm from the tarnished and stop. He promptly grabs my arm again. A hiss escapes me, but before I struggle, he says, “We’re not safe and you obviously need help. Do you realize law officers force you back to wherever it is you're avoiding telling me about?”

Of course, but what else should I have done? Planned this all out better is what.

“
Forgive me. I didn’t mean it so harsh. Girls just never understand.” He lets out a huff. “I promise I’m trying to help. Once we are away from here, we can talk and you can decide what you want.”

What I want? Did he really just say what I want? Right now what I want is to pull away again, but my instinct says mother was right. He will help. It was only my own fear chasing me away before. He’s already proven he’s willing to help once, without me even telling him what is taking place.

“Unless you have other plans?” His tone sounds sincere, as if he really wants to know what I’m thinking. As if he truly cares.

“
What if I want to go?” Even though I no longer think this is the case.

He immediately releases me. “I’ll let you.”

Silently, I weigh his words while he looks me over, not in a way that makes me nervous like Nigel did, but as if he’s trying to learn my story. After a moment, he says, “I don’t know what’s going on, but if you’re in trouble I can help.”

“
Why should I trust you?” I want a reason to.

When he doesn’t respond, I chance raising my eyes to him. Even though he’s tarnished, it still feels wrong somehow, yet I’m glad I did. His hazel eyes are unlike any I’ve ever seen before. There’s something in them, something I can’t quite place or understand. The tarnished ink slashed across his face somehow works well with his chiseled features. He looks to be a few years older than my brother, maybe a year older than me. If this tarnished had magic and wasn’t condemned to a life of nothing, would they have been friends?

Still he doesn’t respond, instead he holds out his hand to me.

It’s not an ideal situation but holds a sliver of golden hope. I place my hand in his. It’s solid and firm against mine. I only hope the truth behind his words proves just as solid and firm.