The Rose Master (18 page)

I nodded as her words swiped away the irritation I felt. “But, Ms. Simple, I didn’t mean to hurt her like that.” I paused as her words sunk in. “Wait, what happened to Miss Bellingham?”

“Oh, child, she died. Jumped to her death after her father’s murder. A tragedy that marked poor Lord Grey almost as much as his mother’s passing.”

A flash of one of Lord Grey’s memories glowed in my head. That letter he’d received, the one he’d torn to pieces, it had had a black ribbon around it. Only now did I recognize it as a mourning band.

“Speaking of Lord Grey,” Ms. Simple said, “he has asked that you join him in the main hall. He’s requested that we remain in our rooms while you work with him.” She squeezed my hand. “Anne, what will you be working on?”

“I don’t know, Ms. Simple. I honestly don’t know.”

As I walked out of the servant’s quarters, I began to hear sounds form the main hall—the dull thuds of moving furniture. I moved through the hallways, afraid of the next disaster I might encounter, but as I rounded the corner, I saw Lord Grey, sleeves rolled up, trousers streaked with dust, dragging chairs from the nearby rooms.

I considered returning to bed. I was not up to whatever he was planning.

He turned and saw me. “Good, you’re up.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I did not realize I’d slept so long.”

He was not listening to me, but eyeing the tiles under his feet, his brow creased in concentration.

“Sir, would you like me to prepare a meal for you? Sir?”

“What? Oh, no, I’m in no need of nourishment, but I suggest you eat something. You’ll need it.”

“But—”

He waved me in the vague direction of the kitchen, and I could do nothing but obey. The mess in the main hall didn’t bode well. I had not an inkling what he needed chairs for, and I didn’t want to ponder on it too long.

I didn’t want to enter the kitchen, not after the previous night and the knowledge I now held, but as I couldn’t very well step out for pastries at the corner shop, I mustered up my courage and entered. Taking a slice of bread quickly out of the pantry, I went into the hall to eat. The bread had the texture of sawdust. When I finished, I dragged myself back into Lord Grey’s presence.

He was seated on the first stair-step, hands knitted together, his head resting on them.

“Sir.”

His head sprang up and, for a moment, his kaleidoscope eyes did not know me. But as their swirling hues trailed my own, I saw the focus return to his face.

“Come here, Anne.”

I moved next to him as he stood.

“I trust you ate something?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

Without warning, he pushed me onto one of the chairs, the one in the center of the hall. He didn’t lay a finger on me, but struck me with a concrete wave of tentacled power. I yelped in painful surprise.

I only had time to stand before another muscular current flung me into another chair. I landed against the armrest, my back flaring in pain as fear filled my limbs. I gripped the chair and looked up at Lord Grey, who was as still and impassive as the staircase next to him—two dark nightmares.

I caught a flicker of movement in his eyes and knew he was about to attack again. In a reflex, I raised my arms and felt an uncoiling deep within me.

A weightlessness took over, as if I’d dropped all the flesh I possessed and became just my two eyes.

I could see Lord Grey through a circle of air that trembled, and his face was taut with effort. My concentration cracked as panic at what I was experiencing set in and the lead-like blood returned to my body, knocking me down into the chair. At least it was the same chair. He hadn’t been able to move me.

I was trembling in shock. Even after all I’d seen the past three weeks, I was nowhere near used to facing evidence of that kind of power.

Lord Grey jogged toward me, pulling the first seat with him, and sat down in front of me with a sigh.

I flinched, but he raised his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I apologize that I had to frighten you, but I had to see what I could pull out of you. You see, with beginning students of magic, the powers only truly surface when the receptacle fears for his or her life. It’s instinctual.”

“That was a test?” My voice was harsh in my throat.

“Yes.”

“Bloody wonderful. You nearly broke my back.” I bit off the words. The nonsense had gone on long enough.

“I couldn’t very well place you delicately on the chair, could I? Besides, I thought a chair would be better than the hard floor.” He met my anger with sarcasm that only fueled my irritation.

I rose, ready to leave, but he took my arm in his hand. His fingers brushed my skin before he jerked them back in a quick recoil. As I watched, his body crumpled in a cough, making the anger I felt shift somewhat to concern. Since my skin still prickled where his flesh had met mine, and my back still ached from where I’d hit the chair, I wasn’t in the most sympathetic of moods.
 

When he got his breathing under control, he spoke again. “I had to show you what you could do.”

“And now what? What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Now, I have to teach you how to call up that power when and however you like. It needs to become an arm or a leg, just another dependable limb.”

“And if I don’t learn? What happens then?”

He stood. “You must leave or be killed.”

“Those are my only options?”

He threw me a slicing stare. “They’re better than mine.”

There was nothing I could say to that; he was right.

“But the creature won’t allow you to teach me, it’ll do whatever it can to prevent it.”

He nodded. “We must be smarter.” His voice flattened. “Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fetch me a candle, then.”

With fear and confusion worming through my stomach, I ran to the kitchen and into the moldy pantry, where a whole box of candles rested. I grabbed one, then another just in case, and a box of matches.

In the hall, Lord Grey had pushed the chairs back and had cleared a space on the floor where he’d placed a simple candleholder. He stretched out his hand for the candle, taking caution not to touch me. He waved away the matches.

“All right, sit.”

He curled his legs up, like an animal tucking in its tail, and sat on the cold stone tiles. The image of a manor’s Lord, sitting cross-legged while attempting to force the candle to remain upright in its holder was a shock to my nerves. I coughed to veil a laugh.

“Damn thing . . .” he muttered.

“Here, sir, let me.”

He flinched back as I took the wax candle in hand and squeezed forcefully into the tight, silver opening. It did not waver when I removed my hands.

As I looked up, I caught a fleeting smile on Lord Grey’s lips. He cleared his throat.

“We’ll begin with something simple, something we may repeat as much as necessary without tiring. I’m going to light this candle. It is your job to snuff it out. Do you understand?”

“Sir, I understand what you mean, but I don’t know how I’ll accomplish it.”

He looked down at his hands, and brought one up along with his eyes. “This power we have is a muscle, like the muscles in our hands. As infants, our hands could not function with the delicacy they can now. What brought on that change? Use. Constant, dedicated use. And need, of course. If you can train your hands to sew, you can train your body to wield the energy it houses.”

I winced. “Sewing is not my strongest ability.”

“Wrong example, then. It makes no difference. The point remains: concentration and training are the keys.”

He fell silent, his eyes on the naked candle. He inhaled, seeming to tug at the space around the wick and pulled a flame from the air.

I couldn’t help gasping. He had created fire out of nothing! Lord Grey closed his eyes and then looked up at me. “Your turn.”

I focused on the fire, its light still in the calm air. In silence, I commanded it to die, to flicker off in a trail of smoke. My mind was a labyrinth of words, crowding against each other to try to find the combination that would open the cache of power. Nothing was happening.

“Stop thinking,” Lord Grey said, as if my thoughts were loud enough for him to hear.

“The flame is the only thing that matters, the only things that exists.”

But my thoughts persisted, one chasing the other as I thought of all he’d told me the previous night. I shuddered and yanked my eyes away.

“Again,” he said.

And so we did. Minutes turned into hours, the flame lowering as the wax fell in thick drops onto the silver. When my eyes blurred and my head’s pounding was too painful to endure, I shook my head.

“Can’t do it, sir.”

“That’s nonsense. You can, and you will.”

He sighed and released all the tightness from his voice.

“That’s probably enough for today, however. I’m afraid your brains will leak out of your ears.” He leapt to his feet as I blinked back my shame. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I could use some water.”

“Yes, sir.”

He headed toward the kitchen, while I picked the candle and myself up off the floor. I stared deeply into the flame, shook my head, and blew it out in one breath.

seventeen

The smell of charred vegetables was strong enough to be nauseating as I entered the kitchen.
 Lord Grey stood, facing out into the night as he drank water in long swallows.

Dora, or most likely Ms. Simple, had left me a covered dish at my place on the table, and I was sure the Master had one in the dining room also. I’d been hungry after the long hours in front of the candle, but the dish’s smell alone made my face scrunch up.

Perhaps I could make a meal for the two of us, since Dora was probably sleeping and would not be able to take offense over something she knew nothing about.

Walking into the pantry, I peered at the items that were viable to use for dinner. Not much to choose from in terms of variety—potatoes, onions, more potatoes.

“I’m afraid there are not many food options left, sir.”

He didn’t turn. “John should be arriving any day now.”

I rolled my eyes at his distraction. “Yes, sir. I just wanted you to be aware I won’t be able to prepare an entirely satisfying meal.”

“Oh, there’s no need, at least, not for my sake.” He turned and stepped across the floor to the doorway.

“Sir, you must eat something.”

“Don’t concern yourself with me.” His words were harsh, but I would not be cowed. I could not have him half-starved in the madness we were submerged in.

“Sir. I will be bold enough to say you will not last long in the condition you are in. Too thin, too tired, and ill, I dare say. If something were to happen, we have little means of getting help. So, with all due respect, I will scramble up some dinner, and you will eat it.”

I didn’t look to see his reaction, but bent to pick up the lumpy potatoes and flaky onions, cradling them to my breast.

I didn’t hear Lord Grey leave, but when I glanced about, he was gone. I set to concocting whatever culinary magic I could.

The best choice was a soup, potatoes and onions lending taste and texture to the otherwise pale broth. I gathered herbs, dried sprigs of rosemary that smelled like tree sap, ground pepper, and sweet basil that took command of the entire pot. I sipped a spoonful and, though a bit on the weak side, it had flavor and was at least burning hot. I took the time to toast some of the bread which was a day old, but still serviceable if crisped.