The Rose Master (22 page)

It was a pleasant surprise, therefore, when only the sounds of scratches managed to pierce the silence. It was incredible how quickly the body and the mind adjusted to just about everything. I sighed as the sound woke me, but the fear that had shaken me the previous few nights was a tiny thing inside me. I lay in the stiff settee and listened as the creature wore itself out.

While I courted sleep, I wondered why the wraith was so bent on causing Lord Grey harm. Why didn’t it recognize him as its master? There had to be something we were missing. I thought about the upcoming struggle we would have with it, and I flinched. But I’d worry about it when it was time, not now. As it was, I was nowhere close enough to being ready.

When, minutes later, the creature finally gave up, I released my thoughts and sank once more into sleep.

Hours later, I woke to a quiet house. I rose and stretched the tightness out of my muscles. Stepping up to a round mirror that hung on one of the walls, I saw that I looked much more rested than I had since arriving at Rosewood Manor. My eyes were alert, no purple marks pulling at the surrounding skin, even after the previous night’s terror. I pinned my waves of curls into a serviceable bun.

I slid out of the room, past Lord Grey’s silent door and down the stairs. Ms. Simple and Dora should have made it to whatever help was available already. Maybe Mr. Keery was out of danger. My thoughts wavered. Maybe he was already dead. I pushed the thought away and focused on the things I could do something about.

It was much cooler downstairs and I shivered as I moved toward the kitchen to see what I could manage for breakfast. I hoped the delivery man would arrive soon, otherwise, the two of us would be eating potato soup for the next few meals.

I boiled coffee and toasted the last bits of petrified bread, slathering preserves on my slice to grant it a bit of sweetness in an effort to neutralize the bitter, burnt flavor.

Not knowing what time Lord Grey would wake, I left a covered plate and saucer on the dining table and proceeded to do a bit of cleaning. The house didn’t really need it, as I’d just scrubbed it raw the day before, but I had nothing else to do.

I started with the staircase, erasing my fingerprints from the previous night, oiling the wood until it shone, reflecting the morning sunlight on its surface. Not being able to help myself, I smiled. A job well done.

I was halfway through scrubbing the parlor floor again when I heard footsteps descending. The steps drew near.

“Already up and about, huh?” Lord Grey spoke from the doorway.

“Yes, sir, just doing some chores.”

“I see.”

“There is some breakfast waiting in the dining room, if you’d care to eat something, sir.”

“Will you yell at me if I don’t?” His voice was a light, fluttering thing.

“No, sir. Of course not.”

He hovered as I continued scrubbing. “I would like to continue with your training, Anne.”

I stopped moving, but didn’t turn around. “As you wish, sir.”

I followed him back out into the main hall, my enthusiasm not quite matching his own. In all honesty, I doubted I would make much progress, but I fetched the candle and its holder and placed them back on the floor. We sat down.

Lord Grey pulled the flame out again, right from the air, and looked up.

“All right, Anne, let’s flex that muscle of yours.”

Sighing, I let my eyes fall on the fire, my insides already gurgling in frustration. I tried. I truly did. My eyes grew dry and itchy as the minutes passed and the flame still glowed in mockery. I let my head fall into my hands.

“Sir, I can’t do it. I don’t know how.”

His next words shocked me. “Remove your shoes.”

“Sir?”

“Remove your shoes, Anne.”

It was not proper; my father would have a coronary if he found out. The voice in my head, sounding more like myself than I’d ever heard it, bit out at me:
your father is not here
.

I uncoiled my legs and pulled my shoes off, revealing socks worn and thin.

“Your socks too,” he said.

I didn’t allow myself to question, but bared my feet in an instant. Their paleness glowed on the stone floors, making me weak with an embarrassment I tried to conceal from the sure young man before me.

Lord Grey stood and moved behind me, kneeling back down in a graceful, silent wave of warm energy. “Unpin your hair.”

I reached up, feeling his eyes on my hands as I freed my curls in a tumble of brown sighs.

His voice brushed against me. “I want you to understand, to
feel
yourself in control. To look beyond the rules, the ‘shouldn’ts,’ the boundaries of our world. All that matters is that flame. Feel the cold stone under your feet, your hair’s weight on your shoulders, everything that makes you who you are, Anne. Everything that gives you dominion over that flame.”

I could feel his body’s warmth pulsing against my back, only a gap of air separating our different energies. I closed my eyes and allowed my head to fall back, letting my hair cascade down.

At first, nothing happened. But as I concentrated on the energy beside me, so close, so strong, my hands began to tingle. I allowed them to open and released their power. Dizziness overtook me, a quick shake of weightlessness that soon evaporated.

“Open your eyes,” Lord Grey whispered into my ear.

I did. The flame had disappeared.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in endless repetition, until the fire was carved into my very pupils. But Lord Grey was right, the more I practiced, the easier it became, until it only took a few seconds to snuff the dwindling candle out.

He sat before me, cradling a book on his knees, only lifting his eyes to relight the fire when needed.

As the sun dipped down and the light became opaque against the stones, Lord Grey slammed the book down and stood.

“I think that’s enough. You seem to have mastered it, and it’s about time.”

I attempted to stand, but my body was stiff, as if I’d been nailed to the floor, my muscles fused together to create one huge, painful lump of flesh.

“Ouch,” I said.

Lord Grey neared. “I’d help you up if I could, but unless you’d like another burn, I think it best if I keep my hands to myself.”

“Of course, sir.” With a grunt and a curse that was accompanied by the master’s dry laughter, I stood.

“Tomorrow, we’ll begin something harder, Anne. More like the first test with the chairs. We don’t have the luxury of taking the lessons at our leisure.”

As if summoned by his words, a current of frozen air passed by us, encircling us.

“August, are you enjoying your little whore?” the voice spat out.

Even Lord Grey flinched at the word dripping with anger, but he recovered before I did.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Were you now, little August?”

A current pushed into Lord Grey’s back, moving him forward, making him lose his balance. I moved to help him, but he managed to steady himself, his face bathed in the afternoon sunlight. A chant rose from his lips like a silver chain, consonants clanking all around the room. My skin prickled with the sudden energy, my ears popping as my whole body fought against the onslaught. I felt the tipping point, the spilling over of Lord Grey’s powers, coating every surface around us.

The wraith was silent for a heartbeat, then, in a whirl of invisible blades, it flung itself at Lord Grey’s body with a roar as thick as a lion’s.

Screams took over the hall—anguished cries of pain and triumphant shrieks that clashed with each other. In an instant, I was in the middle of it all, my back being pummeled by the wraith’s fury as I attempted to separate the two engulfing powers. I rounded on the attacking creature. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it as it circled us.

“Get out!” I screamed.

“That’s not polite, Anne.”

“Out! Or I’ll—”

“You’ll what? All I’ve seen you do is blow out a candle. What could you possibly do to me?” With that, it slapped me, hard, a freezing bruise already staining my cheek. My hands began to warm, but before I had the chance to see what I could do, the cold was gone. The creature had fled.

I turned around. Lord Grey was leaning against a wall, deep cuts having torn at his clothes and the skin underneath them until blood pooled in puddles at his feet.

“Sir!” I ran up to him, but he put his hand up.

“Please don’t touch me, Anne.”

I took stock of his injuries—most were superficial, large paper cuts, but one of them concerned me. His wrist was a well of blood.

“Sir, I need you to sit. Hold your wrist with your other hand. Press it down.”

When he obeyed, I ran to the kitchen and pulled out the first tablecloth I came upon. Taking a knife to one frilled corner, I yanked down, ripping a long white strip of linen.

What would I do if he needed medical attention? There were no horses left, and the nearest manor was a half day away, longer in the snow. I pushed the thoughts out of my head and ran back to kneel beside Lord Grey’s pale, drooping form.

His trousers were drenched in blood, and his eyes fluttered as every heartbeat sent more and more of his life-force onto the floor. With irrational anger, I remembered he hadn’t had any sustenance since the previous night.

“Sir! Sir! Wake up. I’m going to wrap this around your wrist.”

“No . . . I’ll do it.”

“No, you can’t bloody well do it!” I snarled and pulled his hand away from the wound. A shock of fire burned me, but I grit my teeth and grasped his slashed wrist. Ignoring the scorching that was overwhelming my hands and the painful moans I was drawing from him, I wrapped the linen as tight as I could around his wrist until the blood disappeared beneath the white cloth.

I didn’t know if that would keep him from bleeding out. I had no knowledge of doctoring aside from the more common household injuries. He had winced when I’d first touched him, but now, Lord Grey was still. Unconscious, most likely. I looked down at my hands, which were stained with blood. My own or his? No way to tell. A sob ripped through me as nerves abandoned my system, leaving only a sense of despair so black it seemed to swallow me whole.

What seemed like hours later, I took my emotion’s reins back and rose on legs that trembled.

Lord Grey was slumped against the wall, fully owning up to his name. His breathing, however, was steadier, and the blood appeared to have stopped dripping out. Through the ripped clothing, his ribs peered out, the thin layer of skin stretching like a stocking every time he inhaled. The skin there was even paler, as powdery white as the dust that permeated most of the furniture.