Her posture stiffened to match his. They sat in silence.
All these days, Aria had looked forward to seeing him again. How could an in-person conversation be more difficult than words on paper?
“I know—” he started.
“You promised—” she started.
They looked at one another. Aria coughed a small laugh.
“You first, Highness.”
Highness.She’d hoped he would call herAria, but she wasn’t about to suggest it. Though it felt a silly distinction, she wanted him to choose informality without any influence from her.
“You promised me a story.” She reached up and lightly touchedthe top of his witch’s mark with her fingertip, just beneath his chin. “About how you got this.”
At her touch, a line of goose bumps dotted his neck, and she felt a flash of guilt. She’d not considered her fingers might be cold. His skin was certainly warm, with the faint prickle of stubble, and though it seemed a shame to lower her arm, she did, rubbing her hands in her lap to warm them.
For a moment, Baron didn’t speak. He cleared his throat, leaning back against the wall as if away from Aria’s touch.
At last, he said, “You’re aware Casting ability is woken by an effort on the Caster’s part.”
She nodded.
“Most often it’s in response to their physical environment. I’m told Richard Langley, at ten years old, cleared rubble to save his friend. Dowager Countess Morton reportedly grew frustrated with cold bathwater and warmed it herself. She was seven.”
Aria’s eyebrows shot up. “Such a trivial thing?”
“To change an entire life, yes. It most often happens in childhood because children want things desperately without regard to consequence.”
And we brand them for it.Aria squirmed beneath the thought.
“By the time un-activated Casters reach adulthood, they’ve learned to tamp down the call of magic, reaching for other solutions in its place. Eventually, the spark vanishes altogether. There’s a reason the law doesn’t bother testing after seventeen.”
“And yourself?”
“I’m something of a ... unique case. I’ve been activated as long as I’ve been alive.”
Aria frowned but didn’t challenge him. His green eyes flickered in her direction, then away.
“At my birth, there were complications. My mother bled far too much. Father says when he first held me, I cried, but I alsofaintly glowed with a Casting. He thinks I activated my abilities in an attempt to save my mother.”
“As aninfant?” Aria’s eyes widened. “How ... ?”
“A great deal of magic is instinct rather than thought.” He lifted one shoulder, though the careless gesture didn’t match the strained lines of his jaw. “Regardless, whatever attempt I made failed, and my mother died. My father was left with arguably the world’s fussiest child, one who soured milk without meaning to, or vanished bathwater in a tantrum. Many of the servants refused to work with me, and it was nigh impossible to keep a nursemaid. I scared them.”
His bittersweet smile at his description of vanishing bathwater faded, leaving Aria with an ache. She’d never seen this side of magic.
She’d never seen this side of Baron.
“Father was never afraid. He could have kept his distance for safety’s sake, but while I was small, he carried me almost constantly. After that, he led me around by the hand. He never even wore gloves.”
“You could have affected his blood,” Aria said, realizing.Blood is only fluid.
Baron gave a curt nod. After a pause, he said, “I wanted to be just like him. He was ... everything.” He blinked a few times. “On to the witch’s mark. There was no chance for me to be a well-kept secret, not with the constant cycling of nursemaids. Father received pressure early on to have me branded, and by the time I turned six, it was no longer a request.”
“But twelve is—”
“The age for testing unknowns,” Baron said, “but once a Caster is identified, branding happens quickly. I believe Widow Morton was eight for hers.”
