Memories flooded in then, and she groaned at the flashes of fire and burning and pain, inside her head and all over her body. Curling her legs up and holding them, she ached and her head throbbed.
“Are you ill? He did not say to excuse you if you are ill. He said ‘bring her to the table for the noon meal.’ He ordered.” Emilie continued her words, but they garbled into a slurred chant of endless words. “Brienne,” Emilie said loudly as she grabbed her shoulders, “You must get off that bed and get dressed.”
Chilled, she shivered as she sat up. She was never cold, but this morn she felt as though she would never warm. Emilie dressed her without pause, intent on doing what she’d been told to do. After last night and its “lessons,” Brienne understood how she felt. She’d quickly learned that her father drew her in with enticements and appealing promises and then delivered brutal punishments if he was not pleased.
Emilie pulled her up to sit, and her hand slid down Brienne’s arm. Jumping back, the girl grabbed at her hand and cried out.
“You are burning!”
Tugging her own arm free, Brienne looked at the place where Emilie had touched. Her birthmark. The flames, now vibrant red and moving freely, entwined with each other and separated, rippling on her flesh as though alive.
And the heat moved through her, reminding her of the power in her blood. Clutching her hand over it, she moved away from the girl and stood. “Give me my shift,” she said.
Pulling it over her head, she covered herself and the mark. Though she could feel the heat through the thin fabric, it did not appear to burn through it. Turning back, she looked at the girl and a knowing glance gazed back. This was not something to be discussed with anyone. Nor was the presence of more ash in her bed and on her feet when she sat to have her stockings put in place.
A few wordless minutes later and Brienne stood dressed and ready to go to the hall. Emilie lifted the latch and opened the door. There in the corridor stood both Lord Hugh’s wife and his daughter.
“My lady,” she said, dropping to a curtsy.
“Are you ready? Come along, then,” Lady Margaret said in a biting tone. Out of Lord Hugh’s sight and hearing, she made her dissatisfaction with this arrangement very clear. As did her half-sister, who simply did not speak to Brienne at all or acknowledge her in any way. Even now, she looked up and down, anywhere but in Brienne’s direction.
Lady Margaret did not wait for a response. She began walking and expected everyone would fall in line behind her—which everyone did. Never having lived in a noble household before, Brienne marveled at the structure and rules that governed it all. Rules she would never remember. Emilie had pointed this out just about every moment of every hour since she’d arrived. They’d been called to the hall and Brienne knew that meant the large room over in the main keep, so she walked behind the others.
As they made their way across the yard, Brienne realized that she missed the friendly conversations that sprang up as villagers went about their daily business. Neighbors spoke to one another. Mothers called out to their children. Everyone was at ease among themselves. Here no one addressed anyone else. When the lady or lord crossed the yard, all motion and talking stopped. No one spoke unless they were spoken to first. A sense of unease pervaded Yester.
The sunlight could not break through the thick clouds that swarmed the sky above her this day. And just so, for the dreariness suited her well. Her head and body ached from last night. Having a power such as theirs and knowing his ways, she should not be surprised at his ruthless method of instructing her. Succeed or die was the message he gave, and she would learn it one way or the other.
She’d heard rumors about his abilities and his dark practices, and Brienne thought those who spoke of them must have some knowledge about him. From what she’d witnessed so far, the rumors were correct. He had the power of fire. He could force people to do his bidding with only his thoughts and could read the thoughts of others. He could call forth the dark magic and cast spells.
She shivered then, remembering how she’d felt when she first woke up this morning. She had no memory of how she’d come to be there. The last thing she remembered was his orders to bring forth a sphere of fire and hold it before her.
Then a barrage of fire and pain came at her and she’d fought to keep the sphere and protect herself. When her garments caught fire and burned her, she knew she’d failed and expected to die. Instead she’d awoken back in the bedchamber.
Now that she thought on it, it would make no sense to let her die. Lord Hugh knew she did not understand her power yet and was inexperienced in using it. He would not want to bring her here and then allow her to perish so quickly. So she would need to learn faster and better. To make up for lost years of learning and to gain the skill that he had and to control the fire in her blood.
Brienne knew that she would. For in the midst of it all last night, when she’d perfected that sphere, it had been pleasurable and invigorating. The fire raced in her blood and into the ball and back into her, a cycle that sent splinters of sheer bliss coursing through her. It was a feeling she liked, one she wanted to feel again.
After keeping it so secret and daring to let it free in only tiny bursts, allowing it to flow and directing its path felt right. She was a fireblood, he’d told her, and she made fire the way that others breathed. It was not evil or bad; it simplywas. Brienne found the experience thrilling. She knew she needed to be able to release her power, and she wanted to feel it burn through her blood as it moved.
The winds picked up then, and the smell of rain filled the air around them. Lady Margaret began walking faster, and the others rushed to get to the keep before the rains came in earnest. Tilting her head down, she ran up the stone steps and into the keep. Once inside, she waited for Lady Margaret to lead the way.
They entered the great hall. It was the first time Brienne would be joining them for a meal. Brienne saw Lord Hugh coming toward them. Lady Margaret, apparently thinking he would speak to her, moved toward him. But her husband walked past her directly for Brienne, drawing her away to speak privately. When Brienne glanced over her shoulder, the lady’s mouth hung open in surprise before she closed it with an angry breath.
“Are you well this morn, Brienne?” he asked in a low voice, releasing her as soon as they were far enough from the others. She might have mistaken his question for concern had she not met his gaze just then and saw the cold, calculating stare of a man with plans.
“I am sore and tired, my lord,” she said.
“Too sore and tired to continue your lessons this night?” he asked. Again, coming from another, it would have been solicitous, but from him, she sensed he was already wondering if he’d overestimated her.
“Nay.” She already knew she would suffer whatever she must to free the fire from her blood again.
“Nay?” he asked. She felt the pain that told of his displeasure, and she hissed in a breath at it. He did not like her to be familiar with him. She’d forgotten.
“Nay, my lord,” she said, closing her eyes against the continuing pressure in her head. “I am neither too tired nor too sore to have lessons this night.”
“Very well,” he said. “I will come for you. Be ready.” He stepped back, and the pain eased against her mind. Thinking he was done speaking to her, she turned back to where the women waited.
“Brienne.” She faced him and waited for the rest. “I have a surprise for you. A guest I thought you might like to see.”
