“It’s better this way, Lysa. For his sake. You saw him back there. You saw what happens when your magic collides with the curse. Do you want to be the one holding his hand when his heart bursts?”
The vial felt incredibly heavy in my palm.
The evidence slotted into place. The ley-window showing the ritual, he had accepted the shadow. The letter, he had known Iwould be a danger, that I would have to leave if I knew the truth. My own arrogance, thinking I could fix in weeks what had been festering for years. The house gave a mournful groan around us. I flinched. Even the manor sounded like it was dying.
“I am... incompatible,” I said.
“You are fire, my dear,” Kelda said softly, releasing my hand. “ And he is made of dry tinder. It was a beautiful thought. But mercy sometimes requires us to walk away.” She stepped back, leaving me alone in the hallway.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to the empty air. I gripped the vial until my knuckles turned white, turned on my heel, and walked toward the stairs.
My canvas satchel was barely half-full when the wardrobe doors rattled in their frames.
“I know, I’m going.”
I shoved my spare tunic in, not bothering to fold it. The room seemed to contract, the air pressure dropping until my ears popped. I snatched my bag and turned for the corridor. The heavy oak door slammed shut an inch from my nose.
“I get it,” I whispered. “I’m unsafe. I’m leaving.”
I gripped the iron handle. It was cold, and for a moment, it refused to turn. I laid my scarred palm flat against the wood, pushing my own magic into the grain.Let me go.The latch clicked open with a reluctantclack.
I stumbled into the hallway just as the sconces lining the walls flared white-hot, blindingly bright, before dying out. Darkness swallowed the corridor before the gas sputtered back to a weak,sickly blue.Instability.Kelda’s words rang in my ears. I was leaking chaotic magic, disrupting the ecosystem of the estate. Every flickering light was an accusation.You feed the beast. You break the sanctuary.
“Lady Stormgarde.”
Mrs. Crane stood at the top of the stairwell, her hands clasped over her chatelaine. She didn’t look frightened by the ghost-level theatrics of the manor; she looked furious. And she had called me something else than Miss Embelin.
“Get out of the way, Mrs. Crane,” I said, unable to meet those eyes. “Please.”
“The house isn’t chasing you out,” she said, her voice cutting through the groaning of the timbers. “It’s barricading the exits. The Stormgarde wards are old magic, Hearthcraft woven with dragon-bone. They crush threats, no need to fight them. This?” She gestured to a window shutter banging against the stone. “This is a tantrum. It’s begging you to stay.”
“The House is confused,” I said, adjusting the strap of my bag to hide the tremble in my fingers. “My magic is incompatible. I’m making the curse accelerate.”
“Is that what the Lady Morvain told you?” Mrs. Crane took a step towards me. “She handles magic like she handles silverware, girl. You handle it like a heartbeat.”
“She knows him,” I snapped. “She’s kept him alive for a decade.”
“She has kept himpreserved, like a butterfly on a pin. There is a difference between living and surviving, and Master Fenrik hasn’t lived since he was nineteen.”
I tried to push past her, but the jealousy I’d been strangling flared up. It wasn’t fair. Kelda was elegant, controlled, andright. She belonged in this world of high collars and ancient bloodlines. I was just a girl with ink-stained fingers and a dangerous gift.
“He went to her,” I said, my voice betraying me. “When he fell. He let her hold him. He looked at me like I was the monster.”
“He holds onto her because she is the crutch he knows, not the one he needs,” Mrs. Crane said. “The Sentinel Beasts, Lysa. The eagle in the hall. It has not moved from its pedestal since the master’s parents died. Yesterday, I saw its head turned toward your bedroom door.”
“Coincidence.”
“Loyalty,” she insisted. “Creatures know. The house knows. Why can you not see what is right in front of you?”
“Because I won’t be the reason anyone else dies!”
The shout tore out of me. Before Mrs. Crane could respond, a deafeningcrackechoed through the foyer below. We both looked down. The massive silver-backed mirror in the entryway had split down the centre. A spiderweb of fractures spiralled out from the heart of the glass.
“It’s breaking, everything I touch here breaks.” I ran down the stairs, ignoring Mrs. Crane calling my name. The houseseemed to heave a great sigh, the temperature plummeting until my breath misted in the air. I wrestled with the iron bolts of the front door. They were stiff, fighting me, hot to the touch.
“Lysa, stop!” Mrs. Crane reached the bottom landing.
I wrenched the door open. The mist and roar of the river rushed in to meet me. I turned to the housekeeper. I dropped my bag for a heartbeat and grabbed Mrs. Crane’s shoulders. I pressed a quick kiss to her startled cheek.
