Magdala almost laughed at the irony, but she composed herself.
Something moved in the trees and Magdala jumped to her feet, her hand at her shotfire. But it was just a little messenger dragon. It hovered at Asherton’s shoulder, so he reached into its pack and pulled out a letter. Asherton glanced at it. His jaw tensed. “It’s for you,” he said. His expression had changed suddenly—all the brightness faded from his eyes.
Taking the letter, Magdala sat down on the damp grass and opened it.
Magdala Slorus ? Huxley Davenport
A jolt ran through Magdala, and she darted a look at Asherton. Had he noticed her surname on the letter? Did he know who she was? Curse her father and his confusion about surnames.
Beloved and most faithful daughter,
I’ve taken ill. It’s damp here, and I fear I have not the funds to buy medicine. I’ve taken to coughing, but when I breathe, it rattles in my chest.
Magdala’s own chest froze at this.
The doctor has been to see me, and he wrote me a letter to take to the apothecary, who is a dear friend and a faithful royalist, but I fear I can’t afford the medicine. I feel that if I were out of this dank room, I would be better. I miss the fresh air of Elegy.
Magdala touched her throat. She was breathing the fresh air of Elegy, making friends with her father’s sworn enemy, cradling a vicious plant while her father was ill. Guilt stung her.
“Alright, Mags?” Asherton called.
Nodding, she thought about the invasive fish in the pond killing off the native species.
She turned back to the letter.
I hope to see you soon, my little hen. I miss you terribly.
Your own father,
Seamus Slorus.
Magdala crunched the letter in her fist and tossed it into the pond.
Asherton released the turtle, waded out of the pond, and strode back toward the house, his sodden trousers slapping his ankles. Suddenly tired, her stomach sour, Magdala followed him. The front door was open, and Asherton walked inside, leaving prints on the newly scrubbed floors.
“Wipe your feet!” she scolded. “I just cleaned these floors.”
“It’s my house,” he barked back.
Chapter 22
As they ascended the stairs, Magdala tried again to picture Asherton as king, sitting on the throne in Largotia, far from this rainy island and his greenhouses. Perhaps what she meant to do to him was cruel, but was standing aside and watching him take the throne worse? Abdicating would be good for him. He could never be king, with his bare feet and tousled hair and dirty hands. And there were plenty of other muggy, rainy islands for him to adopt like a pet.
“This house used to belong to a Russuli family,” he said carelessly.
Magdala’s eyelids fluttered. “Did it?” she asked tightly.
“Yes. He was evicted by my father. What was his name? Seamus … something …”
Magdala held her breath. It had been fifteen years since her father left Elegy. Surely, Asherton didn’t remember her father’s name. Surely, he hadn’t recognized it on the letter.
“Oh, I can’t recall. Seamus … something. Anyway, he deserved it.”
Magdala’s blood boiled. “He was probably just a Russuli landholder who your father displaced because he wanted the island for you.”
Asherton considered this a moment, then said, “No, I recall hearing about it. He refused to pay his taxes.”
“Because King Tiernan taxed the Russuli unfairly.”
