“So Torm’s bastard son broke your heart, I take it,” Magda said, sitting up straighter.
I must have nodded. I did not question how she knew who I saw at night.
“Sit down,” she said and waved me towards the hearth.
When I did—slumping to the ground, sitting on my heels, softly crying, unable to maintain any dignity I was so miserable—she reached out and proffered me the pipe.
“I don’t smoke,” I said.
“It’s blended with lightleaf and you need some.”
I puffed, and the tang of both bitter and sweet notes filled my nose, and I coughed. “I don’t like it.”
“Doesn’t matter. Have some more. I’m going to tell you the story of your mother that no one else will tell you. And I wouldn’ttell your sister this. She doesn’t like private things being spoken of.”
The rosy smoke misted the air between us. I blinked at her, uncertain of what she was saying.
“Before I divulge this—and you’re not to tell a soul—I will guess that Torm has told the boy he can no longer see you or something like that?”
Haltingly, I explained what conditions the lord had given his son.
“Oh, but your twin is good enough. Ha. I have my thoughts on that, but no matter. Firstly, and I have hinted at this, your mother is most definitely Tintarian.” She tutted at my surprised look. “Don’t be a fool. Do you think your earth magic comes from your father? No. Your mother was a foundling left at the keep by some poor soul, her own mother, I imagine, who could not care for a child. She was raised with the servants there. I never knew if she had magic or not. I think not. But I knew that woman was as Tintarian as I was. First time I clapped eyes on her. And your mother was—is—a beauty. And what I will tell you is Torm Sheridan pined after her like a hound with the scent of blood in its snout. You see, history always repeats itself.”
Twice tonight something originating with the lord had shocked me.
“Oh, yes,” said Magda, reaching down to retrieve her pipe. “It was as plain as day. He was half crazed for her. And I don’t think she was opposed to him either. But the priest then was a right prick, I tell you. Just like Starling, only not so well spoken. He did not like anything remotely of Tintar. He loathed the very sight of me.” She paused to puff on her pipe, a smirk on her wrinkled mouth, as if this dead priest’s disapproval had been high praise. “And Torm’s father? He would have none of that, no. No son of his, no lord’s son, was going to marry a no-name orphan raised to be a servant. He forbade Torm from so much as speaking to her and sent her to your grandfather to work in the mill. Hard work for a woman, I think. Almost a punishment for being beautiful.”
“I thought father courted her while she still worked in the keep.”
“Not so. He fell for her quite quickly and they married quickly. Your grandfather was as stern a man as your father, but he was charmed by your mother. Everyone has always liked her. You know that. And she was better off in the mill, married to the miller’s son. I think, despite the fact that your father is a decidedly difficult man, he was easier than a lord’s son. Nothing got in the way of your parents’ union, and that is why your mother, in my opinion, loves your father. Very much I would say. She has someone to run her life for her, after all that uncertainty growing up.”
“So Torm hurts his own son the way his father hurt him?”
Magda nodded. “It is the curse of fathers and sons, girl.”
50
THEN: TRAP
The marriage of my sister and my sweetheart was announced at the following tenth-day service. I sat next to my parents and Rowena, head bent slightly, eyes red rimmed from hours of tears. Most of them had been shed at Magda’s feet while she, not a terribly sentimental woman, passed me her pipe and told me I would get over it eventually.
I needed to hear that, though I did not believe her. My heart had been sundered as if a cleaver had come down on it. I felt there was no recourse for me. I would weep over this forever. But I was nineteen, skinless and untried.
My heart was put to another test at church.
Starling finished his sermon, something having to do with hellfire, and then said, “And it is an honor to announce that our lord’s second son has chosen a wife in Rowena Miller. They will marry three moons from now. May their union be fruitful and a credit to the spirit of Rodwin, the groom a strong hand and the bride a dutiful wife.”
There was a collective murmur around the church, whispers and exclamations. Surprise was understandable as Bertram,Torm’s firstborn and legitimate son, was not yet married. And though our father was an elder and prominent business owner, Rowena had no noble blood in her.
Numbly, and refusing to look ahead to see Thane’s reaction, I looked down our pew to see my parents beaming with pride and my sister smiling nervously. She turned to me and widened her eyes in apology.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I did not get a chance to tell you. It happened so fast. Please don’t be angry with me.”
“Why would I be angry with you?” I asked, daring her to say it.
“Because I am your sister and I am supposed tell you things,” she said. “I tried to this morning, but?—”
“It’s alright,” I said and smiled, though it felt like I was dying inside. I knew then, saw it in her face—she had no notion of Thane and I having been lovers. She was only apologizing for not telling me.
