“Maybe a few of her raspberry tarts?”
“Perfect.”
I descended the stairs and traversed the hall to the kitchen. It was almost an hour past ten, so Theodora would still be preparing tomorrow’s breakfast. When I entered, there wasn’t a soul in sight. The oven was lit and the smell of baking bread permeated the air, but nothing was on the counter. I turned on my heel, ready to tell Genevieve the bad news, until I heard voices from the servants’ break room. It was usually deserted this late at night, yet a light shone beneath the door.
“...poor girl. She wouldn’t have to do this alone if her mother were still alive.”
“Hush. We promised not to bring that up again as long as we’re here.”
“I know. But now that her magic is emerging, we’ll have to break that promise. You say it happened in the gardens?”
I stilled, recognizing Theodora and Rowena’s voices. They were speaking of magic! I tiptoed past the counter and flattened myself against the wall.
“Yes. I’m sure it’s her Emergence. She said she saw something purple. Lo and behold it was a patch of weeds too far away for anyone to see, much less identify.”
Someone’s shoes scuffed along the floorboards. Theodora was pacing. “Is there any other explanation?” She sounded desperate. “Has our spell really worn off after a mere sixteen years?”
“It was bound to. Magic cannot be suppressed for long.”
My breath became uneven. Was Rowena talking about the purple smudge I had seen in the garden? It had been a mere hallucination—a result of poor sleep. What were they going on about with spells and magic?
“What do we do, Rowena, if we can’t come with her? What did Master Flora say?”
Paper crinkled. “He told us to suppress it again by any means possible. He wants us to remove her magic for good.” Rowena’s voice shook. “How could we do that to her? Without her knowing consent?”
“She won’t know what she has lost. It’ll be painless for her.”
“Seraphina would never allow it.”
“Seraphina is dead.”
Rowena sobbed.
“Now, now, Rowena. It will all be over soon,” Theodora said, her own voice shaking. “Amarante will never know she has magic. To her, it’ll be like nothing has happened.”
I couldn’t stay quiet when Theodora finally said my name. I wrenched open the door.
“What are you two talking about?”
Rowena spun around, a crinkled letter in her hand. She tucked it behind her.
“Amarante, let us explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Theodora interrupted. Her lined face was emotionless, but the crease between her brows told a different story. “You must be tired. Go to bed, dear. It’s nearly midnight.”
I stepped further into the room, shaking my head. “No. I-I heard everything,” I said. “You can’t tell me to go to bed when I heard everything. The magic. The spell. Tell me what it means.” My voice went an octave higher. I was sure I sounded raving mad.
Rowena wiped her tear-streaked cheeks. “She’s right, Theodora. We have to tell her,” she said.
Theodora’s stoic facade crumbled. Despair flooded her mien. “Amarante,” she said, taking my hands in hers, “Rowena and I are witches. And so was your mother.”
I fell back into a chair. It sounded even more absurd out loud than in my head. Witches were wicked creatures. Everyone knew that. I stared at Theodora’s warm, wrinkled hands. But my nannies weren’t wicked. I wasn’t wicked. And I was sure, with my whole heart, that Papa could never love someone who was.
My vision spun. “Prove it, then,” I said, raising my chin. “If you’re witches, then why are you in Olderea? Everyone knows they were banned two generations ago at the inception of the Non-Magic Age.” History never was my forte, but King Humphrey’s witch ban was a piece of Olderean history everybody knew.
“Much of the history involving witches are skewed beyond recognition, Amarante,” Rowena said.
“Prove it,” I repeated.
