“I do a lot of needlework,” I said in a sudden burst of inspiration. “The jewels are so grand, but they stand out from the setting—I think they will snag on the threads.”
“Needlework? My dear, you are made for more than squinting over your stitches. There will be servants aplenty to embroider anything you require. Better yet, purchase it all readymade.” A toothy smile. “There will be no shortage of pin money.”
I was out of arguments that I could make politely. He smiled widely at me, showing all his teeth.
“Now that we are betrothed,” he said, “I would like to take begin your instruction in the high art of magic.”
He turned away and opened a large case, inside which were several ornate volumes.
“Here.” He seemed breathless; excited. Indecently so. His hands trembled a little as he handed me a book.
“Be careful,” he warned. “It is priceless.”
I removed my gloves to handle it. The tome was bound with a leather so smooth that it felt slippery and cool beneath my fingers, as if I were handling an eel. The cover was an unpleasant texture, and I fumbled the book a little, causing him to suck in a sharp breath—but I didn’t drop it. Opening it, I saw the usual scramble of lines and symbols, the images seeming to slip away under my gaze.
“Has Milady told you …” I began haltingly, ready to admit my deficiency.
“Ah, yes.” He took the book back from me. “I confess, I wanted to see your face for myself when you opened the book.”
“Why?” I said in a small voice.
“Because I would know at once if you comprehended the words, with this book in particular, and I wanted to ensure I had not been deceived in you. But you are an innocent, my dear,” he said, as he had in the drawing room the night before. “How charming. Your guardian spoke truly. For my purposes, I much prefer you to be ignorant of the spells you speak. What a rare prize you are.”
His lips stretched taut over his teeth in what I supposed was intended as a smile. I felt myself flush.
“I will read it to you first, of course,” he said. “Now, pay attention.”
He began to read, exaggeratedly slowly, as you would read to a very small child. I bit my lip to suppress the surge of irritation.
“Are you ready?” he asked when he had finished.
“My mother—” I cleared my throat. “My mother read it through for me twice or three times. So that I didn’t make any mistakes.”
“Ah. I think once more will have to suffice. And perhaps in the future we will have you trained to listen only once, yes?”
He read it again, as I strained my ears to catch every detail of the sounds. He had a particular, wet way of pronouncing his consonants, perhaps due to his protruding tooth, but once I was used to it, I felt that I had memorized the passage well enough. He handed me the book again, and I moved to sit in one of the armchairs at his hearth.
“No,” he said. “Stand.”
Another sharp stab of annoyance. What difference would it make? If I had stayed standing, he would probably have asked me to sit. He seemed the kind of man to enjoy giving orders and seeing them obeyed, even if the orders were arbitrary.
I began to “read.” My Hair started to float up, as it always did.
“Restrain it,” he ordered.
I bit my lip. The book was heavy, and when I felt my Hair start to rise again, I couldn’t spare one of my hands to clamp it down. Instead, I stopped altogether, mid-sentence. Ban Morin hissed in frustration and reached out himself to clasp my braid in his fist at the nape of my neck, as you might grab a snake to stop it from biting.
The Hair hung limp. I had hoped it would lash out, coil itself around him, or strike like a snake, but he must have prepared some magic against it, for it hung lifeless and lank about my shoulders as his grip tightened at the back of my neck, forcing my head down. It was my own nervous sweat that saved me, for he gave an exclamation of disgust and pulled his hand away to wipe it on his coat.
“Do you have no control over it at all?” he snapped.
“Not … not really …”
He huffed to himself. “We must find a way. We can’t have it floating about every time you practice. Such a waste.”
A waste?
He saw the look on my face, and his smile widened. “Innocent,” he said again. I was really starting to hate that word.
