“Your guardian really has told you very little, hasn’t she? Wise.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It is better this way. She knew that your future husband would want to … mold you. Few women understand the nature of power as well as your benefactor.”
I felt we were having two conversations at once, and I was woefully ill-equipped to handle either of them. I set the book down carefully on a little side table and reached up to tighten my braid, feeling the Hair bristle at my touch like a nervous cat. Ban Morin said nothing, but sat in the chair in front of me and crossed his arms, watching. I picked up the book again, feeling that same shiver of revulsion at the odd material of its cover, and cleared my throat.
I worried that the fear clouding my head and turning my hands clammy with sweat would also cloud my memory, but the words he had spoken came unbidden to my practiced tongue, and I recited them back—pausing in the right places, modulating my volume and tone just as he had. The Hair stayed still, cowed by whatever force he had used to subdue it.
When I had made it through the entire passage, I exhaled a long breath. I was feeling almost pleased with myself when he reached out to touch the book, reading a line of it in a hoarse voice, and a pain like nothing I had ever felt sang through me, high-pitched and piercing, setting my teeth to rattling in my skull.
I cried out, sinking to my knees and dropping the book. My vision shuddered. Everything around me seemed to take a sudden staccato leap sideways before steadying. When itcleared, Ban Morin was crouched before me, holding the book. He must have caught it as it fell from my hands.
I stared at him helplessly. The pain was gone, but my skull seemed to vibrate with the memory of it, and my teeth had clenched together so tightly that the sudden loosening of my jaw started them chattering.
I began to speak—to say what, I did not know—but saw his hand lift and then felt a dizzying crack against my face that sent me sprawling. The book. He had hit me with the book, across my face.
I raised a shaking hand to my cheek. Why was my body not responding? What was he doing that had me feeling so … muffled? He was still crouched there, studying me. His watch-chain had loosened with his movement and swung by his thigh with a hypnotic motion.
“Never let the book drop,” he said. He turned to his side and spat out a bloodied tooth.
I blinked, unable to respond.A tooth.He was a tooth mage.
He got to his feet, passing gentle, expert hands over the book’s cover as if it were a beloved horse who had suffered some injury.
“I had hoped that your mother had taught you the proper handling of volumes like these,” he said.
“She did … I mean, I …” I was still shaking, but at least I could speak again.
I kept myself very small and still. Was it my imagination, or did the ring feel tighter about my finger? I thought about calling out …
For Milady?
I did not belong to Milady anymore. This man was supposedly my new master, my soon-to-be husband. Milady—my long-lost aunt—had sold me. Washed her gloved hands of me.
For Mieka? She would come if she heard, I was certain, but what could she do? At best, she would lose her position. At worst—
I didn’t like to think about the worst.
For Patrick?
What if he turned out to be no different from Ban Morin?
Ban Morin reached in his mouth and ran his fingers over his bottom teeth. “I can spare one more, tonight, I believe,” he said, as if to himself. He turned back to me.
“Get up and start again,” he said.
“My Hair …”
“Needs to stay restrained,” he said. “I have a theory I am testing.”
“What is it?” I said. For a moment, I thought he was going to slap me across the face for speaking, but then he gave his warmthless smile.
“If your Hair is given free rein, it provides some outlet for your powers. I want to see what happens when you havenooutlet. Read it again.”
I took the book again, handling it as if it were made of glass. I took a deep breath and started to speak the words again. When I was halfway through the passage, Ban Morin reached out again, and I faltered, bracing for that wave of terrible pain. I felt hostage to its memory.
He shook his finger at me. “No, no,” he said. “No stopping.”
