“You would be surprised,” Jadren replied drily. “Gabriel Phel’s control of water is astonishingly effective. He can actually brew storms and bend rainfall.”
Selly glared daggers into the side of Jadren’s head for this additional betrayal. He ignored her completely, except for that unbreakable grip on her wrist.
“I don’t recall that information from the missives you sent.” Lady El-Adrel aimed her considering gaze at her son, brows raised in sardonic expectation.
Jadren shrugged as if none of it mattered to him. Probably it didn’t. Probably nothing mattered to Jadren but his own precious hide. Selly had been a fool and worse to imagine otherwise. “I’d hardly be an effective spy if I’m sending sensitive information about Wizard Phel via Ratsiel courier, would I? I knew I’d be seeing you in person soon and could report then. Besides, the information pales compared to the prize I’ve brought you.”
Lady El-Adrel sniffed unhappily. “She’s still not what I hoped for. Veronica Elal’s magic is said to be intoxicating, it’s so potent. If only you’d been able to apply for her in the Betrothal Trials.”
“That wasn’t my fault, was it?” Jadren shot back, a dangerous edge to the question. “I think we know whose fault that was.”
His mother gave him an icy stare. “Careful.”
“Besides,” Jadren continued jauntily, as if that one-word warning hadn’t been hair-raising, “I tasted the Elal familiar’s magic and it was tasty, but nothing life-altering.” He waggled Selly’s arm. “This is something special.”
“Completely untrained,” Lady El-Adrel noted dubiously.
“Exactly. Ripe for molding.”
“I suppose you think you’re going to bond this one as your familiar.”
“I wouldn’t presume. Besides,” Jadren added, looking her up and down, much as his mother had, “she’s not much to look at. Awfully scrawny. No manners to speak of.”
“Yes, well…” If anything, Lady El-Adrel seemed pleased by his assessment. “Your father wasn’t a jewel either, to begin with. They can be cleaned up and taught. The advantage of a blank slate, you know.”
Jadren smiled, but it was brittle and didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, I know.”
She offered her cheek. “How about a kiss for your maman?”
A strange shadow crossed Jadren’s face, a tremor of vicious rage in the magic tapping through the grip on Selly’s wrist, and for a moment she half-expected him to launch himself at the woman and throttle her. She could see it, as if a shadow self had separated from Jadren’s body and performed the deed before her eyes. But no—that had been some trick of her mind, no doubt brought on by her own emotional extremity—Jadren only leaned in, brushing a cool kiss over his mother’s cheek.
She smiled, a parody of maternal affection, and patted his arm. Magic surged from her, mechanical and metallic like Jadren’s, but exponentially more powerful. Selly flinched from the force of it, but Jadren held her immobile, casting her a curious black glance. The doors to the manse opened gracefully and soundlessly, as if on well-oiled and invisible hinges. But it was magic, Selly realized. That’s why no knockers, handles, or locks. What could be more secure than doors that opened only via the lady’s magic?
By the sour feel of Jadren, he thought the same, and Lady El-Adrel reveled in her superior position. “Come in, wayward son of mine, and bring your new toy with you. Though you’ll have to hand it over. We can’t have it soiling the carpets.” Answering a silent summons, a cadre of servant types—thankfully all apparently human—popped out of some side hall, surrounding Selly and separating her from Jadren. She gave him one last look, pouring appeal into her manner, begging him mentally not to leave her, but he looked away. “The usual treatment for a new familiar,” Lady El-Adrel instructed the servants breezily, “and do your best to clean it up.”
The servants took custody of her as Jadren strolled off with his mother, chatting amiably and never giving Selly another glance. The silent group of servants gently but firmly herded her down a set of twisting hallways. At least they didn’t have the horrors of Sammael house with its tethered familiars, but there were no windows anywhere that Selly could see. Then, as she watched, a nearby staircase appeared to fold itself up, then shot upward and into the room it had led to, the ceiling smoothing behind it as if it had never been. Shouting dimly echoed from above, but none of the people around her even paused.
The lack of the ability to even see outside, much less search for a way out of this place that changed shape before her eyes, sent Selly into a crushingly dark mood. The mists of insanity crept along the edges of her vision, even though Lady El-Adrel had taken so much of her magic that Selly felt lightheaded. The mists at least were familiar, even comforting, and the temptation to give over to swirling depths was almost more than she could bear.
But that would be the coward’s way out. Giving in would be letting Jadren, in all his duplicitous treachery, win. She hadn’t had a choice before, not knowing what was wrong with her, no one able to help, slowly succumbing to the madness of stagnant magic she didn’t understand. Now she was armed with knowledge, so to give in and give up would be making a conscious choice to be sick and helpless again. She would not do it.
To her surprise, her escort took her to a set of rooms, rather than a cell. There were three—a sitting room, bedchamber, and bathing chamber. Still no windows, and the walls appeared to be metal, but they were otherwise pleasant. And they held still, at least for the time being, which she appreciated. She was hustled into the bathing chamber, the group of servants silently and efficiently stripping her of her clothing. She’d long since been divested of her weapons. Though Jadren had them all in their bag, he’d never given them back to her. With a stab of sorrow, Selly saw one servant bundle up her clothes and carry them off. Yes, they’d been filthy and torn, but they’d been hers.
Now she had nothing but herself. A good reminder.
The servants produced several bottles, little spirits leaping out as they were uncorked. Selly yelped as the creatures attacked her, which made the servants giggle at her expense. Realizing these must be the grooming imps the others had mentioned, but that she’d never had an opportunity to try for herself, Selly forced herself to stand still, finding the sensation unsettling but not wholly unpleasant. They certainly cleaned her well, leaving her skin feeling soft and dewy.
As the imps worked, the servants talked among themselves, ignoring Selly as they spoke about her. They discussed her too-thin frame and long, tangled hair, arguing about various gown choices and makeup options. Pretending to be meekly steered, taking advantage of their complacency regarding her, Selly surreptitiously searched the chamber for escape routes and potential weapons. Were there really no windows? Maybe they just got covered over, like that staircase going into the ceiling. She’d gotten excellent over the years at squirming out of all kinds of traps. Even Rat had finally had to resort to a snare to bring her in to be healed. She spared a wincing bit of regret for the wily tracker who’d nearly killed himself chasing her. She owed him a big bottle of that whiskey he liked. If she ever got home.
This place, however, was of another ilk, built by people invested in keeping their denizens in and their enemies out. She could explore more, once they left her alone—if they left her alone—but the metal walls were bare of hangings that might cover any openings and the single door might be her only way out. Out of these rooms, but how to escape a place that shifted and changed by the moment, with doors only one person could open?
She needed weapons. She could break the bottles into shards, though that cut could go both ways. Or the mirrors. Catching sight of her naked—admittedly scrawny—self in one reflection, she doggedly looked away again. No wonder Jadren had been so scathing in his assessment. Not that she cared what he thought of her. He was unequivocally her enemy and she hated him. All of that holding her and offering her comfort, teaching her what she needed to know, it had all been a pretense. Lulling her into trusting him.
Well, two could play that game. So, she docilely allowed the servants to groom her, obediently sitting for them to sic their bottled imps on her tangled hair, which was actually a relief to have cleaned and tamed into a streaming fall of curls down her back. Another imp tickled her face as it applied cosmetics, Selly feeling like a little girl playing at dress-up. A game that quickly changed as they helped her shimmy into black lace underthings, the chemise plumping and lifting her breasts with extraordinary results.
Then they dressed her in a slip of a gown unlike anything she’d worn in her life. With a start, she realized it was a woman’s gown, daringly low cut over her hefted and displayed bosom, the shimmering amber silk cut so the fabric clung to what meager curves she possessed. When the servants wedged her feet into the strappy high heels that matched the gown, and like the ones Lady El-Adrel wore, they then helped her to her feet, steadying her as she tottered on the unfamiliar things. They turned her to the mirror, saying words of happy praise that flowed over her without meaning.
She hardly recognized the woman in the mirror now, the dislocation jarring. Gone was the scrawny, filthy waif, replaced by a woman who looked almost elegant. Her face even possessed a kind of ephemeral beauty, the gown exactly matching her eyes and making them glow, surrounded by lashes newly thickened and lengthened, her mouth a sultry bronze. Despite her brave words to Jadren, she’d never thought of herself as much of a sexual being. Those adolescent experimental fumblings had been full of enthusiasm but little sensuality.
