Arcana (35 page)

My pen scratches across the paper, my normally neat handwriting as shaky as I feel. When I finish, we stare at the words.

“They’re not disappearing,” Lucy whispers.

A nervous giggle escapes me. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Oh. Well—”

“I’m thinking. I’ve never tried to make anything disappear before.” I glare at the paper like the force of my desperation will make the ink fade before our eyes. I think of all the arcana I’ve ever worked. Of healing Eliza, influencing animals, taking Lucy’s headaches away. I gasp. “It’s just like your headaches,” I say.

“What?”

“Your headaches. I make them disappear,” I say, an enthusiastic grin appearing on my face. “It might work with the words.”

She leans forward, her eyes wide with excitement. I hold shaky hands over the paper, pretend it’s my sister’s forehead instead. My eyelids flutter closed.

It’s so much harder than taking away the pain. With her headaches, it is a real, pulsing thing. These words are nothing but ink on paper. I clench my teeth and
concentrate.
Nothing. I say the words I’ve written in my mind. I repeat them like a mantra.

And then, I see them. They float behind my eyes like dandelion seeds. Painstakingly, I erase each one with healing light. Sweat trickles down my face, and my breath comes in pants. When I reach my initial scrawled at the bottom of the page, I sit back with a loud exhalation.

Lucy’s face is etched with concern. “Are you alright? You look ill.”

I nod, unable to speak. Instead, I take in great gulping breaths of air. I’m still so frustratingly weak. “I’m fine,” I say after a moment. I glance down at the now blank piece of paper, reassuring myself it worked.

I grab the pen and scratch out a note to Penelope.

“Pen, I hope you are well,” Lucy reads aloud as I write. “I hope you can forgive me—that we can still be friends. Write to me, and I will explain everything that happened. Yours, K.”

“Will it pass inspection?” I ask, and Lucy nods.

I stare at the paper again. I’m not entirely sure how to make it so the real message will reveal itself. I bite the inside of my cheek, as fear of failure flays my insides.

Lucy stares at it as well, her head tilted to one side. She straightens. “I can do it.”

I glance at her. “Do what, Luce?”

“Switch the notes once Penelope touches the paper. I know I can do it.”

I give her my full attention. “How?”

“It’s like one of my drawings,” she says, running the tip of her finger over the paper. “I often paint hidden messages or objects. It’s my own arcana.”

I think of her landscape paintings, of the creatures of fantasy hidden in the flowers, or the Shakespearean quotes that appear when one stares hard enough at the clouds. “Of course,” I murmur.

“Let me see the pen,” she says. In ornate calligraphy, she writes Penelope’s name at the top. She runs her finger over it, but instead of the ink smearing, the name disappears. “Now the paper will recognize her.” Again, she runs her finger over the paper, this time over the words of my short note. I watch her lips move as she does so.

When she leans back with a relieved smile on her face, I ask, “What words did you recite?”

“The words from the other note. Now, when it comes in contact with Penelope, the words from this note will fade and the others will appear.”

“Then let us hope she has a strong constitution. I’m sure she’ll think she has lost her mind.”

“They’ll blur first. With any luck, she’ll blame it on a trick of the eyes.”

I hug Lucy in a firm embrace. “Thank you so much, Lucy. This might actually work.”

She hugs me back. “It will. I refuse to believe we will be denied our happy ending.”

“Grandmama?” I say, entering the parlor cautiously. When I find her there alone, I let out my breath. Lord Blackburn must have already left. The loathing I feel for her is almost palpable, but I keep it carefully hidden. “May I ask a favor of you?”

She looks at me with tired eyes. The lines of her face are even more pronounced, but I do not pity her. “Yes, what is it?”

I hold up the carefully folded note. The one steeped in power. My only hope. “Will you make sure this note is sent to Penelope? You may read it beforehand.”

“Why are you bothering me with such a trivial thing?” she demands. “Have the footman add it to the morning post.”

“Because I know you’ve been intercepting my letters,” I say, anger stiffening every muscle in my body. A hopeful little voice whispers that perhaps even incoming mail, particularly from Lord Thornewood, may have been hidden from me as well.

She lets out her breath in a huff. “Very well, let me see it.”

I march over and hand her the note. My nerves fray like old rope as her eyes scan the contents. “I only seek to renew our friendship,” I say.

“I’m not sure what good it will do,” she says, “but you may send your letter.”

“Will you call your footman in now and tell him?”

She gives me a look of utter exasperation. “William!”

The young footman with unfortunate pockmarked skin opens the door. “My lady?”

“Take this note and have it sent to the Hasting’s immediately. It’s to be hand-delivered to Miss Penelope.”

“Right away, my lady.”

She turns to me. “There. Does that satisfy you?”

“Yes, thank you.” I follow the footman out and watch from the top of the stairs until he leaves the house, my note clutched in his hand. Only then do I allow myself a tiny smile to celebrate my first victory.

TWENTY-SIX

T
HE
sun sets on my “full day to prepare” without an answer from Penelope or a visit from Lord Thornewood. I sit on my bed the following morning, staring in numb horror at my packed trunk. Lord Blackburn will be here within the hour.

Lord Thornewood’s face appears in my mind again, and I swallow a sob. Why has he not shown? Is what I am so disgusting, so impossible to love?

All night long, one thought has taken over my mind: Lord Blackburn does not want me as a wife, he wants to use me as an endless source of arcana. He has made it clear he will use any means necessary, and I know he will never stop coming for my family.

My hands shake, and the beautiful dagger Lord Thornewood gave me, the one I clutch desperately, glints in the light. Mama spoke of defensive arcana, and I hope it will aid me when the time comes. I take a shaky breath.

I will never allow him to steal from me again, but there is only one way to stop Lord Blackburn.

The door creaks open, and I quickly hide the dagger in my reticule.

“Wren?” Lucy calls, her face as drawn and wan as mine must be.

I pat the bed beside me. “Come sit.” When she does, I take her hand in mine. “I think it’s time to admit this may actually occur,” I say quietly. Inside, I am crumbling, but I must be strong for Lucy, and for what I must do.

Lucy shakes her head, tears tracking down her face. “We must think of other options.”

But there are no other options, at least none that result in a happy ending for all of us. Lucy and Robert are my everything. I won’t see their lives ruined because of me. Especially since I have lost my chance at love and a happy marriage. Lord Blackburn and Grandmama are right. Who will want me now?

Lucy rummages through my things until she finds Mama’s journal. She hands it to me, her eyes so wide and full of hope it pains me. “Perhaps Mama will know what to do.”

I have opened the journal every day since the moment I regained consciousness. Always it remains blank. As though even my mother has abandoned me.

To appease my sister, I open it, the flower of hope inside me withering as soon as I see the page without a single word.

I squeeze my sister’s hand. “Luce, I have to tell you my real plan.” Her eyes jump to mine, but the hope in them dies almost instantly when she sees the grim resignation reflected there. “Lord Blackburn wants me—or you, if I were to escape—for our arcana. It is clear that Lord Thornewood isn’t coming to our aid—” I grit my teeth as the pain of his rejection grips me once again.

“He may still come,” Lucy says, but her weak tone suggests even she has doubts.

“He may, and no one would be more relieved than I, because it would prevent me from having to do the one thing that will keep Lord Blackburn away from our family.” My hands begin shaking violently again, and I clutch my skirt to prevent Lucy from seeing. How can I tell her what I mean to do, when I can barely think of it?

Lucy’s voice is so low I barely hear it. “You mean to . . . kill him then?”

“Yes,” I say, forcing myself to admit it aloud, to truly acknowledge what I have decided to become. A murderess. “It’s the only way we will ever be free from him. My only chance will be in the carriage as we travel to Scotland.”

“But the carriage driver will know . . . will you have to . . .” She grows even paler, her unspoken words hanging between us.

I shake my head. “I am unsure whether I’m capable of bringing Lord Blackburn to justice, much less an innocent. Which is why once I have done such a thing, I cannot remain here.”

Lucy begins crying in earnest. “Where will you go?”

I wrap my arms around her, swallowing a sob of my own. I thought I had cried myself dry the night before, when I realized that I must leave my family behind and possibly never return. “I will go to Mama’s realm.”

Her head jerks up. “Wren, you can’t! Why do you think Mama never returned? She never mentioned her family—there has to have been a reason. Who knows what awaits you there!”

“I have to, Lucy. What other choice do I have? Think of all the signs Mama left. She would never let any harm come to us, so this has to be what she had in mind. She foresaw this disaster, and she knew this would be the only way.”

“But you
can’t
. . . I just . . . what will we do without you?”

My eyes fill with tears, and I press my fingers against them to make them stop. I haven’t long now, and I don’t want to scare my sister.

“You don’t have to do this,” Lucy says. “We’ll think of something . . . perhaps Papa can—”

“There is no other way,” I say quietly but firmly. “Papa hasn’t the social pull or the assets to stop Lord Blackburn. I will stop him myself and escape to Sylvania. I can’t let him take arcana again from me, Luce.”

Lucy’s eyes refill with tears. “And I would never want such a thing to happen to you again, but
God
. . . how I will miss you!”

“I cannot even think of how much I will miss you.” I hug her tightly. “It’s my hope that once some time has passed, I will be able to return. There is still a chance this will not be a permanent exile.”

Lucy’s eyes refill with tears. “Do you really think so’?”

“I will do everything I can,” I say, but in truth, I haven’t the faintest idea.

She nods, a little calmer, her sobs turn to mere hiccups. I am in no danger of crying. Not anymore. I only feel deadened inside. Like every hope I ever had has been ripped from me.

We both startle when Mary knocks on the door. “May I come in?” she asks.

I kiss the tear falling down Lucy’s cheek. “It will be alright,” I whisper. Louder I say, “Yes, come in.”

Mary bustles in, nervously smoothing her skirt when she sees how distraught Lucy is. “You are wanted downstairs, Miss. Lord Blackburn is here for you.”

“Will someone collect my trunk?”

She nods. “Yes, mum. I’ll have one of the footmen bring it down to the carriage right away.”

“Thank you. You may let Lord Blackburn know I will be down shortly.”

She bobs a quick curtsy, seemingly in a hurry to leave.

I turn to Lucy. “As soon as you can, go home to Papa. Never return to this house again. But in the meantime, play your part.”

She squeezes me as tightly as she used to do when she was little. “I love you, Wren.”

“I love you, too, Luce. With all my heart.” I tip her chin up so I can look into her eyes. “
None
of this is your fault, and there was nothing you could have done differently.” She shifts her gaze to the side, and I know I’ve pinpointed her true feelings. I give her a gentle shake. “None of it, is that clear?”

“Yes.”

I kiss the top of her head and back away, so many emotions churning inside me I’m afraid I’ll burst. Despair bleeds into fear engulfed by a simmering rage. I take one step at a time toward the stairs. I can see the top of Lord Blackburn’s head. I loathe the sight of it. But as I gaze upon his light-colored hair, my mother’s words haunt me.
Two gentlemen will present themselves to you as potential suitors. They will be two sides of the same coin, one dark, one light. Only you will be able to discern which is which, and this will be your greatest challenge.