Page 43 of A Heart of Bluestone

Courtney sighs. “Think there will be a long queue?”

I watch the seniors head to the buffet, a lot of nudging, hair ruffling, laughter. I shake my head. “No, we have time. If we go to the gondolas quick, we might be first in line.”

James drops a charcoal stick to the table, then blows a gentle, grazing breath over the dusted page of his sketchbook.

I lift my chin and peer into his private art.

He draws a face.

Not one I recognise, since it’s so clearly far from being anywhere near finished, but I do recognise the rough outlines of a jaw, the arch of brows, the creases at the edges of eyes.

“Well let’s finish up.” Courtney nudges him, shoulder to shoulder. “Are you coming with us?”

James grunts again, and I’m not all that certain he’s actually listening to his sister. He blows a final breath over the charcoal dust on thick parchment, then he gently closes the book over.

He sets it aside, then starts to wipe his stained fingertips on a cloth napkin. “Going skiing,” he says. “I booked a lesson for ten o’clock.”

Courtney’s eyes widen, the same as mine, and we both take in his scrawny, speckled appearance. He’s somewhere between an autumn weed and skinny tree whose roots never quite took to the soil.

“You’re going skiing?” A laugh bubbles up inside of me. I swallow it back down with a mouthful of fluffy porridge. “Good luck with that.”

“I want to learn,” he says, and the glare he throws me is nothing short of moody.

I am unafraid.

His mouth takes a pout. “I’ve been at this academy for ten years.” He shakes his head. “Ten years,” he echoes, and frown forms behind the rim of his glasses. “First year through to sixth year, then a junior, two years a sophomore, a senior now—and I don’t know the first thing about skiing.” He emphasises a bewildered look, as thoughIam the one who’s lost their damn mind. “I should know how to handle myself on the slopes. I should have something to show for almost adecadehere.”

I mean, I don’t know, I can’t relate.

I’m not that great of a skier myself, and snowboards have me on my backend more than upright. Though I do have a mean arm—so I am pretty damn brilliant at darts and pool and archery and even netball.

Still, I avoid sports when I can. Even though there’s a part of me that would kill for a body like Serena’s, lean and firm, as opposed to my slim and soft, but while I would kill for it… I wouldn’t exercise for it. That’s a whole other thing.

“Well, why should you?” Courtney shoots him a tired, withering look. “We live in a city—when are we ever going to go skiing in Scotland?”

“Scotland has plenty of snow,” I put in. “The highlands are loaded with ski resorts, you know. My family owns a cabin in—”

“Of course, they do,” she cuts me off, sharp. “And in France, and in Spain—”

“We have achâteauin France,” I mutter, a light correction, “and anapartmentin Spain.” I leave the rest of the list out.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the hex-bag this morning. And it sure wasn’t me.

“Wedon’t have property all around Europe,” she says, then turns her concerned look on her twin. “So I don’t see any reason you need to learn skiing, James. When are you ever going to ski after we graduate?”

He shrugs, his gaze downcast, as if he dares not look at his scolding sister. She’s got on her nine-minutes-older witch hat.

Oliver does that to me, sometimes. Pulls the whole ‘I was born first’ card. Most of the twin witches do, and there area lotof twin witches. Sort of a thing among our kind. Even Landon had a twin once, but he died in infancy. That, also, is a thing among our kind.

Fleetingly, I wonder if—with my dormant magic—I will have twins? That will be something to smile about. Deadblood, yes, but having twins is the mark of a good witch.

It’s my duty, or it will be my duty as a wife, to provide two offsprings. An heir, like Oliver, and a pawn, like me. One of each.

At least if I had them both at the same time, it’s a one-and-done deal.

Mother had Oliver and I in the one pregnancy. She never tried for more after that.

But then, there are the witches like Amelia. Dray’s mother. I do have a bud of affection for her, however overbearing and overstepping she might be sometimes. That bloom aches for her, just a little, when I think of her lost children.

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