Page 64 of The Shadow Wand

She’s just a child. She shouldn’t be working as a virtual slave in this house for this cruel woman in this hostile land. What she needs is to get to the Eastern Realm, and fast.

“Let me do that, Effrey,” I offer, and she flinches, hunches down, and looks at me once more with obvious fright. I immediately regret scaring her.

There’s a perfunctory knock at the door, and we all pause and turn toward the sound as Sparrow smoothly hastens across the room and opens it.

Oralyyr, the dour Urisk woman who met me at the carriage, stands in the hall.

She shoots me a withering glare then thrusts a parchment-wrapped bundle into Sparrow’s arms. “I’ll be back for the clothing she’s wearing after she changes into this,” Oralyyr snipes to Sparrow before scowling at me once more and stalking off.

Sparrow closes the door, turns, and folds back the parchment to reveal a glittering gown. She walks back to the bed, pulls the garment fully free of its covering, and lays it out on the bed’s quilted surface. Her expression puzzled, she draws back and blinks at the dress as if thrown by it, but seems to quickly collect herself.

“For tonight’s ball, Mage,” she informs me with a slight bow and a formal air, but I can sense her lingering confusion in the tightness around her eyes.

Apprehension constricts my throat as I scrutinize the garment, even as part of me can’t help but be awed by its spectacular beauty.

It’s blazingly scandalous.

The sumptuous black silk of the dress’s formfitting tunic and long-skirt shimmers a lustrous red at the folds as the room’s lantern and woodstove light flicker over it. Rubies are splashed over the entire garment in a blessing-star design, the scarlet constellation thickening at the hems, and I note that the tunic is both close-fitting and low-cut, black lace edging the collar.

Deeply perplexed, I run a finger over the bumpy, glittering clusters of gems along the tunic’s edging as the Urisk girls return to the bustle of organizing my things and preparing the room.

My apprehension sharpens.

Both the overabundance of red and the fit are bound to attract censure in an increasingly strict Gardneria. And it’s clear from the design of this estate and from Evelyn Grey’s own garb that Lukas’s mother is even stricter than my aunt in all things. So, why would she want me to wear this outrageous, borderline-scarlet dress? And how did Mage Grey guess my size? Has she been in touch with my vile aunt?

“Sparrow,” I ask as I study the dress uneasily, “do you know if Lukas is expected at tonight’s ball?”

“Yes, Mage,” she affirms, her gaze fixed on the dress, as well.

A brittle crash sounds out, startling us both, and we turn to find Effrey surrounded by pieces of the horrible Icaral vase. The child bursts into tears, appearing as if she just stepped into the middle of her most dreaded nightmare. Sparrow freezes, staring at the shattered bits, her mouth agape.

The longer Effrey cries, the smaller and skinnier she starts to look.

I hold up a hand. “I broke it,” I say firmly, my voice louder than usual as I struggle to be heard over Effrey’s distraught sobs.

Effrey swallows back her tears and stares at me, her whole body convulsing with hiccups. Sparrow has grown several shades paler and is also staring at me, wide-eyed.

“I broke it,” I insist again. “I didn’t like it, so it’s no great loss. We’ll clean it up and tell Mage Grey that I’m not fond of all these vases and would prefer that they be removed from the room.” My heart is racing.This certainly won’t help me deal with Lukas’s awful mother.

It takes Sparrow a moment to find her voice. “Y-yes, Mage,” she finally stammers.

Effrey is still quietly hiccuping and blinking at me in evident confusion as I lower myself and begin picking up the knifelike shards.

“No, Mage,” Sparrow insists. “You shouldn’t be doing that. Come, Effrey,” she says, placing her hand gently on the child’s back. “Let’s clean up the pieces.”

A moment later, the child is crying again, having cut herself on a shard of vase.

I go to Effrey and kneel down before her, pull a handkerchief from my tunic’s pocket, and apply pressure to her trembling, cut palm. A bloodstain quickly fans out over the white linen, overtaking the fine Ironflower embroidery.

“Get some Singeroot tonicand a bandage,” I direct Sparrow, flabbergasted at little Effrey’s ability to get herself into one scrape after another. “I’ve some apothecary training. I can take care of her.” Keeping pressure on the wound, I indicate the chair beside us with a tilt of my head. “Effrey,” I say gently, holding the child’s cowering gaze, “we’re going to get this all fixed up, and then you’ll sit down and rest while I help Sparrow get things done.”

“Singeroot tonic is expensive, Mage,” Sparrow tells me, her tone surprisingly blunt. “Mage Grey willneverapprove of its use on servants.”

“Ancient One,” I mutter, disgusted by these horrible rules and by Lukas’s repulsive mother. I meet Sparrow’s level gaze. “Then tell Oralyyr that I cut myself when I broke the vase,” I offer.

A grim understanding seems to pass between us, and Sparrow nods then leaves to gather the healing supplies.

Not too long after, Effrey is patched up and whimpering softly, curled into a tight ball on the chair, the tree quilt wrapped around her small form.

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