Page 15 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
I found myself too interested as to why Blackthorn had mud on his boots despite the lack of rain, and how he had appeared from the shadows without even a hint of magic to give him away.
‘Did you paint these?’ he asked quietly and I was horrified to see the papers in his lap weren’t papers at all. He was looking through my paintings.
Blurry watercolour memories of my mother, soft features filled with a sharp wit, her unruly dark hair and freckled skin. Next, the kind eyes of my father, the same colour as my own. The beauty of the village I’d grown up in, the endless magical wood around our small cottage.
Then came the dark ink drawings of the Institute, the city smoke and the sharp angled faces of the horrid creatures who lived there. The only softness in that section coming from small drawings of Alma as she worked, always pensive and staring off into the distance, wishing perhaps to be somewhere else.
‘Yes.’ I cleared my throat, watching helplessly as he continued to flick through my illustrations, turning and adjusting them to better see the detail in each one. Like peeling back layersof my very soul, seeing things I knew I shouldn’t have left unguarded.
I didn’t reach for the file, didn’t dare expose another weakness.
‘Master Hale said you came to the Institute at twelve years old?’ he continued in a tone no more intimate than if he were discussing the weather, and not my tragic childhood.
‘I came from a children’s home. Daunton Hall.’ I tried to keep my voice neutral, knotting my fingers together in my lap so they didn’t tremble.
‘Daunton,’ he pondered absently. ‘The records were always unclear as to whether anyone survived the fire.’
My magic simmered in my blood at the unease that rushed through me. The flames in the hearth next to us flaring before I could stop it.
I didn’t discuss Daunton. Not with anyone. It was nothing but a reminder of my grief. The bitter and all-consuming nature of it.
Daunton Hall. Where fey children were left to be forgotten, orphans from a war they’d rather not remember. There was no relief in knowing Master Daunton had been exposed and they’d found the unmarked graves of the children he made suffer. They were just bones now, with nobody left to remember they had ever existed.
‘I did.’ It was the only truth I offered. The only one I could stomach. ‘I was discovered not long after, my ease with spellcasting and summoning declared a marvel despite my lack of training.’
An entertainment for the Institute, after all, a free Kysillian was something the Council needed to keep an eye on. My control over magic was something they didn’t like, even if they’d been convinced I didn’t possess a spark of my ancestors’magic, that any ancient flames in my blood had long been smothered and the Kysillian power was dead, just as their many mortal kings had wished.
‘The council suspected the fire was an act of rebellion, but they shut down the investigation when they saw just how guilty Master Daunton was.’ His innocently curious words pierced my chest with uncontrollable fear. The taste of smoke on my lips. Dark things I refused to remember.
Murderer.A voice hissed through my mind before I could shake the thought away.
‘That’s how Master Hale found you?’ He raised a brow, the façade of aloofness lifting slightly for me to see that sharp interest in his eye. As if the details mattered.
‘The Council needed fey children to fill their quota for the peace treaty. That’s all that Master Hale said.’
There had been seven of us at the start. Fey children with perfect control of their magic, each submissive and willing to learn. Willing to be moulded by council rule, to prove it was possible for peace. All in the hope of being set free – back into the world we’d been stolen from.
Now there was only me.
A cold dread licked down my spine at the thought as I pushed my loose hair behind my ears, eager to get off the subject. ‘I was moved to the Institute for mere amusement.’
That truth I hated most of all.
‘Are they still amused?’ he asked, his gaze brushing over the sharp point of the ear I’d revealed without thinking.
‘No.’
His soft, curious gaze assessed every inch of my face, as if I were a riddle he was trying to solve.
‘The first act of a partnership isn’t usually to defend the applicant against corruption charges or dark summoning.’
I bristled at that, straightening the sleeves of my robe. ‘I’m certain Master Hale made you aware of my …situation.’
‘Cleaning up your mess in the ruins left me little time to converse with the old bastard.’ His smile was small with secret amusement. ‘If I was more vainglorious, I’d assume the whole production was simply to get my attention.’
My cheeks heated at the insinuation, mostly because that was exactly what it looked like.
‘I doubt there would have been much point in that, my lord, considering the Council records have you listed as deceased,’ I pointed out wryly.
