Page 22 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
Another topic Master Hale told me to keep away from. Montagor had made himself the expert on fey attacks and wild magic. Giving himself jurisdiction to persecute fey without just cause. His radical followers were devout to his dogma, calling him a saint in mortal form.
‘With the unrest in the north, the rebellion appears to be knocking at our door, Councilman. I for one am not seeking to open it for them just yet,’ Master Hale added. Another uprising was coming. A truth they couldn’t deny much longer.
‘As Miss Woodrow has accepted her partnership, I’d like her key to access the mage facilities.’ Blackthorn held out his hand expectantly and I watched as Master Grima’s face went almost purple with rage.
‘No fey has ever been allowed in the Grand Library!’ Ainsworth half-spewed the words.
‘It seems you’ll need to contact the records department,’ Blackthorn mused. ‘I’m certain they’ll be thrilled to update their files.’
‘They’re a risk to the texts!’ Madame Bernard hissed, taking a cautious step back from all the hideous evidence now covering the desks.
‘You can charge me for the damage,’ Blackthorn replied quickly, undeterred, and still holding out that dark gloved hand. ‘Her key, if you’d be so kind.’
Master Ainsworth let out a cursing breath before he reluctantly began to rummage in the desk drawer. One of the most prized items, and it just sat in his drawer. It felt like a slap in the face.
‘You cannot be serious, Blackthorn,’ Master Stone bristled. ‘Thatthinghas been running rampant for too long.’ He threwhis yellowed finger in my direction, leering over his desk so suddenly I flinched. Forgetting the company we were in, the years that had past. Somehow, the one slap I’d been given by the hateful councilman had remained with me, just like the ones from Daunton. Every strike still fresh, still burning upon my flesh with the shame of it.
‘It—’ Master Stone’s next slight didn’t escape his thin lips. No, his face had gone quite pale, hand grasping at his neck as he slumped back into his chair, trying to drag in air that rattled worryingly in his chest.
‘You don’t seem yourself, Master Stone,’ Emrys offered conversationally, leaning into his palms that he braced on the table, as if he had all day to stand in the odious man’s presence.
Master Stone coughed suddenly, greedily dragging in a breath. His hateful eyes remained on the lord before him despite how his fingers trembled, disregarding Madame Bernard, who scrambled to give him water. She was looking quite pale herself.
‘I’m fine,’ Stone half-croaked.
‘I’m certain Miss Woodrow has many things to be getting on with and entertaining this council isn’t on that list,’ Blackthorn finished with menacing authority.
Having no choice but to sit there gawping at Blackthorn’s boldness, I tried to pretend such disregard for the Council was natural to me, despite the sweat gathering at my palms and the nauseating swirl of my magic deep in my gut.
Sensing my unease, Blackthorn turned his attention to me.
‘I have some remaining questions for Master Ainsworth and his questionable collection of compendiums, Miss Woodrow.’ He nodded, those eyes so dark I wondered if it was a trick of the light as they suddenly shifted to a more mortal grey in the blink of an eye. ‘You’re free to continue with your day.’
I didn’t wait to be told twice. Standing and giving him and the Council a respectful bow, I left the chaos behind me, trying my best to keep my steps measured.
I knew without a doubt Alma was going to murder me. Not only had I riled up the Council, but I’d also got myself partnered up with a lord who was clearly insane and took enjoyment from humiliating them on my behalf. Something I knew they wouldn’t be in a hurry to forget.
Chapter Seven
You don’t belong here, Katherine, but if you let me, I can help you find somewhere you can.
Master Hale’s first words echoed in my mind frequently, but never more so than when I’d made a mistake.
A simple offer as he crouched before me on the worst day of my life. The strange, tall man who should have scared me, but something about his size, the calmness in his voice and the honesty in his eyes that reminded me vividly of my father.
On that day, I’d needed my father more than ever and he wasn’t there. He never would be again, so I clung to Master Hale, foolishly hoping he wasn’t like all the others.
He had never disappointed me. It turned outIwas the one who had become the disappointment.
I couldn’t rid myself of the guilt. Not even as I stood beyond those Council chambers to wait in the hall. I would have returned to the portal and Blackthorn Manor, but I didn’t know the way, not from the mages, entrance and I didn’t fancy trying to talk to Clerk Roberts again.
So, I wandered the small reading area just beyond the Council Chamber.
Finding little interest in the modest collection of poetry on the back shelves, I occupied myself by studying the painting framed above the grand fireplace. The violence depicted in vivid oil paints on the large canvas. The night King Balin the third was beheaded by his wife, a suspected sorceress and fey sympathiser.
Stories said the King had built temples to the Old Gods beneath his castle, paved with fey bones, and drank ancient creatures, blood in sacrifice to the darkness. How he’d met his end, driven mad by the dark he worshipped and by the tip of his wife’s sword.
The world was supposed to heal under a Queen’s rule, fey set free from the mines and liberated, only for her to be drowned in the west river as a Verr witch, and for her son to take the throne, leading us to the mess we were in now. To that Mage King that had ruined my life. Taken everything so easily. Who had carried on his father’s vile practices. Only to be overthrown by the Council, whom I finally understood were no better.
