Page 13 of The Iron Dagger
“What a nurturing soul you have,” she said dryly, passing him on the way to the cottage. “I could make a healer of you yet.”
She turned from the window and went back to her table, taking up the mending for the ruffled shift Gideon hadbeen wearing as a nightshirt. Seraphine watched her needle and thread go in and out of the cloth.
After Hara had gotten over the initial shock of Gideon’s identity, a thought seeped its way into her mind and would not let go: he might know what had happened to her mother. The curiosity burned at her, years of blind hope clawing for knowledge.
“Should I ask him what happened to the arrested sorcerers?” she asked Seraphine. “How does one bring up such a subject? ‘Gideon, do you know anything about a magical prison?’”
Seraphine watched her, purring gently. Hara sighed.
The problem was his lingering prejudice against witches. She was uncertain how deeply it ran and how dangerous it might be to reveal her past. It was tempting to believe that he would be understanding and willingly share his knowledge, but he could just as easily betray her to his father as soon as he arrived home. If only she could ease his mistrust of magic-folk.
She made a few more stitches, and the thought occurred to her that she was not obligated to teach this stubborn man about the complex beauty of her craft. He had seen and felt for himself the power of her healing magic; his cough was all but gone, and his foot and knee were mending without a hint of infection. Without her skill, he would have died soon after that first night from fever and dehydration alone. If he came away from this experience and still continued to distrust magic-folk, then she did not know what would convince him. And even if she did change his mind, she could not make him care about her or her mother.
Bitter wind swirled into the cottage as Gideon entered, and he snapped the door shut behind him. His nose and hands were red from the cold, and he gave her a tightening of the mouth that could be mistaken for a smile. Hara rose to go to thefire, and she ladled up some bubbling stew into two bowls. She passed one to Gideon, and they ate in silence while Hara worked up her courage. How to begin?
“Tell me about your father,” she said finally.
Gideon’s spoon paused on its journey to his mouth. “What about him?”
“Whatever comes to mind,” she said.
He resumed eating, taking his time to answer. It was the first time they had spoken of Gideon’s father since the night she learned who he was.
“He is brilliant,” Gideon finally said. “I’ve never met anyone with a finer mind for business or politics. He has tried to tutor me in his methods, but I’m not sure if it stuck.”
“I’ve heard he does not favor magic,” she said lightly. It was clear that he admired his father, so she had to be careful not to anger him.
Gideon let out a long breath through pursed lips. “I thought you may have heard of that.”
“Is that where you get it from?” she asked, trying to sound teasing. Inwardly, she could feel all her rage and fear awakening from long-neglected corners of her mind.
“No. If you’ll believe it, I was indifferent toward witches until I was poisoned,” he said. “Then I wondered if all the stories they tell in the north were true.”
“What stories?”
“That witches are malevolent tricksters not to be trusted,” he said. She could not hide her scowl, and he quickly amended, “Not to sound ungrateful. You’ve proven that is not true for all witches.”
So it was not a deep-seated mistrust after all, thought Hara. Just ignorance.
“If only your father could see that,” she said. “Did he not send witch hunters to capture all the sorcerers connected to the royal family?”
“That was many years ago,” said Gideon with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Since then, he has welcomed sorcerers to work in service to Corvus.”
“And what happened to the captured sorcerers?” asked Hara, her heart in her throat. She did not find it likely that Corvus would allow the Ilmarinen’s inner circle to walk freely as members of his court.
“I don’t know. As I said, it was long ago. I’m sure they were given trials and were served justice,” he said, spooning up more stew.
Hara fought to keep her hand from trembling. What little care he had. She almost envied him for his ignorance. It was clear he did not know what had happened to her mother, but she seriously doubted that fair trials were given to those captured.
Gideon would leave here and go on living his life of privilege, blithely unaware that the woman who saved his life was still haunted by nightmares of her escape. Her lungs felt as though they were filled with burning air, her breaths becoming rapid and shallow.
Appetite gone, Hara lay down her spoon. It was likely that all in the city of Perule were as nonchalant about the coup as Gideon, and many probably justified it. They would have been fed the sanitized version, the victor’s story. Commander Falk would continue to be the hero with no one to question his crimes, and magic-folk would continue to live on the fringes.
There was nothing to be done to make Gideon understand. Mere words would neither stop him from loving his father nor convince him to go against everything he had been taught.
Then the idea came to her. Unpleasant as it was, he needed to see. He needed to know what happened that night so many years ago.
She waited for him to finish his meal, and then she spoke.
