Page 7 of Veiled in Stars and Silver
I let out a fast breath. “Uncle, I—”
“This is quite the specimen.” He held up the dagger toward the light. “Where did you get it?”
The challenge in his steely gaze dared me to lie to him. I was caught. If I told him a lie, he’d know right away, and I’d be punished. If I told him the truth, I’d be dead. Uncle didn’t care for me. He simply didn’t want me to be a nuisance, which I had a tendency to be. But I understood how he worked.
Tarnish his good name, and he’d end me.
Better punished than dead. “I found it.”
“Where?”
“On the road near Kensington Gardens.”
He didn’t react, which made me more worried. Lying straight to his face while we both knew I was being untruthful was defiant even for me. I might as well have spat on him and stated outright that I wasn’t telling.
“I think I will keep this.” He slipped the dagger into his pocket and turned away.
“No, Uncle.Please—”
When he spun to look at me, the angry threat in his eyes made me recoil. “Get changed. We are going out to practice.”
I swung my blade and danced back as my cousin, Ezra, counterattacked. He was bigger and stronger, but I knew enough tricks to offset his natural advantage. Ezra, however, also knew my tricks. He pressed me, not allowing me the time to capitalize on his slower movements. Our swords clashed in a series of swift strokes.
Uncle, with his frosty glare observed from the sidelines, noting every poor execution, every mistake. He leaned on an unopened umbrella he’d requisitioned as a few flurries had struck the carriage on the ride out. “Whoever loses gets fifteen lashes.”
That sent me on high alert. Uncle was in the mood to hurt.
Ezra also became much more concentrated in his hits. But he wasn’t as good as me. My cousin enjoyed books and arguing about biology with his academically-minded friends. He hated fighting, and it showed. Some nights, when I felt particularly bad that he had a father like Uncle, I’d take the fall, and the lashes, for him.
Not tonight. Tonight, I had something to prove.
I lunged, taking advantage of an easy opening. Ezra was unable to parry. One more move and I’d have him.
Uncle stuck out his umbrella, smacking it against my shins. I gasped, hitting the ground hard. Ezra lunged to strike at my prone form, but I rolled, knocking his sword to the side and sweeping hislegs from under him, laying him out on his back. I jumped onto him and pressed my blade to his throat.
“Y-yield,” he panted.
Anger coursed through my veins, and I turned to Uncle, ready to accuse him of cheating. The red mottled look on his face stopped me, as I realized too late that tonight of all nights I should have taken the defeat. Uncle wanted to punish me, and instead, I’d humiliated his son.
“Go work on your throwing,” he said through clenched teeth. He marched over to the weapon rack and pulled down the whip before pointing at Ezra. “Shirt off.”
I felt sick. Only when Uncle was in his worst moods would he strike us with our shirts off. I cast an apologetic glance toward Ez, guilt curling in my stomach. Uncle’s mood was my fault. But both of us knew better than to question his demands, so I picked up my throwing knives while Ezra took off his shirt.
I walked through the field, flinching every time I heard the whip snap across my cousin’s skin. The healed over marks on my own back stung with each hit. He took it silently. We always took it silently. If we didn’t, Uncle didn’t stop at five, or ten, or whatever number he doled out. He kept going till we learned to shut our damn mouths.
A lesson about life, he usually said.Complaining doesn’t do shit. So shut your mouth and take your dues.
The targets for the throwing knives were near the trees farthest from Uncle’s manor. We were at a small estate outside the city, about a two-hour ride by carriage from our home in London. When my parents had died a few months after John and Michael disappeared,Uncle Reuben had taken over my home, and taken charge of me as well. Now, except for when he took us to the countryside, we spent most of our time in London, where Uncle more easily maneuvered among the social circles of the semi-elite. Ezra and I were only along for the ride.
I pulled the first knife. The lanterns hanging off the surrounding trees gave the only light. Throwing at night made hitting the target more difficult, but if I could throw in the darkness, then reaching my mark in daylight would be all the easier. The blade struck wide of the bullseye, landing several rings out. A breath of frustration escaped. In my mind, Hook’s blue eyes mocked me.
I saw him in every target. Tonight, I was particularly infuriated, and not just because Ezra was getting whipped on my behalf. No fairy dust. No dagger. All these years of practice to take on the evil kidnapping son of a bitch, and still I wasn’t any closer to achieving my goals.
Fly to Neverland. Find my brothers. Take revenge on James Hook.
Drawing another knife, I aligned my throw more carefully before releasing. It hit only an inch outside the bullseye. I frowned. Close. But close wasn’t good enough to face off against the dread pirate captain of Neverland.
I adjusted my large boy’s coat and cap, shoving up the sleeves of my buttoned shirt that had rolled too far down before grabbing another knife. Uncle only let me practice at night, dressed like a boy, even though I swore there was nobody around to tell. Buta girl learning how to fight was about the most improper thing imaginable.
