I put my hand on the door handle. “You might as well tell Mage Wolfson you won’t do it. Let him kill me. It won’t be more painful than this.”
“You don’t mean that,” Ronan said.
I did mean it.
I left the room and slammed the door behind me, a thing no servant was allowed to do.
I don’t remember the walk to the kitchen. I only remember thinking I might as well face the other servants now because my heart had already been torn from my chest, and I’d hardly notice more scorn.
When they saw me, they gasped and shrunk away as though I was a wraith. Cook Lindon took hold of my shoulders, gaped at my face, and demanded to know what had happened. I told them. I didn’t even spare Ronan the detail of his agreeingto burn down the village. I should’ve been vague about the particulars of what the wizard commanded him to do, but my mind wasn’t working clearly. I wasn’t even aware I’d started crying again until I felt the tears falling on my hands. I stared at the drops on my skin like they were foreign things.
Cook Lindon washed the dried blood off me as best she could, gave me a sleeping draught, and sent me to the sick room to rest. I was too shaken to do anything but comply.
The next morning, the housekeeper told me I was no longer to take food or retrieve dishes from Ronan’s room. At his request, another serving girl had been assigned the task.
I might have marched out of the castle and kept going until I cast myself into the sea. Only one thought saved me from complete despair. Ronan had been upset when he banished me from his life. He’d been angry with himself for not being able to protect me. He would think better of his edict soon. He would arrange a way to meet with me in secret. If no one saw us, Mage Wolfson wouldn’t know Ronan still cared for me. We’d both climbed Docendum’s walls enough times we could sneak out of the grounds without detection.
Ronan left that day with Charles, the other apprentice whom Wolfson had commanded to take part in the burning. Charles had never shown signs of a conscience, which didn’t bode well for the people of Colsbury.
I wanted to warn the villagers, but Colsbury was a two-day ride—and in which direction, I knew not. Still, as I fed the pigs, I repeated the words of the incantation Ronan used to turn himself into a falcon. If I soared around the area, I might spot Charles and Ronan on the road. If I knew which way they were headed, perhaps I could fly ahead and find the village.
Only the most powerful wizards could transform into animals, but my magic was a graft of Ronan’s, and he’d managed the transformation during his first few weeks at Docendum.
Nothing happened, no matter how many times I said the words. Although my mark had continued to grow, my magic was still too small or I was too unlearned for such a feat. I trudged back to the kitchen feeling ill.
No one expected the two apprentices back for four days. If I’d been in Ronan’s place, I would’ve left Charles after the first night, alerted the villagers, and struck out on my own. If Ronan refused to carry out Mage Wolfson’s orders, he’d have to come back to fetch me. Otherwise, the wizard would kill me in retribution.
We could leave for a new life together.
A wishful fantasy, perhaps, but I slept by the door each night, boots on, lest he come for me.
After four days, Ronan and Charles returned to Docendum. While I cleaned the hen house, they rode through the gates and took their horses to the stables. Ronan’s face betrayed no emotion. It was carefully masked in indifference. Ashy dust covered the bottom of his cloak. He must have walked through the village of Colsbury after they’d burned it.
I felt like I would choke. One moment, I wanted to yell at him for such heartlessness, the next I was positive he hadn’t complied with the wizard’s order. Certainly, when the time came, Ronan had refused to set the fires—had tried to stop them—and Charles had carried out the deed.
Perhaps Ronan’s cloak had swept through ashes as he’d frantically searched for survivors to help. Perhaps he’d found a way to spare some. Or perhaps he’d forever be tormented by the smell of the smoke and the villagers’ screams.
I waited for Ronan to send word to me.
He didn’t.
Over the next few days, when I saw him crossing the courtyard, he purposely stared elsewhere. Mage Wolfson was right, my scars were a reminder, and Ronan couldn’t bear to seethem. I just wasn’t sure what my scars reminded him of: his failure to help me or the villagers. Maybe he simply felt guilty he’d stopped loving me when ugliness replaced my beauty.
I became reckless. At night while the others slept, I murmured the invisibility incantation and snuck downstairs to Docendum’s library of magic books. The wizards had set wards around the room to keep those without magic out. Those failed to deter me. I took book after book from the shelves. I read to spite Ronan, to spite Mage Wolfson.
I gravitated to those books that dealt with spells to incapacitate one’s enemies. I never wanted to be at anyone’s mercy again, especially Wolfson’s. I found no spell that could erase scars, though I searched. One of the books contained a beauty potion, but I didn’t have access to any of the ingredients it required—a ground pearl being one of that list, a columbine grown in the snow another.
As the weeks went by, I still held out hope, faint though it was growing, that Ronan would contact me. We’d been each other’s dearest friends for years, and more than friends the last year. He must miss me. Eventually, he would relent.
Three months after the tower room, when I was helping to serve the apprentices supper in the dining hall, Mage Wolfson took notice of me. Ronan sat on his left side and the wizard checked to see if his eyes were following me. They weren’t, of course. They never did now.
Mage Wolfson picked up a slice of cheese. “I’ve been thinking of selling some servants to Lord Haddock.” He bit into a slice, chewing while he considered. “Which of the serving girls do you think I should let him have?”
Ronan’s gaze flicked to mine, letting me know that even though he never acknowledged my presence, he still knew where I was. His eyes left mine just as quickly. He dipped his bread in the porridge as though the topic wasn’t bothersome. “You shouldsell Marcella.” He offered me up without hesitation. He said no other words and gave no explanation.
I nearly spilled the drink I was pouring. My throat felt tight. Breathing was hard. This was my home, and Cook Lindon was the closest thing I had to a mother. Ronan knew that.
The wizard chuckled. “You’ve learned your third lesson well.”