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He cleared his throat. “Fascinating.”
Wasn’t it, though? There was a plaque hanging on the courtyard wall all about the building’s origins, or I’d have no idea. “Sure. It’s one of the oldest remaining structures in the city. It lacks the grace of the buildings that went up after the great war, but it makes up for that in draftiness and solidity.”
“Draftiness is a beneficial trait?”
“Of course. It lends so much charm and atmosphere to the place. I mean, I’ve felt like it was haunted my whole life.”
“You’ve never lived anywhere else?”
I took a breath and then gulped down the liquid in my cup as quick as possible. Gag. So disgusting, but I wouldn’t throw up. “Nope. I was born there. Actually, Earl delivered me. He tells me stories about it way too often. My mom had no one else, so he let her stay and work at the healery, even if she’s not the greatest.”
He stood up suddenly, still holding his teacup. “I would like to show you something, if you would be so kind. It’s in the grand hall.”
“Imagine there being a room in this place that I’ve never seen.”
“Sarcasm is only affective when familiarity is present. Do you consider us on familiar terms?”
I swallowed hard. After two months of tea parties, he was still as distant and professional as a hired psychiatrist. “No, sir.”
He shook his head slightly and led the way out of the tea parlor, down a long hall with subtle white pillars, and then through double doors and into a ballroom, whatever he called it. He walked to the side, where a fabulous set of stairs came down, with a landing a dozen steps up before they divided into two separate sets that led up into wherever. Was this going to be funny business? I hadn’t gotten a flicker of that vibe in two months, so it was doubtful, but that he’d stayed here for two months, taking tea with me and talking about history and law, which were fascinating, but not what I was there to do, it wasn’t likely.
“I commissioned that portrait directly after we were married,” he said, nodding to the wall above the landing. The painting was enormous, the figures in it larger than life and sparkling with color and energy.
I whistled. “That’s a good painting. The way it comes to life in the light, it’s probably enchanted.”
“That’s right.”
“You were married? What happened to her?” I walked up the stairs, drawn by the bright beautiful paint to the figures standing so still and perfect. He stood to her right, hand on her shoulder, while she held a ball of magic in her hands. She was beautiful, with raven’s hair, and intense blue eyes, with perfect red mouth and rose-tinted cheeks in her otherwise unblemished, perfect skin.
She looked familiar. I took a few more steps until I was on the edge of the platform, staring at the woman who looked fiercely competent and proud, as regal as she was beautiful, and completely aware of her position and accomplishments.
I squinted at it, and it almost looked… I mean, the shape of the eyes were similar to my mom’s, only younger, and her hair wasn’t streaked with silver, and her face wasn’t horribly scarred, and…
I jerked away from the painting, forgetting that I was at the top of the stairs, and would have fallen painfully if my father hadn’t caught me, then stood me on my feet, standing next to me with enormous, terrifying wings outstretched above us. I stared at him as he stared at the portrait.
“You married my mother?”
“Mm. That’s not what I brought you here to see. Do you know what she’s holding?”
I swallowed my growing shock and turned to reexamine the portrait. “Magic, but not healer magic. Is that lightening?”
“It is a soul encased in energy. She is a sorcerer, actually ranked as the Grand Sorcerer before she disappeared.”
I stopped breathing, just staring at him until I felt like my eyes would bleed. “You’re wrong. First off, she’d be a sorceress, not a sorcerer, and second, she’s a healer. She doesn’t do dark magic. She’s a healer. That’s all. You can’t fake that.”
He turned to study me for a long moment. “Your bird, it’s dead, but has a soul tied to it that keeps it animated. Were you truly unaware?”
I turned and left, taking the steps two and three at a time. I was halfway to the door when he came down in front of me, still winged, even though the rest of him looked terrifyingly human.
“Where are you going? You shouldn’t leave in a panic, but stop and process. Perhaps on the roof.” He picked me up and launched us up, through large windows that he opened with his blazing eyes, filled with magic and rage and a million other things that no way I was related to.
When he came out on the roof beneath the afternoon sky, I was trying to kick my way out of his arms, but not when I saw the drop, because it was really far, so I wrapped my arms around his neck, instead.
He landed on the top roof of the house, five stories above the ground, and set me down. I took two steps away from him while panic and a million confusing thoughts tumbled through my head. My mom wasn’t a sorcerer. Poe wasn’t dead. This guy hadn’t actually married my mom, who had been some literally enchanting woman more beautiful than anyone could be.
“The painter exaggerated her looks,” I finally said, which was the stupidest thing to point out, but I had to break down his argument, so I would start with facts.
“He tried to make her less otherworldly and dramatic, but the likeness was quite close.”
