For the next four years.
What chance did he have of keeping the twins undiscovered foryearsfrom a spy within his own household?
Corvin had grown so stressed, he’d begun scratching red trails across the backs of both wrists, a nervous habit he adopted whenever resisting his magic. Baron hadn’t seen him transform once in the week since the ball, as if he were practicing for what he anticipated to be the rest of his life.
That morning, Baron had asked for the boy’s help with the stables, hoping it might be a worthy distraction, which was why Corvin currently stood in the rafters above the newly repaired loose box.
“How does our roof look?” Baron called out.
Corvin strode along a beam, crouched slightly to avoid brushing his head on the ceiling. He never glanced at his feet, never faltered. “That storm really took its toll. I found another three leaks.”
Baron grimaced. “Very well. Come down, if you please. At least until we’ve done the repairs. For all I know, the rafters have taken damage as well.”
Corvin stepped off the beam, catching its edge with his fingers before swinging down to the divider between two stalls, then to the floor. Baron’s gray stallion snorted, unimpressed, though Martin paled as he always did witnessing the boy’s acrobatics. Corvin was in the air more than he was ever on the ground.
“Thank you for the help,” said Baron. “Tell Mr. Shaw I’m sorry to have kept you.”
Corvin rolled his shoulders like a bird settling its wings after flight. “We finished training Ash, so Mr. Shaw’s delivering him to the earl. No work for the next two days.”
The three of them exited the stables into fresh air that was crisp but not cold, the sun shining brightly overhead.
I’d hoped to ask you to dance.
Even thesunlightsomehow reminded him of her.
“Has Mrs. Caldwell been by?” Baron asked.
“Yes, my lord. I was trying to tell you earlier. She delivered a hamlet report, as requested. My written transcription is on the desk in your study.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Martin.”
With a bow, Martin excused himself to confer with Walter about the orchard’s progress.
A small hamlet bordered the western edge of the estate, and Baron’s father had always cared for the people there like his own family. He’d balanced his books well, kept estate staff to a minimum, and performed as many tasks as he could do himself, all in the interest of devoting the reserved funds and resources to the support of others. Baron intended to keep the tradition alive, even if he had to strong-arm a palace steward into doing so until Corvin could assume the title.
As if he’d summoned bad luck by the very thought, a bird warbled somewhere on the estate grounds, and Corvin paled.
“Carriage approaching,” the boy rasped.
That would be the steward. Baron took a deep breath and gripped his brother’s shoulder.
“If you need to fly,” he said, “do it now.”
He’d already discussed additional precautions with the twins in private, though there wasn’t much they could do that wasn’t already being practiced. They only ever transformed in Baron’s room, which he kept locked and forbidden to all staff, evenMartin. No one was surprised to see a Caster keeping secrets or maintaining his own space.
The biggest danger remained, as always, in loss of control. If Baron grew too scared, frantic, or angry, his magic closed off to him. For Affiliates, the effect was inverted—a flood of emotion caused their magic to ignite, and they transformed. The twins had never suffered a full loss of control in public, but there had been many close calls through the years.
“I should be there with you,” Corvin said, though his eyes had gone wide. “To greet him. It’s my ... my responsibility now.”
“Can you do that without transforming?” Pointedly, Baron looked down at Corvin’s arm, where the boy’s nails had dug into the line of red scabs.
Without another word, Corvin took off running toward the manor.
Baron followed at a slower pace, and by the time he reached his room, a black crow sat on his windowsill, pacing with jagged energy. Baron gave his brother an encouraging smile, and the boy took flight at last.
Baron quickly washed his face and changed his shirt, and by the time the carriage pulled up to the house, he stood on the front step to greet it, gloved hands resting on his cane.
The man who descended from the carriage used his own cane for support more than fashion, stooping to the left. It must have been injury rather than age, because his dark hair bore only a touch of gray at the temples. He introduced himself as Auden Huxley.
