Aria’s heart thudded with extra weight in her chest.
“No,” she whispered. “I didn’t think. I only hoped.”
Mark.
She’d hoped to prove to her father she could do something right for the kingdom. Instead, she’d drawn his ire more than ever, and rightfully so.
Shewasa hostage, marching toward death. All his worst fears were confirmed.
“I’m sorry, Father.”
He sighed, raking one hand through his black hair. They sat in cold silence, alone in a stone room too big to be a prison cell but with the feeling of one all the same.
At last, he said, “What of the letter?”
Aria swallowed. “It was a lie.”
Baron tried to keep Huxley separated from Corvin as much as possible, but considering the purpose of his stewardship, it had been a doomed endeavor from the start. After finishing his examination of the estate buildings and grounds, Huxley turned his full attention to preparing its new titled lord.
“Stand up straight,” he barked. “Like a lord ought.”
Corvin snapped to attention. He was being fitted for a suit, since Huxley refused to repeat the embarrassment of greeting a royal visitor “in shambles.” The tailor was one Huxley had summoned, and, unsurprisingly to Baron, the man carried the face of a sour lemon with a personality to match.
“You pricked me,” Corvin said, the reason for his earlier flinch.
The tailor merely rolled his eyes and stabbed another pin through the jacket cuff.
“Rather than making excuses,” Huxley said, “hold still.”
Baron clenched his jaw. He stood at the far side of the room, arms folded over his chest, cane hooked at his elbow. If he stood like a bodyguard, it was purposeful.
“Hold this.” The tailor slapped a piece of chalk into Corvin’s palm, then continued pinning the cuff. After the second pin, Corvin gave another wince.
Even through gloves, Baron’s nails pressed into his arms. “Corvin’s thirteen. He’s already been tested.”
Corvin dropped the chalk as if it were a snake.
The traditional Caster test was done with a cup of water in one hand and a polished stone in the other. The king’s tester made a small cut on the person’s arm, because pain prompted reflexive magic. A Stone Caster would make the stone glow, and a Fluid Caster would do the same with the water.
Affiliate magic didn’t trigger either response; there was only the danger of the Affiliate’s panic triggering an uncontrolled transformation. Baron’s father had coached both of the twins before their tests, ensuring they’d pass.
But Huxley was a new type of stress.
“I’m aware,” said Huxley, shrugging the matter off as if he’d never conducted underhanded tests.
The rest of the fitting continued in tense silence, but at least Corvin was spared further jabs. He was not, however, spared further tests. After the fitting came a handwriting test, a reading test, and a quiz of his knowledge of court procedure. Baron watched with concern as his brother grew more frazzled.
“You have a rash, boy?” Huxley demanded.
Corvin stopped scratching his wrist. Though he sat straight as a rod at the study desk, his eyes darted with growing frequency toward the window.
“Corvin,” Baron said softly.
Those brown eyes had never looked so tormented.
“That’s enough for today. Mr. Shaw will be expecting you; don’t be late.”
The boy bolted for the door, gone before Huxley could voice his stunned protest. Then the man’s brows pulled down, his expression pinching to reflect the same sourness as his tailor.
