‘I’m sure he was grateful for the chance,’ I agree, ‘but life wasn’t easy for him. There were a lot of people who despised him for his roots. People who thought he didn’t deserve his place among the lords and ladies, despite his father and his power. He had to work twice as hard to get half the recognition.’
Memories of my father stir, ones long forgotten – the late nights, the meetings, the constant attempts to appease everyone around him without betraying his own morals. Yet somehow he walked that tightrope with precision and a smile on his face. Always gracious, always grateful. He had a skill, a way of getting even the sternest heart to soften around him. Charisma, I suppose.
My heart fills with an unexpected heat. I spent so long with the other version of Father – the drunk so consumed by grief I doubt he would have recognised his own reflection –that I almost blocked out of the memory of who he was before.
And now that I’m remembering, now that my brother is here, I would give anything just to tell him Florian is safe and well, and to feel the strength of his arms around me in a hug. He used to give such fierce hugs.
As the heat in my heart threatens to burn, William clears his throat and I pull myself back into the moment.
‘Sorry,’ I say, forcing a smile to my lips. ‘I was just remembering how powerful he was,’ I lie, although now that’s exactly what I do. ‘And also skilled. Nobody could ever sneak up on him.’ I grin as a memory stirs. ‘We had this game where we would blindfold him, and we’d have to creep up and touch his shoulder before he could turn around and catch us. But he always won. Always. If he hadn’t been such a formidable wind weaver, I could have sworn he had the power to see through theblindfold.’ I laugh as the memories rush in, as fresh as the days they were made. Those days were joyous, and I wish I had truly appreciated them at the time.
I smile at William, grateful to him for bringing old memories to the forefront.
‘He was strong though, right?’ William asks. ‘You said he was powerful, too.’
‘Just a little.’ I grin. ‘Once, he lifted an entire battalion up. He held them a foot above the ground with the power of his wind alone.’
William’s jaw drops. ‘He did not.’
‘He did. I saw it myself.’ As I drift into the memory again, my smile fades slightly. ‘I think he was secretly hoping Kay’s powers would match his own.’
‘Do they?’
‘Not yet,’ I say simply. I take the potion off the heat, smiling in satisfaction at the bright cerulean mixture.
‘He would be so proud to know you followed in his footsteps,’ I say softly. And then I steel myself, for William deserves to know the whole truth of his parents – the good, the bad, and the downright ugly.
Maybe it won’t be so bad for him though. After all, he didn’t have to live through it. ‘It broke him when he thought you’d died,’ I admit. ‘It broke all of us. But Father … he never managed to put himself back together. I don’t think he even wanted to. He didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t have you in it.’
A shadow crosses William’s face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I put him through that. And you, too.’
‘Youdid nothing,’ I say, gripping his shoulders firmly. ‘Absolutely nothing. Do you understand?’
I pause, swallowing the knot forming in my throat. Then I take a breath and deliberately shift my tone. ‘Come on, Kay’s brew is done. Let me show you more plants,’ I say brightly, brushing away the cloud that’s settled over us. ‘What else would you like to learn?’
It’s a clumsy diversion, but thankfully, William doesn’t push further.
‘Well,’ he says, the corner of his mouth lifting, ‘I wouldn’t mind ifyou made me some arrowroot concoction. I’ve heard it can be useful,’ he says with a guileless smile.
Arrowroot tonic is known to dilute the effects of alcohol entering the body, in some cases preventing people from getting drunk at all. Great for lords trying to have the upper hand when they’re in negotiations over a nightcap or two. Of course, incorrectly brewed, and you’ve got a highly toxic compound in your hand.
I offer him my most withering big-sister glower. ‘You’re too young to know about that. And just because you don’t get drunk doesn’t mean it doesn’t cause the same damage to your liver and the rest of your body.’
‘I’m not saying I’m going to use it,’ he protests. ‘But I know some people who’d pay over the odds for the tonic, especially one made by the gifted herself.’ He shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe my sister’s the gifted.’
The pride in his voice causes a glow of warmth to burn within me, although it’s extinguished far too quickly.
‘You do truly understand why people can’t know, don’t you?’ I ask him, needing to hammer the point home, to see it for myself that he understands the severity of his situation. ‘William, the king believes you are dead. He cannot learn otherwise, not ever.’
‘I know,’ William replies, and a sadness glazes his eyes. It makes my heart hurt and I’d do just about anything to make that look disappear from his handsome features.
Anything, including going against my own better judgement.
‘We’ll make a small batch of arrowroot tonic,’ I tell him. His eyes light up the way I hoped they would. ‘Pick me some of that.’ I point to an umber-coloured plant with iridescent leaves. ‘And be careful. The sap can sting.’
Thirty minutes later, we have another basket halfway with a range of plants from vetiver to galangal. William followed every instruction to the letter and asked many questions as we worked. I can already tell he is a boy who loves to learn.
‘Does your magic work the same with all plants?’ he asks now. ‘You can just touch plants and flowers and make them grow?’
