Page 23 of A Treason of Thorns

Burleigh’s unhappy with the king’s presence, too. I can feel the House’s discontent seeping up through the soles of my still-bare feet.

“I’m the deedholder,” His Majesty says mildly. He takes out a pristine handkerchief and wipes at a spot of dust on the desk. “The Houses can’t actually deny me without damaging themselves, you know. Though I do try to take their feelings into account whenever possible.”

“Why aren’t you in London?”

I knead my hands together under the desk. The mortar’s faded from the surface of my skin but I can still feel its chill bite. It will never leave me, now I’ve let it in. Any subsequent House magic worked will only add more.

His Majesty shrugs. “I thought I’d take the waters in Bath. Spend the summer there, perhaps. I wouldn’t mind being nearby, to keep an eye on you and the House as you settle in.”

“Leave us alone and we’ll settle in just fine.”

A pair of guards stand in the hallway outside the study door, and having them in the House makes my skin crawl. The floor is fairly vibrating with Burleigh’s discomfort, and a small pewter figurine rattles across the desk and nearly falls. His Majesty reaches out and catches it with one deft, long-fingered hand.

The king smiles, and I force a smile of my own in return. If I don’t settle myself and Burleigh in short order, we’re headed for disaster.

Calm down. Calm down, I think at my frantic House.

A thin stream of plaster dust falls from the ceiling in the far corner of the room.

“I’ve brought you a lovely surprise,” the king says. “His name’s Lord Pottsworth. I know you’d prefer to remain at Burleigh House if it pulls through all this”—he waves vaguely at our dilapidated surroundings—“so I’ve come up with a plan. I think Pottsworth’ll do quite nicely for the new Caretaker, and a husband for you. Then you can stay on here with him, and be with Burleigh House.”

The king beams at me, as if I’m a child to whom he’s just handed a lolly.

“Ibegyour pardon?” I stare at the king in disbelief. “I am not getting married. Not now. Possibly not ever.”

“Oh, come now,” His Majesty says. “Pottsworth’s entirely unobjectionable—you can overrule him about household decisions whenever you like, and as you’ll be satisfied, I suspect the Housewill be as well. So run along, and make yourself charming. You’re getting married.”

I cross my arms, though my heart is pounding in my ears and my hands have started to tremble. It has less to do with my own fear, which I can feel swimming beneath the surface of my conscious mind like a starving shark, and more to do with the furious power churning through the House. “You promised you’d give me time with Burleigh. I’ve had barely a day. I’m not going anywhere, and certainly not to my own wedding.”

His Majesty manages a regretful look. “I’m afraid you are. Burleigh?”

The floor shifts, tipping my chair and spilling me onto the floor. I bark my shin against the corner of the desk and sit for a moment in a miserable heap, fighting back tears and anger and nausea as beneath me, the House’s feelings pulse through my skin.

Sorrow and rage. Sorrow and rage.

His Majesty gets up and stands over me. “Come along then, my dear. Do as you’re told, and everything will go well for you. Disobey, and I will show you how incapable this House is of resisting my orders for long, whatever its sentiments may be.”

Sorrow and rage.

Fear.

And the fear is what breaks me. Wordlessly, I take the king’s hand and let him pull me to my feet, though his touch turns my stomach.

“Good girl.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I knew you’d see reason. You’ve always been a clever thing—far more sensible than your father.”

I say nothing because if I speak, the bitter words that spill out will surely cost both me and my House dearly.

“Go on then,” His Majesty urges. “Do whatever it is young girls do on their wedding days. And smile, Violet. This is a happy occasion, for both you and the House. Soon you’ll have a perfectly serviceable Caretaker to make use of.”

Sorrow. Rage. Fear.

I don’t want anyone else to be Caretaker. Neither does Burleigh. And blood and mortar, I donotwant to get married.

I wander into the hall, hardly able to think through the fog of the House’s feelings and the pressure of its unspent magic. One thing’s clear: I need to get His Majesty off the grounds before Burleigh loses its composure.

“Uncle Edgar,” I say as he joins me in the corridor. “I’m just going to need a moment to get dressed, as you say. Why don’t we meet out in the lane?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Because of Burleigh?”