Page 24 of A Treason of Thorns

My face burns as I answer. “Yes. Because of Burleigh.”

“Oh, very well.” The king runs a finger along the study doorpost, and the whole frame shudders. “You have your work cut out for you here if you’re going to stave off the inevitable, Violet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a House in such a state.”

I swallow back a retort, reaching out and resting a comforting hand on the nearest wall instead. But as I do, the icy bite of House magic gnaws at my skin, turning my fingertips grey.

Burleigh’s doleful, apologetic even, and yet here it is. My second dose of House magic since waking. I’d make a widower of Lord Pottsworth in a month, at this rate.

“Well, I’ll see you shortly, Uncle Edgar,” I say with half a curtsy, and hurry up the stairs. All the way to the second floor, I run my hand along the banister and watch as more mortar spreads through my veins.

What can I do, though? Burleigh needs help and it’s not in me to refuse my House, whatever the cost.

By the time I shut the bedroom door, my skin is grey to the wrists and I can hardly feel my hands. Nevertheless, I sink down next to the bed and press my numb fingers to the floor.

“Peace, Burleigh,” I whisper. “Peace.”

But the House’s anguish and rage and fear at the king’s presence are all still roiling in its walls, and in my blood. I squeeze my eyes shut, because my head feels fit to burst and the light hurts me.

Cold creeps further and further up my arms.

Distantly, I hear a whine of hinges as the bedroom door opens, and then Wyn’s voice cuts through the fog of Burleigh’s pain or my own, I’m not entirely sure which it is anymore. But that can’t be right. Wyn left.

“You’ve got to stop this,” he says sharply, his tone all splinters and thorns.

“I’m not doing anything!” I manage to protest. My eyes fly open as Wyn settles on his knees in front of me and takes both my hands in his own. I may not be able to feel much, but I can feel that.

“Not you. The House. I’ll torch it myself if it doesn’t stop.”

A fierce gust of rain lashes the window in response. Is it raining? The sky was clear a moment ago, unless I’ve been sitting here taking in mortar for longer than it seems. I’m not used to Burleigh’s sudden changes anymore—they were once a matter of course, andnow they take me by surprise.

“That’s enough,” Wyn says, and I know he’s not speaking to me this time because there’s something fierce and compelling about his voice, like I’ve never heard before.

Immediately, the pressure in my head lets up as Burleigh’s focus shifts. Slowly, slowly, warm and living blood runs back through my veins. The icy touch of mortar begins to let up as its flow reverses, draining out of me and into Wyn. When I look at him, his eyes are fixed on mine, but vacant and unseeing.

“Wyn?” I breathe. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer—just sits there, and it’s as if his body is nothing but an empty shell.

I look down at our clasped hands. Wyn’s are pale as ever, and dusted with a few freckles, but there’s no sign of the mortar that’s leaving me to run beneath his skin. No grey poison threading through his veins. And yet, somehow, the House magic is working in him. I canfeelit, passing out of my body and into his.

The last of it goes, but Wyn’s gaze stays blank and lightless.

I don’t know what to do. A helpless rage, choking in its futility, floods me from head to toe.

Then Wyn blinks, and his eyes focus on me.

“I saw the king’s coach while I was on the road to Taunton,” he says, as if absolutely nothing has happened. “So I turned around to warn you, but clearly he beat me here.”

“Whatwasthat?” I ask, ignoring what he’s just said. “What did you do with the House magic? I’ve never seen anything like that before. Never even heard of something like it.”

Wyn pulls his hands away from mine and hunches his shoulders,growing prickly and withdrawn once more. “Don’t worry about it. What did His Majesty want?”

That question’s the only thing that could possibly distract me from what’s just happened. “He came to tell me I’m getting married.”

I can’t keep despair from my voice. I don’t know how to get around this—though everything in me says to bolt, I can’t. Burleigh is a tether I will not loose myself from. “The king has someone he wants to name Caretaker, and I know if I don’t do as I’m told, he’ll turn me out of Burleigh House. Congratulate me, Wyn.”

“I will not.” When I glance up, Wyn’s scowling.

“You’re not getting married,” he says. “You’re Violet Sterling; you’ve never done anything you don’t want to do. So stop being a fatalist and get yourself out of it.”