Page 30 of A Treason of Thorns

Papa gives her a reproachful look. “Eloise, you know I can’t.”

Mama turns away from the window and her eyes are as cold as her voice. “I don’t like having him here. You never should have brought him home with you.”

“He won’t be any trouble.” There’s almost a pleading note to Papa’s words, and I fight the urge to stop my ears. “Mira will look after him, if you’d rather not.”

“Violetwill look after him and there will be nothing I can say to stop her,” Mama answers. “She adores the boy, and I know you encourage her, but to what purpose, George? It’ll end in heartbreak. Perhaps you’re raising her to be a Caretaker, but she’s not you. She doesn’t give up the things she loves so easily.”

“Eloise, please.” Papa frowns at her. “He can hear you.”

“Do I look as if I care?”

Mama gets to her feet and sweeps from the room.

“Wyn,” Papa calls softly. “Come out, Wyn. I want to show you something.”

Wyn scrambles out from his hiding place and approaches step by slow step, like a wild cat, or an anxious rabbit.

“Do you see this map?” Papa holds it up and Wyn nods. “This is the sea. And all along the coast there are caves. I’m going to search for treasure that’s hidden in one of them.”

“What sort of treasure?” small Wyn asks. “Gold? Diamonds?”

“Even better,” Papa says. “Someday when I find it, I’ll bring it home and show you, and I think you’ll agree it’s very nearly the most precious thing in the world.”

Wyn’s already lost interest in treasure, though.

“What—what does the sea look like?” He puts out a finger and traces Cornwall’s coastline on the map. “Will I ever see it? Can I go with you?”

Papa’s smile is sad. “It’s very big, Wyn. And I hope someday you will see it, but I can’t take you along this time.”

A muffled thump sounds outside my bedroom door.

“Burleigh, stop,” I hiss, not wanting Jed or Mira to have to see the reality of what I’m up to. It’s bad enough they know I’m going after the deed—I might as well spare them having to think on it too often. Immediately, the House plunges me back into darkness and when my vision clears, there’s only my room around me. The ghostly overlay of Burleigh’s memory has gone.

I sit, waiting for a knock, but it never comes. So I get to my feet and peer out, only to find Wyn in the corridor. He’s got a tattered blanket and moth-eaten pillow and is fussing about in the hall likea wolfhound bedding down for the night. For a moment, I can’t quite reconcile the small boy I remember with who he’s become. It’s as disorienting as having Burleigh take over my reality.

“What are you doing?” I ask Wyn, unable to keep a disgruntled note from my voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says tersely. “I won’t bother you.”

“Wyn,” I say again. “Answer the question. What are you doing?”

“Burleigh’s restless about something,” he says. It’s true the House’s attention is still bent on me as it continues to mull over the memory I asked for. “I don’t want it getting upset and deciding you make an easy outlet for its magic again.”

I bite my lip, not wanting to tell him that it’s mostly my fault the House is restless. But Wyn bringing up mortar and magic reminds me of yet another of my manifold unanswered questions.

“That reminds me, I wanted to ask you about this afternoon,” I say. Wyn gives me a sidelong look and settles down on the floor. He lies flat on his back and shuts his eyes. I crouch, because I feel ridiculous towering over him in my dressing gown. “Whatwasthat? You were working House magic, weren’t you? I could feel it. But I didn’t see a thing—not a bit of mortar under your skin. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Wyn says without opening his eyes.

“Have you done it before?” I press.

“Mm. Loads of times.”

“Loads of times?” I say in disbelief. “House magic’s terribly dangerous. You know that—you shouldn’t be doing it at all. Was this during the arrest?”

“Yes. Go to bed, Vi.”

“I’m talking to you.” I gnaw at a hangnail anxiously. “I just—I don’t like it, Wyn. Not one bit. What if it’s doing something to you that can’t be seen or felt?”