Page 38 of A Treason of Thorns

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I tell Wyn. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It’s alright,” he says, the words warm and comforting. “No harm done. And better me than you, eh?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Not better.”

I let go of him and sit back, pressing both hands to my face. They’re pink-skinned and perfect, no trace of the mortar Wyn drew out of me left behind.

“Wyn, I’m afraid,” I tell him.

“Of what?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” There are too many things to name, and I can’t bring myself to say that I’m afraid of Burleigh House. Afraid of its magic, afraid of its power, afraid of its future without a proper Caretaker.

“I’ll meet you on the roof,” Wyn says practically. “Bring up some blankets. I’ll go fix us a flask of tea.”

It’s cold outside, at the top of my world in the silent, empty hour before dawn. I wrap a woolen blanket around my shoulders and shiver, but the stars are already working their own particular magic. The fear that endlessly swims in my veins is calmer, quieter, and I can think past it.

There’s a little whine of hinges as the attic window swings open and Wyn scrambles out onto the slate tiles.

“Here.” He hands me a warm flask of tea and settles in, so that we’re side by side with our backs to the brick chimney. I steal a glance at him, and I can almost see who he was, his child-self superimposed over this sullen, half-familiar boy, like one of Burleigh’s memories.

“Well then,” Wyn says with the ghost of a smile. “What seems to be the problem, Violet Sterling?”

I’m not even sure I know. I just feel, by turns, like the only person who can possibly save Burleigh, and like I’m abjectly, woefully inadequate for the job. But instead, what comes out of my mouth is this:

“You’rethe problem,” I answer, wrinkling my nose. “What are you doing with the House magic, Wyn? I don’t like it—it’s dangerous, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I pass him the flask, and he takes a mouthful of tea before answering.

“Would you believe me if I said I know exactly what I’m doing?”

“Oh, I believe you,” I answer. “But knowing what you’re doing and not deliberately putting yourself in harm’s way are two entirely different things.”

“Canny,” Wyn says with a shake of his head. “Just like you’ve always been. A canny and relentless creature.”

I reclaim the flask and frown. “Don’t change the subject. I’m serious.”

Wyn looks out across the grounds, and the shadowy smudge of the back woods. His eyes are very far away—not vacant, as when he works House magic, but distant, seeing something I can’t.

“I’ll promise you this,” he says. “I won’t touch Burleigh’s magic unless it’s losing control and channeling mortar into you. But I won’t promise more than that, don’t ask me to.”

“I can—” I begin, and he raises a hand, cutting me off.

“Do you have to make me say it, Vi?” Frustration laces Wyn’s words. “It wouldruinme to watch another Sterling die for this House. To watch you die. I need you to let me help.”

I don’t want to agree. I want to forbid him to ever meddle with Burleigh’s magic again, because I’ve felt it inside me and seen what it did to my father. I hate the idea of mortar touching Wyn, much as I love Burleigh and would do anything in my power to save it.

The House itself is oddly quiet in the wake of remembering Papa’s last night and funneling magic into Wyn. A faint breeze tangles in my hair. Little marsh lights flicker between the trees in the forest. That’s all, though—no vines, no petals, no wind in the chimney to whisper Burleigh’s unspoken words.

Poor voiceless House. What am I for in this life, if not to speak on your behalf?

“I’m sorry,” I tell Wyn, though I feel caught between him and Burleigh. “And I can live with that, if you can. But I wish you’d be more straightforward with me. I wish you’d tell me the truth about all this.”

“I want to,” Wyn says. “And I will. I swear, Violet, I just—have to find the right words.”

“Where do yougowhen you work the magic? Because it’s like you’ve left yourself behind. Am I allowed to ask that?”

Wyn turns away from the horizon and gives me a puzzled look.