Page 7 of A Treason of Thorns

“Jed, take Violet,” my father says. Indomitable as he is, Papa’s voice breaks on my name.

Jed steps forward and takes me by the hand. “Miss Violet. It’s time to go.”

Mira appears at my other side and puts an arm around my shoulder, but I cannot tear my gaze away from Wyn, standing by Papa, his shoulders hunched in silent resignation.

“No. No!” I’m shouting now, and the king and his courtiers peer out of the carriage windows with interest. But I don’t care. Let them watch me make a scene. “It isn’t fair—look at Wyn. He doesn’t want to stay! Let him go, and let me be with Papa and the House.”

It’s true Wyn’s pale face is pinched and unhappy. He hurries down the steps and throws his arms around me and I hold him tight.

“Don’t do this,” I say tearfully. “You don’t have to—they can’t make you. We should be together. Wyn,run away with me.”

“No,” Wyn answers. “I can’t. Not anymore. But promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Once you’re gone, stay away. Don’t come back.”

I hardly have time to feel another stab of hurt and betrayal, because at his words, the ground bucks and heaves beneath us, jolting us apart. I stumble and nearly fall, and when I’ve righted myself, Wyn is at my father’s side again.

“You have to go, Violet,” Papa says. “Think of the House.”

I am. I do. I always think of the House. So I square my shoulders and turn my back on Papa, taking the first steps down the drive and away from everything I’ve ever known.

“Violet Helena Sterling,” my father calls after me. “I love you.”

I’ve never heard him say those words before and I can’t answer back, because if I do, they will have to drag me kicking andscreaming from the grounds of Burleigh House. I carry on without a word, and when I draw up alongside the king’s carriage, His Majesty looks out.

“I’m sorry, Violet,” he says, though there’s little in the way of remorse in his eyes. “The law is the law, and your father broke it. I never pegged him for the sort who’d be weak enough to insist a child bear his punishment as well, though. Funny about the boy.”

“Shut up,” I hiss, infusing the words with every ounce of venom my ten-year-old self can muster. “Just shut up. I never want to see you again.”

“Now, now,” the king chides. “Is that any way to speak to your own godfather? Who’s going to look after you, if not me?”

I step up to his carriage window, small and furious and heartbroken. “I have one father, and you’re killing him. I’d rather die than take your charity.”

“Suit yourself,” the king says with a shrug. “But you’re still standing on my land. Burleigh, see Miss Sterling off the grounds.”

A peal of thunder breaks overhead and suddenly I’m outside the front gate in the laneway, with Jed and Mira at my side. His Majesty’s coach has been transported as well, along with the royal guards. Through the rain and the ironwork of the gate, I can make out Papa and Wyn still standing on the House’s front steps.

The king gets down from the carriage and walks over to the wall surrounding Burleigh’s grounds. When he reaches out a hand, the stonework trembles beneath his touch, but he is the deedholder—my father may be able to channel Burleigh’s magic, but it’s the king who truly controls it, who can bid and bind it, and the House cannot refuse him.

“Burleigh House,” His Majesty says. “George Sterling has been found guilty of treason. I leave him to your care. Let no one in or out of these walls until he lies dead. No new Caretaker will be afforded you until his punishment is carried out.”

The harsh, scraping sound of stone on stone grates through the air as the wall begins to fill in the space where the gate once stood. Dimly, I’m aware of Jed lurching forward and the guardsmen holding him back as he struggles toward the wall. I stare at Wyn’s distant form through the narrowing gap until the last inch closes. Then I turn to the king and spit at him as he passes me by.

His Majesty pulls a clean white handkerchief from one pocket and wipes his face.

“Someday, little Violet, you will come begging to me,” he says as he climbs back into the carriage. “You are your father’s daughter, and I know you. George won’t even be cold in his grave before you crawl back, asking for the key to Burleigh House. Sterlings never can resist this place.”

“I’m a Caretaker,” I snap. “I was born to look after Burleigh, and yes, I will do whatever must be done to see it safe. A good Caretaker puts her House first, even if means begging favors from a monster like you.”

The king shakes his head and reaches into his pocket, dangling a skeleton key before me. My breath catches at the sight of it—there’s a dull chip of grey stone set in the bow, and I’d recognize it anywhere. I’ve seen my father toy with it a thousand times in idle moments, and hold fast to it when he needed the protection of the guardstone while working House magic. I fight down the urge to snatch at it and run.

“You’re not a Caretaker without a key, are you?” His Majesty says softly. “In fact, Burleigh House has no Caretaker now. We’ll see how long that lasts. How long before the House must deal with the fact that your father stands in the way of its well-being.”

He tucks the key away and I stand by, staring at him belligerently, refusing to be the first to falter.

“What a game we’ll have when all this is over, and you want the key.” The king smiles. “Don’t doubt that I will make you dance for it. That is, if I don’t give it to someone else first.”