Page 34 of The Thirteenth Count

A tray sat waiting. Crusty bread, hard cheese, a bowl of something that looked like porridge, and a pot of tea. It was simple. Stark, even. Not the feast she’d expect inside the Keep.

Fern took her seat as her stomach gave a treacherous growl.

Cassius settled himself across from her and opened a leather-bound folio. He smoothed the parchment inside, his long fingers pressing out creases that Fern couldn’t even see.

“Your schedule,” he announced. “Morning meal, followed by three hours of history and lineage study. Brief respite for midday meal, which you will take alone in your quarters. Then four hours of etiquette and protocol. Evening meal may be taken in your quarters or in the kitchens, though if you choose the latter, you are restricted to servants’ hours—after the seventh bell. You are not to disturb the main staff during service.”

“And after that?”

“Two hours of independent study.”

Fern paused with a piece of bread halfway to her mouth. “That’s… that’s the whole day. Every day?”

“It is necessary.”

“Right.” Fern shifted uncomfortably. “And what of my parents? When can I see them?”

Cassius didn’t look up. “That is not part of your schedule.”

“But Cassius⁠—”

“Lord Blackwell,” he corrected, his voice sharp. “Or ‘my lord.’ You are in the Keep now, Miss Silverbell. Proper address is not optional.”

Fern clamped her mouth shut. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. Lord Blackwell. High and mighty. “And when can I see my parents… my lord?”

“Your parents are in Ashford Cross,” Cassius said. “They are under strict surveillance, per the High’s directives. You cannot help them. You cannot see them.”

“Why are they under surveillance? They didn’t do anything!”

“That isn’t your concern. Your focus is here.”

“My focus?” Fern dropped the bread onto her plate. It clattered. “My focus is on the fact that I was dragged away from my home because of…” She gestured to the room, to the Keep, to herself, “this. Because of whatever I am.”

Cassius looked up then. His eyes were cold chips of cobalt. “Precisely. Because of what you are. Which is currently an untrained, unstable variable that threatens the stability of this entire valley. If you want to help your parents, Miss Silverbell, you will learn to control yourself. Until then, you are a liability.”

Liability.

The word struck her. Not a person. Not a girl who missed her mother’s tea or her father’s reading voice. A problem. A till that wasn’t balancing.

“Eat,” Cassius said, returning to his document. “We begin in ten minutes.”

Fern forced down the food. The bread tasted like sawdust, the cheese like wax. But she chewed and swallowed. She fueled the fire in her gut, because if she was going to be a liability, she was going to be a dangerous one.

The library was a cavern.

That was Fern’s first thought as Cassius led her through the double doors. She finally had enough time to really take in the room. It was a massive, two-story space lined with towering shelves of dark wood that seemed to breathe with the scent of old parchment and leather. Thousands of tomes and scrolls and books rested there, their spines gleaming with gold leaf and silver script. Brass ladders on rails stretched toward the ceiling, and dozens of wardcandles cast a steady, honey-colored light against the pervasive gloom outside.

Cassius led her past rows of tables to a secluded corner near the high, narrow windows. A stack of books awaited them, piled so high it looked ready to topple and crush her.

“Sit,” Cassius commanded.

Fern sank into the high-backed chair, glaring at him. It was upholstered in blue velvet—Blackwell blue—stiff and uncomfortable. Cassius remained standing, looking down his nose at her.

“We begin with control,” he said. “Show me your resonance crystal.”

Fern hesitated. The memory of the Count, the smoke, the screaming, was still fresh, a raw wound in her mind. This was how it started then, too. A simple ask. Just a bit of blood. She reached into her pocket for the crystal Cassius had pressed into her hand on the walk over. It was warm to the touch, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic beat that matched her own heart. Thump. Thump.

She held it out on her flat palm.