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“Fine. I placed my hand upon my abused flesh and had only to imagine it healed. And it was so.”
The corners of her lips flinched, as if she wanted to smile but the anger inside of her refused such a thing. “Does anyone else know about this?”
“Drystan.”
Eyes screwed shut, she groaned and looked away. “Jericho …”
On the table between the two chairs sat a teapot and empty cups, alongside slices of barley bread. The baron ordinarily loathed tea, but he hadn’t had a bite to eat in days, so he poured a cup and shoved the bread into his mouth. “He will not speak a word of it, lest he prefers a sizable hole drilled into his skull,” he said around a mouthful of food.
“Drystan has always been favored by the bishop. Do not doubt the possibility of betrayal with that boy.”
“I am the only friend he has, Mother. The others look upon him as a bastard child, in spite of what Bishop Venable says about his mother beingpureandwholesome.”
Frustration colored her expression when she stared back at him. “Should he tell them about your healing, they will surely send you back to the undercroft for more punishment.”
“It is already decided. I am to return once my wounds have healed.”
“What do they believe warranted this punishment?” She lowered to her knees, taking his hand in hers. “Tell me, Jericho.”
“I followed Father into the woods. And what I saw there was–”
With a shake of her head, she raised her hand. “Say no more. I know all too well what you saw.”
“You do?”
“Listen to me.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “This punishment is a test. While I find relief in your healing, it is unfortunate. They will consider it aberrant. Impossible. There are things in this world that you do not yet understand. Truth cloaked in lies. You must prove to them that you feel pain as they do. That you heal as they do. That you are what they are.”
As he swallowed another bite of bread, he focused on her cryptic words, puzzling them in his head. “I do not understand. Do you ask that I not heal my wounds, when I am capable of such a thing?”
“That is precisely what I ask of you.”
“They will kill me. I have heard of other boys subjected to such punishments, never to be seen again. Have you not heard their mothers calling for them in the village?”
“I have. Which is why I am warning you to do as I say.”
Frowning, he slid his hand from his mother’s. Had she truly just asked him to suffer his punishment without question? “Do you not think those other boys screamed and bled and pleaded for mercy? That their skin did not bear the marks of their punishment, as expected?”
“You are quite different. Your father treats you this way because he knows what you are capable of, and he fears it. They should all fear you, Jericho.” The earnest glint in her eyes sent a snaking feeling crawling beneath his skin. “It is your wrath which frightens me more than the possibility of death.”
“You have no concern for my death?”
“If I thought them capable of causing it, yes. I would.”
Although he was young, the baron understood the implication in her words.
“But reckless violence is not in your heart.” Eyes softened with a smile, she reached out to cup his face. “That is not what I want for you, my beautiful son. Through guidance, you will understand. You are of age now.”
“Of age for what?”
Her smile widened, alight with the kind of spark he’d not seen in years. “Very exciting things, my love. Wonderful things. And I have the perfect mentor for you. He will show you how to use these magnificent gifts and to suppress the urges.”
“What urges?”
The smile from before withered to a worrisome expression, and she ran her thumb over his cheek in a gentle stroke. “There is darkness inside of you, Jericho. An animal that claws at you. Tell me you do not feel it inside your belly every time you are faced with the notion of right and wrong. Tell me you do not crave certain … sensations.”
He could not deny any of that. The night before had proven to be the most horrific in all his life.
“Your life is a test.”
