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“You look exhausted.” Eloise waits for me, as usual, at our table. She dips a French fry into ketchup and waves it around as I approach. “Did you sleep okay after, well, you know?”
I wipe at the sweat rolling down my neck and into my cleavage. I’ve run all the way from the Lake—where my Illusion class is held—to the East Lawn. Normally, I’d take the seat across from Eloise, but if I don’t find Henry soon, I may implode and save the Light witches the trouble of figuring out what to do with me.
But first, I owe Eloise an apology. I tug on the hem of my skirt, unsure how to start. Best be direct. “I’m sorry for attacking you, Eloise. You know that, right?”
She finishes chewing and smiles. “I do now. Have a seat?”
“Sorry, I can’t. I’m looking for Henry. Do you know where his tent is?”
Like Bethina, she eyes me suspiciously. “You’re visiting Henry? At his tent?”
I flip my hands over to show it isn’t a big deal. “I want to ask him some questions about my family. About my mother.”
Eloise nibbles on some weird meat sandwich thing and doesn’t say anything. She takes a sip of her drink and swallows. “His tent is in the center of the village, in the West quadrant. Second aisle. Ten tents down and on the left.”
Such detailed instructions. I wonder how many times she’s been to Henry’s tent? I raise my eyebrows.
“Don’t even say it because it isn’t true. He is not my life-mate or whatever you Dark witches call it.”
“Oh, I won’t say anything. Except those are very detailed instructions.” I giggle and duck, avoiding the piece of bread she lobs at my head.
“We’re on the Gathering council together. Of course I know where he lives.” She tosses another piece of bread at me but I’m already up and heading toward the tent village. “Besides, he’s in his thirties. I’m not a day over twenty-three.”
“If you say so,” I tease. This time, Eloise’s projectile hits me on the back. I chuckle—she’s protesting a little too much.
As anxious as I am to find Henry, I walk slowly, using up every bit of my limited self-control. No need to draw attention to myself—especially after my outburst last night.
At the center aisle, I stop and glance around. Children flit between canvas, chasing floating objects. Above them, colorful tent banners announcing the occupant’s Society flutter in the wind.
The hair at the nape of my neck pricks up. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I feel eyes watching me. A shiver runs along my back. I give a quick glance over my shoulder, and seeing nothing unusual, immerse myself in the raucous tent town.
I find Henry’s tent easily enough—Eloise’s directions were spot on.
“Henry?”
I spread the canvas flap and reveal a cavernous interior that looks like—well, it looks a lot like his classroom at school. Workstations, microscopes, specimen closet.
“Good morning, Lark,” Henry says from behind me.
I spin around and drop the tent flap. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure how to knock.”
He reaches around me and pulls the flap open again. “No need to be sorry. I was expecting you.” He tips his head toward the interior and waits for me to enter.
I swing my gaze back to the inside and my mouth drops open. The workroom from earlier has vanished. In its place is a cozy living space, a simple kitchen and a small office.
Henry touches my shoulder. “After you.”
I walk through the opening and take a spot on the low couch. “Why did you change the room?”
“It’s impossible to cram all my belongings into one tiny tent, so I rotate rooms as needed.” He hands me a glass of something bubbly.
I swirl the glass in my hands, watching the way the liquid moves around the cup. The memory of the red wine floats back into my mind. I hope this doesn’t taste as bad.
“You remember last night?” Henry says. I can’t tell if it’s a statement or question.
I sink back into the couch. “Yes and no. I’m a bit foggy on details. I wasn’t entirely sure it happened, but it seemed so real.”
Henry nods. “It happened.”
“I know. I had my wristlet on this morning.”
A rush of air escapes Henry’s lungs. “Yes. Well, you see, Malin wanted you to know she spoke with you.”
“You’re still in contact with her.” I say it matter-of-factly. After the events of last night, there’s no doubt in my mind, Henry and Mother are close.
“I know how it appears, but last night was the first time I’ve seen Malin in person in over sixteen years.” I train my eyes on him, daring him to lie to me. “But to answer your question, yes, I’m in contact with Malin. That’s why the Council brought me here—to act as a liaison.”
“And you thought smuggling me out of Summer Hill to my Mother was the best way to perform your duties?”
Henry rubs his upper arm. “She wanted to see you and wouldn’t stop until she did. If I hadn’t brought you, she would have ordered another attack. It seemed like the best solution.”
Maybe so, but it makes no sense. “Why did she send me back? Wasn’t the point of her attack to get me? Isn’t she trying to steal me away?”
Henry folds his hands and glances to the left. I can tell he’s struggling with something.
“What?” I ask.
“The Channings are protecting you on Malin’s orders.”
A flash of a memory—Mother saying she and Patrick despise each other. That can’t be right. The Channings work for my mother? They’re Light and she’s Dark. I shake my head slightly and bite my lip. “No, they’re afraid of me. They’re trying to learn about my powers so they can keep Beck safe.”
“That may be the case, but your mother is forcing them to keep you.”
“Why would she do that? This can’t be safer than being with her.”
Henry sits up straight and runs his hand through his hair. “The assassination attempts on Malin have increased over the past few months. No one knows for sure who’s behind them, but we suspect a splinter group of Light witches. And we think they’re led by Eamon.”
Tremors shake my body and the room spins.
“He hates me,” I manage to sputter.
“Yes, he does.” Henry walks around the table and sits beside me. He uncurls my fingers and draws the calming circles.
The whirling decreases enough for my tense muscles to relax slightly. Control slowly replaces the anger.
“Yet she wants me here, with the group she suspects of trying to harm her.” I’m missing something that will let me see the whole picture. “Doesn’t she care he’s threatened me?”
Henry’s mouth falls open. “What?”
“Eamon attacked me, while the Dark witches tore Summer Hill apart. He only stopped because of Beck.” I yank my hand away from Henry. “And that song he has everyone singing—it’s about killing larks. Kellan told us.”
Henry exhales loudly. “Eamon wouldn’t risk moving against you here. It would draw too much attention to himself—even if it were disguised as an accident.” He says this more to himself than me. Trouble clouds his eyes.
I keep track of the passing seconds by counting the beats of Henry’s fingers drumming against his thigh. When I get to fifty-two, he stands and walks to the tent opening. He ducks his head outside and swings his head left to right as if checking to see if anyone is listening.
When he faces me directly, I see shadows under his eyes and notice, for the first time, his rumpled clothes. Henry hasn’t slept well.
“This is bigger than the issue between you and Beck. Malin is also preoccupied by the splinter group. Instead of following the normal diplomatic channels, they’ve resorted to violence against Malin and other high-ranking State officials. They’re angry about the restriction the State has placed on us and concerned about the increasing arrests of actual Light witches. Some believe she’s purposely dwindling our numbers, like the State has w
ith humans.”
His words lie heavy in my heart. I was right. The State, the ideal of peace and prosperity, has been slowly depleting the numbers of humans.
“Is she?”
Henry paces in front of the desk, each footfall muffled by the elaborate floor rug. “I don’t know. But I do know we need a diplomatic solution—something that results in the fewest witch deaths possible. Otherwise, the survival of magic is doomed.”
“Because of the genetic limitations?”
“Yes. We’ll never have greater numbers than we do now.”
“But what does this have to do with keeping me here?” I ask.
Careful to keep his eyes from mine, Henry rearranges items on his desk. “It’s politics—you don’t understand.”
The fragile truce between calm and rage snaps. “Stop telling me that I don’t understand! Of course I don’t—no one tells me anything! I have to dig around in old books and pester Eloise to get any sort of information. But this is my life. Mine.”
I strike my fist on the couch for effect.
Henry clenches his jaw and the muscles in his neck tighten. “You want the truth? How about this?” His voice grows louder, more defiant. “I believe Malin’s looking for a public reason to attack either the splinter group or the Light witches, whom she suspects of aiding the splinter group. What better reason than if they openly attacked private citizens—like her daughter.” He drops his voice and it wavers. “I think my sister wants more than just Patrick and Beck Channing dead—I think she wants to eliminate all the Light witches.”
Everything clicks.
I’m a weapon, but not the kind I thought. She’s not waiting for me to kill Beck, although she wouldn’t mind.
“She wants to start a war,” I whisper. The room rocks and flashes of red blur my vision.
“Yes.”
My breath and pulse race.
“Malin will destroy anyone she suspects of harming you. You must believe that, Lark. She loves you, but she loves power more.
“There is a contingent of Dark witches on the other side of the dome, waiting for her word, to attack. They will tear Summer Hill apart in seconds, if Malin wishes it. What they did before was just a warning. Eamon has no chance against her. But she needs irrefutable proof.”
It’s too hot in this little tent. Sweat beads along the back of my neck, under my arms, along the top of my lip. I run my hand over my face and wipe it away. The familiar hum of anger vibrates in my blood and pressure builds behind my eyes.
“Lark, look at me. You have to focus or you’re going to do something rash.”
But I don’t want to focus. I want action. I want to strike out and hurt Eamon; I want to scream at Mother for putting me in harm’s way after professing to care about me; I want to tell everyone I’m done being used and kept clueless.
But mostly, I want to run and find Beck—to feel his arms around me, grounding me, pulling me out of my anger. Desperate, I reach out with my mind and call to him. Beck? Please. I need you.
Something distorted and muffled comes through, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. It sounds like he’s underwater or very far away.
I’m all alone. Untethered.
Rage threatens to overtake me. I stand and walk to the far side of the room. My footsteps keep rhythm with the beat of my heart. The quicker it beats, the faster I pace until my movements must be nothing more than a blur. To my surprise, the repetitive action calms me, and my heartbeat slows and my mind clears.
“We can’t let Mother know Eamon attacked me.” My voice holds no emotion now. I’m factual and removed, just like I learned to be at school.
Henry nods. “My thoughts exactly. And we need to keep you away from Eamon. I’ll tell the Channings about your run-in with him.”
A question presses to my lips. If I run away, maybe they’d all be safe. “If the Dark witches can get in whenever they want, can I leave? With Bethina?”
The thought of being the trigger for a brewing war stabs my conscience. If I’m not here, then no one will get hurt. And honestly, even though the majority of the Light witches either fear or hate me, Eamon is the only one I want to see punished.
“No. Your mother won’t let that happen. Bethina can’t keep you safe. When you leave, you have to go to Malin.”
31
War. Death. Destruction. That’s my future—and all that separates me from it is twenty-one days.
My fingers dip in and out of the dense barrier of Summer Hill’s dome, searching for a break in the surface. Even if I find a way to open it, I won’t get far—not with Annalise and Mother’s other guards are out there, watching me. Protecting me and, at the same time, ensuring I stay a prisoner of Summer Hill.
The muggy summer air weighs heavily on me as I wind away from the edge of the dome, through the dusk, and toward to the north field. Though the days are shorter now, sunshine and warmth still fills the air during the day, and a damp heat dominates the night. The seasons here seem to move between uncomfortably hot and bearable.