“Marlene is a good choice for me,” a younger voice replies.
“He's quite taken with his intended,” the Grand Chancellor says, “but if he hadn't already retained her, whichever of us could persuade you for your daughter would have been the one to claim her.”
The men laugh harder. My face burns. Soon they'll be discussing Cynthia like this. The thought shifts the heat from my face to my core. I clench my teeth together and lift my gaze to meet the Grand Chancellor's. The laughter dies off.
“Do you have something to say, my dear?” He returns the stare.
I bite my lip before blurting out, “Perhaps if the law is passed it should include consulting the first wife before taking another one on.”
This time the men howl with laughter, except for the Grand Chancellor, who continues to stare at me. I give a forced smile, but my words keep echoing through my head. The laughter lessens. Father frowns.
“It appears you'll have a good source of amusement from your wife, Thomas.” The Grand Chancellor finally breaks eye contact. “But as I said, no politics this week. Get enough of that a few months out of the year, eh, Stephen?”
Father's somber expression pulls into a tight smile. “Too true.”
I look away. Blast my mouth! Cynthia's hands are twisted together in her lap, mirroring my own. Why couldn't I have claimed I had nothing to say? Or even better, kept my eyes down. I don't know how bad the punishment will be for this, but it won't be a simple fist flying just once at me. My only chance is if Father waits to administer it. The games, if they go well, may soften him some.
“It was good to see you, but I must get to my box.” The Grand Chancellor begins to move toward the stairs. “I understand you'll be dueling against Chancellor Jacob soon, Thomas.”
“This afternoon, in fact. My first duel of the tournament.”
“Surprised he didn't send a marriage contract for your future wife. His old one has been dead four months now. Childbirth. Lost a good warlock babe in that tragedy. Man needs to get himself a new wife. Shame to let such power and lineage go to waste. His choice, though. Best of luck to you against him. He's a powerful one.”
Once the Grand Chancellor and his son are gone, Thomas kneels in front of me. When I don't look at him, he yanks my chin until I'm forced to meet his eye. “If you ever embarrass me like that again, I won't hesitate to tarnish you and find myself a more suitable bride.”
He flings my chin away from him and strides out of the box. I grip the sides of my chair trying to keep myself from letting my fear show. Tarnished! Stripped of all my humanity, never able to see my sisters again. The world seems to tilt around me.
“Cynthia,” Father says, not looking away from me. “Take the servants and get refreshments. Don't return until the curtains are up.”
My eyes dart to the tarnished following orders with the other servants. Their dull heads, blank looks, and black lines swirling on their faces make them all appear the same. He could force me to become one of them.
Cynthia bounces to her feet, pulling my fears from those less than shadows. “Yes, Father.”
No chance of him calming down first, then. Cynthia hesitates in front of me, her forehead wrinkled and lips pursed. I chance giving her a nod in front of Father, and with a twirl of her skirt she and the servants are gone, the last of their bald heads disappearing from view.
A sky-colored spell tinged with red flashes from Father, leaving me no time to think on the tarnished as the orange curtain lowers. Dread curdles my stomach. His fingers pinch together. The only way I can tell the silencing spell is coming is years of trying to pick out its clear wavering lines. It hits, my throat locking. I grip the seat of my chair and wrap my feet around the legs of it, steeling myself. With my gaze lowered, I pick a smudge on the curtain to concentrate on.
“You will not dishonor me or your intended again.” He stalks toward me and yanks me back by my hair bun. “You will do nothing.”
A crimson light launches from him, heading straight for my leg. My body jerks with a mute scream as the bone breaks. Tears prick my eyes. I silently beg for the spell to push me into unconsciousness. His hand presses on the wound, the pressure increasing as he speaks.
“He has good lineage, is a powerful warlock, is next in line for the council, and is friends with the Grand Chancellor. He paid good money for you. You will not disgrace him.”
The searing agony is so consuming, the world blissfully starts to blacken. My head lolls, and I close my eyes, welcoming the dark embrace.
“Ah ah. You're not getting out of punishment so easy.”
The world comes into unreal focus. The pain intensifies. Minutes. Hours. Some time. Too much time.
Finally the pain eases as his grip lessens.
“Will you disrespect me or your intended again?” He shoots the silence spell at me again to reverse its effects.
It takes me a moment to realize what he's saying and even longer to slur a response. “No, Father.”