The hands were the worst—the pain lingered there, like the magic. Plus, the cuts were a reminder of how she had come to be in here in the first place, a reminder that set her hands to bleeding again, as her clenched fists reopened the rest of the damage.
Still, the carving of her hands had been the only thing she’d been made to endure today. It had seemed like in the past few . . . weeks? months?—she was never really sure how time passed in here, even when the House wasn’t altering her perception of events to make things hurt worse, or for a longer time—she had spent less time having her magic taken, having pain inflicted as a way to increase that power in what was collected, and had spent more time learning the magic that was unique to Shadows.
That still hurt, of course. Everything here did, sometimes even breathing. But it was a better kind of hurt. Because if she could endure that new kind of hurt, the one that had power underneath it, if she could learn what Shadows was teaching her, then she could use that magic to leave.
She had heard of it happening, once, long before she was hidden away in here. She had felt the ripples through the House—seen it bleed—when someone else had managed it. She locked the possibility in her heart, the darkest of secrets.
Hidden away and forgotten, Grace Valentine lay in the darkness of the House of Shadows. As the blood dried on her hands, she counted scars to fall asleep. She dreamed revenge.
? ? ?
Miranda had chosen to interview candidates for House Prospero’s champion in person. Flashy magic was all well and good, and she would certainly require a demonstration of ability before she made a decision, but the fact of the matter was the champion would represent the House. She wanted to be sure the House liked them.
She also wanted to be sure that she was able to—if not like—at least respect them. They and their magic would represent Prospero, would be the face of the House. Power, ability—those mattered, but character did as well, particularly as the champions’ decisions during a challenge were final. There was always the risk that someone whose goals did not fully match with hers would choose poorly, or in service of their own ends. And once the challenges turned mortal, she was asking someone to potentially die for the House. She wanted to be sure they would.
As her final preparation for the morning’s interviews, Miranda gathered defensive magic, spindling the power around her fingers, then releasing it into an empty ink bottle for storage. Knocking the bottle over would trigger the spell. It was unlikely that she’d need to use it at all, but there was always the possibility that someone would move against House Prospero before the duels began. Better to be prepared.
She glanced at her office once more, her eyes measuring the alignment of the items on her desk, the bloom of the flowers—all white, green accents, and none with overly heady fragrances—that stood on a side table, noting the angle of the light that streamed in from the windows behind her. She moved a letter opener a fraction of a centimeter to the right, then nodded.
“All right,” she told the House. “Send in the first candidate.”
He is an addition to your schedule.
The House didn’t actually speak with a voice. Rather, Miranda had made a series of spelled mirrors when she became its Head. They were keyed to her voice and presence, and if the House wanted to say something to her without being addressed first, the words that appeared on the mirror’s surface would be accompanied by a faint chime. No one else in the room would see the words or hear the chime ring. The spell also allowed her to respond mentally, thus enabling a completely secret conversation, if necessary.
Miranda raised an eyebrow at the House’s boldness. Then Ian Merlin walked into her office, and she moved her left hand to rest on top of her desk, near the magic-filled bottle.
“Madame Prospero.” He inclined his head to the exact correct degree. He’d dressed politely as well—a black-on-black suit, well cut and quiet. It wasn’t the sort of detail that would have mattered to everyone, but it did to her, and she appreciated the effort.
“Ian. Did we have an appointment?” She allowed a hint of mild curiosity into the question.
He folded like a knife into an antique chair. “I heard your House required a champion. I’d like to convince you it should be me.”
She’d seen his magic before. There was no need for her to require a test of his abilities—if the magician existed who was better, Miranda hadn’t met them yet. “Forgive me for stating the obvious, but you’re the heir to House Merlin.” It didn’t mean he couldn’t represent another House, couldn’t strike out and attempt to found a House of his own, but such a choice wasn’t usual. “And you haven’t been much of a presence in the Unseen World recently. So I am a bit surprised to see you here.”
“You still have your gift for understatement,” Ian said. “You should know that I’m not the heir to House Merlin. I renounced all claims when I left. My father hasn’t named my sister heir because he hopes I’ll change my mind, something I have no intention of doing.”
“I see.” Miranda straightened in her chair as she considered. Hiring him would be a coup, but she still wasn’t sure what he had to gain by contracting himself out. “Why House Prospero? Why not take advantage of the Turning and try to establish your own House?”
“I don’t like how the Unseen World runs. I’d like to change it, and it will be easier to do that from inside of a powerful, established House.
“Also, my father doesn’t like you, and I’m in the mood to aggravate him. Helping you win the Turning—winning the leadership of the Unseen World away from him—would do that nicely.” He paused. “Forgive me for being blunt, but it seems better to be honest.”
Miranda tapped the fingers of her left hand on her desk. It was a reason she could appreciate. “I don’t much like Miles, either, and I like the way he’s been running things for the past thirteen years even less. But I like to know what I’m supporting. What, exactly, are you hoping to change?”
“The reliance on the House of Shadows. If you hire me, and if House Prospero then finds itself leading the Unseen World at the end of this Turning, I want your support in ending it. You understand why I want the outside support.” It had been House Merlin, Ian’s great-grandfather, that had founded the House of Shadows, that had begun the spell that allowed members of the Unseen World to draw on a store of collected power, to use magic at no personal cost, beyond that of a House sacrifice once a generation. Though Fortune’s Wheel did turn, House Merlin had been in power ever since.
Miranda kept her voice neutral. “I believe I could be persuaded to do that. Is there anything else you want?”
“No,” he said. “Only the support, and only under those conditions.”
“Then I accept your terms,” she said. “Do you have any questions?”