He cocked his head at her.
All the best people—Jacin and her father and Sir Garrison Clay and the servants who smiled kindly in the hallways and did not seem at all bothered that they did not have perfect unblemished skin or dark, thick eyelashes—they did not use glamours. They did not manipulate the people around them.
Winter didn’t want to be like her stepmother or the thaumaturges.
She wanted to be like the people she loved.
She stepped close to Jacin, because no one else could hear her now. Because her decision would go against everything their society stood for, everything they valued.
“I will never use my gift,” she whispered. “Not ever again.”
*
It was easier than she expected it to be, once the decision was made. It required some changes of habits, no doubt. If she wanted a servant to bring something, she had to ask, rather than simply impose the request into their mind. If she wanted to look extra pretty for a party, she would call up a stylist to tint her cheeks and glitter her eyelids, rather than create the illusion in her mind’s eye first.
She never once forgot her vow, though. She stayed true to her word.
Master Gertman was confused as all the progress they’d made in the past years dissolved over the course of a single week. Winter was persistent with her excuses. She pretended to try. She was very convincing. But after every fake attempt, the servant would crease her brow and shake her head, as confused as the tutor.
A month after Winter had sworn off her gift, she passed that servant girl in between sessions and, for the first time, the girl smiled at her in a way that suggested a shared secret.
She wondered if the girl knew that Winter was only pretending. She wondered if the girl was grateful for her weekly respites from whatever manipulations were done to her by the rest of the tutor’s pupils.
“It’s called Lunar sickness,” said Jacin as they whiled away an afternoon in Winter’s chambers. Though rumors had begun circulating about the two of them and how they spent more time alone with each other than was proper, Winter and Jacin refused to be cowed by the passing scowls and snide remarks from the court. Besides, she knew her guards would never say anything. They respected Jacin’s family too much to add fuel to such shameful gossip.
Jacin slid his hand through the medical-studies holograph that shimmered in the center of the room. There had been a time when they would call up adventure stories and virtual reality games using the holograph node, but now more often than not Jacin wanted to study anatomy books and psychology texts instead. In a year he would be applying for an occupation, and his heart had been set on a doctor’s internship ever since Winter could remember.
Seeing how excited he got when he talked about it made her heart warm, but she also dreaded to think of the years he would spend away from her. He could be stationed at any med-clinic on all of Luna. There was a slim chance he could end up in Artemisia, at their med-clinic or in one of their laboratories, but it was more likely he’d end up in the less desirable outer sectors, at least for the first few years of his training.
Winter hated the thought of him leaving, even temporarily, but she would never tell him so for fear he would give up his dream in order to stay with her. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if he did that. “Lunar sickness?” She cupped her cheek in one hand, sitting cross-legged on the carpet and staring up at the holograph. It showed a very dull brain diagram.
“That’s the common term. The official name is Bioelectric Suppression Psychosis.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s very rare. It happens whenever a gifted Lunar chooses not to use their gift for an extended period of time. The only cure they know of is … well, to start using the gift again.” Jacin’s jaw was tight as he swiveled the holograph one way and then the other. “It doesn’t come up very often, though, because why would a gifted Lunar forgo using their gift?” He glanced at her, and he seemed concerned, but not judgmental. He had never once, since Winter had told him of her conviction, tried to persuade her to change her mind.
“And what will it do?” she said, leaning back against the sofa. “This Lunar sickness?”
His shoulders drooped. “It will make you go crazy.”
She tilted her head to one side and refrained from laughing, but only barely. “Well, I’m already crazy, so that doesn’t sound so bad at all.”
His lip twitched, but the smile was halfhearted at best. “I’m serious, Winter. People who suffer from it have frequent hallucinations. Sometimes bad ones. Being chased or attacked. Seeing … monsters.”
Her playfulness drooped and she inspected the brain diagram, but it was just a brain. How frightening could that be?