Henrietta shrieked, curling her hand from Robin’s hair to the scruff of his neck and tightening until he yelped. “Shall I teach you what your kiss cost?”
I shivered at the resigned melancholy to Robin’s voice, even though it was also threaded with a steely determination, “I already know the answer to that, and if the cost was a thousand times higher, then I’d pay it gladly.”
My heart hammered in my chest, and all of a sudden, my throat was too tight.
What did he mean?
Henrietta smirked. “Senseless mage, I hardly think a mere caning will be sufficient discipline to train you to be obedient and my daughter to sing small enough for her future husband.”
“Sing small, sing small, sing small,” Echo mimicked, singing at the top of his tone-deaf lungs.
Henrietta cringed.
“Get on with it.” Robin’s voice was hard. His eyes blazed. “But do not hide behind the lie of discipline. It is you who are wicked, and not your daughter. Horn and hoof, Great Pan, remember what’s done today.”
For the first time, Henrietta shifted, sniffing. I’d never seen her appear unsettled before. Robin’s words had sounded…almost…like a curse.
Or a prayer to his god, Pan.
I blanched, filled with the knowledge that if Robin had risked praying to the forbidden god Pan in front of Henrietta, then he didn’t expect to survive. How long had he known that kissing me would mean his death?
Had he always known?
I couldn’t let him die.
I wished that I’d allowed myself to be the same as other young witches, even though I’d only ever met the professors here at the academy. Mother told me that they’d have been dizzy with excitement for their first ball, and twice as excited to be courted by a prince. Only Robin and father had ever understood that I dreamed of actual excitement, relishing adventures in the grounds and learning to fight with my magic. I was my own Prince Charming. But mother didn’t see me, unlike Robin.
Flair and Echo flew to settle on my shoulders. Their weight was reassuring, steadying my magic. I thrust my hands against the flames but then howled as my gloves burned.
My whole body trembled, shutting down. But still, I wouldn’t move back from the wall of flames.
“Stop it! Please, for me…” Robin’s anguished pleading reached through my agonized haze.
I fell back, landing on my behind. Flair and Echo flapped around me in agitation, and I cradled my scorched hands to my chest. When I looked up, I realized that Robin was silently crying and not for himself…for me.
“What in the name of Pan’s balls is going on?” My father’s voice rang through the corridor, along with the click clack of his boots.
When I glanced up through vision that was blurred with tears, I’d never been so glad to see him.
Father, Bryon Crow, was handsome in his outfit for the ball: a glossy peacock green dress coat and waistcoat with gold buttons. He looked like he was about to fight a war.
Bryon’s ice-blue eyes matched mine, and when he crouched down to catch my hands between his own, before glancing over at Robin, I knew that he understood the situation without me saying a word. He always did. Byron had raised me in the Bird Turret; I’d wondered if he was as trapped there as me.
Byron’s gaze caught Robin’s for a long moment as if they were sharing a secret code, before Byron paled and looked away. Then he squeezed my hands between his.
“Calm, Magenta,” he murmured, although I could tell that he decidedly wasn’t by the way that his heel tapped on the floor.
It was his tell, just like his fingers would always tighten on my shoulder when mother bothered to inspect my lessons in the Bird Turret. Yet it hadn’t been me who’d suffered for my shortcomings. It’d always been father.
“See how calm you are when you’re a eunuch and my beak is decorated with two pretty new baubles.” Flair narrowed his eyes.
I winced, and father looked at me questioningly.
I bit my lip. “Papa, I know it’s not your place, but if someone’s to be punished, at least allow it to be me.”
Flair shifted on my shoulder. “Robin looks like his blood would taste so sweet I’d vomit, but I know you love him boss, so…”
“Save him,” Echo begged.
Byron’s mouth tightened, before he leaned closer and whispered into my ear, “Let me deal with this.”
When Byron stood and strode to the fire, I hoped that Henrietta would allow it to die down. Then I’d have been able to break through. I trusted Byron, but this was still my problem. Instead, she let it waver, and Byron marched through the flames without them singing him.
I hissed in frustration, before gasping at the crisp smack, as Henrietta slapped Byron across the face. He didn’t even move his head, as the crimson hand print formed, like he’d been expecting it.
“Deal with?” Henrietta mocked. “I’m sorry, does it hurt? To be reminded of the true place of non-magical men? I admit that the fault lies with me as well. I’ve been so busy with the Academy Project that perhaps, I’ve been remiss at my Husband Management. In turn, you’ve spoiled our daughter and her toy.”
Byron met Robin’s wide eyes, as Henrietta pressed him against the wall by the neck.
Byron’s lips quirked. “Perhaps, I have. Yet she’s never been anything but good.”
Henrietta sniffed. “Your weakness has led to her corruption, where she believes that pleasure and lust are no longer vices.”
“Dearest, they’re both young.” Byron tipped up Henrietta’s chin. “Were we not once as they are?”
“Watch what you say, or I’ll wash out your mouth with soap,” Henrietta hissed. Yet had her expression gentled? She glanced at me. “You must put away these childish fancies and face the real world. I should never have allowed you to live in your daydreams and fairy tales for so long. Your father shielded you from witch tradition and law, which I learned from the cradle. He imagined that it’d grant you a freedom of sorts. But it would’ve been better if I’d taken the whip to him, until he dropped the foolish notion.”
I struggled to my feet.
Byron had fought for a childhood with such freedom for me, yet all I’d ever considered was my imprisonment. I’d been jealous of the beautiful boys of the academy.
Yet I’d been so woefully wrong. My guts roiled with guilt.
I shook with fear for Byron, who’d stiffened at the mention of the whip.
“I shall not allow you to touch papa.” I didn’t recognize my voice: it was dangerous and low.
Henrietta’s eyes gleamed. “See! Why do you shudder at a simple whipping? Men are eager to be taught how to please their wives. It’s how witches have long created happy marriages.”
“I’m certain that Prince Titus will be eager for such lessons,” Robin scoffed. “Do you truly imagine that by marrying him into your House, you’ll control him through your daughter?” Robin’s gaze shot to mine; it ached with such flayed desperation that I stepped closer to the wavering heat of the flames, as my magic sparked out like it could touch him.
“Silence,” Byron commanded with more harshness than I’d ever heard him address Robin, “it’s not your place, remember?”