“It’s never your fault, is it, Tesara. You always manage to blame someone else for your mishaps. Well, it’s time you grew up. We’re in dire straits, and everyone must pull their weight.” She paused, and then she threw the words that Tesara had heard throughout her life.
“If you cannot be an asset, you must at least not be a liability.”
The words rang out in the parlor. Tesara said nothing, bowing under the weight of her mother’s anger. Alinesse started to say something else, and then turned on her heel and left Tesara in the dimly lit room.
She was right. Tesara had to acknowledge the stark truth of it. She was a liability now, and had been six years ago. She struggled to close her crippled hand, and with difficulty managed a claw rather than a fist. Her power had brought her nothing but grief, but it was all she had. It was time to turn a liability into an asset. It was time to regain her magic and restore her family.
But she would never forgive her mother for abandoning them to Madam Callier.
Mindful that Yvienne was sick, Tesara knocked gently on the door and then let herself in. I hope she wasn’t disturbed by our fight, she thought, but evidently not. In the dimness of the early evening, she could just make out a form in the bed, the covers pulled over her head. Poor thing, she thought. The cold harbor air could do that if you weren’t bundled up against the constant wind and salt air.
“Sorry,” she whispered. She sat down quietly with her back to the door, knees drawn up, resting her cheek on top of them.
As a child she had dreamed about running away, often making up a story about taking her pony Daisy and wrapping up food from the kitchen in a bundle, and then riding off for adventures. Even then she knew it was nothing but a fantasy. Now, at eighteen, she knew even better what was in store for her were she to run. Being sold to the highest bidder – or the only bidder – was preferable to finding herself a woman alone in Port Saint Frey, or any other city for that matter. Her family was her only protection, though it didn’t seem as if they liked the idea any more than she did.
She flexed her fingers to try her powers again when she remembered her sister tucked into bed. Then her eyes narrowed, and she looked closer at the bed with its still form.
Wait a minute…
Tesara jumped to her feet and with a great swoop threw back the covers. As she suspected, since it finally occurred to her she hadn’t heard breathing, her sister was not in the bed at all!
A bit of paper fluttered down to the floor and she picked it up. It was too dim in the room to read and she opened the shutters to let in the last fading light of the evening.
I knew I couldn’t fool you; the bedclothes were just to fool Mother and Father if they checked in on me from the door.
I’ll explain later.
Y
Chapter Twenty-Two
The convenient fiction of her sore throat gave Yvienne the excuse she needed. Once upstairs while her family was at their tea, she locked the bedroom door, and pulled out the brace of pistols. The pistols were simply yet beautifully constructed and had been well kept, even though they had spent years in the chest. Who had they belonged to? Neither of her parents were the type who would own a pistol, unless there was something she didn’t know about either of them. She dismissed Uncle Samwell out of hand; he wouldn’t be able to keep something like this secret. The pistols had been very carefully squirreled away, and perhaps even forgotten. She picked one up and pointed it at the wardrobe, holding the pistol in both hands and sighting at a knot in the wood. It was harder to keep it from wobbling than she expected, but she found that if she planted her feet and breathed gently, the barrel didn’t waver as much. She dry-fired the pistol, and the hammer fell with a solid thunk.
Wrapped up with the pistols was a slender ramrod, a twist of black powder, and three balls. She considered this new treasure and the possibilities it brought. The balance of power shifted ever so slightly away from the Guild.
Yvienne felt a rush of excitement and apprehension as she let herself out of the house by the front door while the family argued about something in the dining room, oblivious to her escape. She guessed it was about half past seven, and she needed to get to Treacher’s shop by eight to make their rendezvous.
The boy’s clothes fit and wanted only the hems let down on the trousers. The waistcoat and shirt were snug across her bosom – that had been a bit of a surprise, that even her slight curves were enough to fill out the clothes – but the jacket hid her shape convincingly. She wrapped the flannel around her neck as further camouflage, and pulled a cap down over her hair. She took one pistol and the shot and powder and carried it in a satchel on her hip.
A fog had rolled in, bringing an early night to Port Saint Frey. The streetlamps cast a fuzzy yellow glow that proved inadequate to the task of lighting her way, but it was to her advantage. Even befogged, the city was rowdy, with music from saloon pianos and fiddles skirling out over the damp streets, and shouts and laughter from revelers. She plunged into the
