A Girl in Black and White (Alyria 2)

“The Girl in Black? Really, Cal. Why don’t you just put a sign on your head pledging your loyalty to the Court of Mages?”

I shivered at that. The last Mage I’d come into contact with wasn’t the friendliest man. Mages weren’t humans and were disgusted by the outsiders who came from Elian and stole more magic than Alyria would grant them by desecrating the land—therefore, the Sisterhood.

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” I said, running my hand across some silky fabrics. “If I didn’t get out of that house every once in a while, I think I would’ve murdered everyone in it.”

Every so often as we walked the streets, I’d get a look from someone who seemed to notice me from last night; but just as they had acted at my hanging, their expressions were bored as they passed by. So far no one had alerted any king’s guards, but now that I could feel the burn in my palms on command, my worry drifted away on the breeze.

“Well, thankfully you did then,” my mother said dryly. “Agnes didn’t give you a hard time about it, did she?”

“No, I think we worked it out.”

My eyes caught on my wrist, my attention zeroing in. The blood below my skin . . . chafing. An itch to drip . . . drip—

“Good.”

I snapped out of it, my heartbeat picking up as I inhaled a little breath.

“But whatever you do, don’t come by the house. Clinton is very angry with you. He thinks you’ve compelled Alis to fall in love with Juliana.”

I shook my head, pushing that dangerous moment away. “That’s ridiculous. Alis is too strong for me to compel.”

“That’s exactly what I told him. But he still doesn’t believe me. He thinks you are some kind of prodigy or something.” She snorted.

A frown pulled on my lips at that. And then as nonchalantly as you please, I said, “Mother, who was my father?”

She dropped a dress right onto the Symbian dirt, receiving a curse from the old woman vendor. Mother picked it up gingerly and hung it back on the hook like it hadn’t happened. “I think we should get something to eat from that vendor down the street. Clinton is home, and I wasn’t jesting before—I believe he very well may try to kill you if we go there.”

“That’s nice, Mother. But who’s my father?”

She winced, moving on to some other dress, before supplying, “A man.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I’m quite aware he was a man, thank you. The question is who.”

“I don’t know, Cal. Am I supposed to keep track of every man I’m with?”

“Yes! That’s usually a good thing to do so th

at things like this do not happen. But if you are only thirty-eight, then you had me at the age of seventeen. I doubt you were bedding hordes of men then.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Could’ve been. But I honestly don’t know. I was in that house same as you. It was dark, and I was walking home from the library—” My gaze narrowed, and she sighed, “—okay, I was walking home from some tavern. The spelled windows never kept me in either, and you can thank me for that gift. It’s practically the only one I have. Anyway, it was too dark to see him, and well . . .” She shrugged.

Her answer dawned on me. “Are you saying you were raped?”

“Yea, that’s what I’m saying,” she said, digging through a basket of scarves. “Ooh, this one is my color, isn’t it?”

My heart beat at the revelation. “So why didn’t you use one of those tonics to get rid of me then?”

“I did not know the man, but that didn’t mean you weren’t half of me.”

I swallowed, my throat feeling thick. “Then why hand me off to Grandmother?”

“Cal, do we really have to bring this all up? It was so long ago, I’ve practically forgotten.”

I’d never voiced these questions before, but I suddenly felt strong enough to face them. I needed to know so that naïve wouldn’t be a word continuing to follow me. “That is unfortunate, but if you’ve truly forgotten . . . then I shall merely have to go find and voice my questions to Grandmother—”

My mother grumbled something under her breath. “You are manipulative, aren’t you? Guess I know where that came from . . .” She sighed. “I don’t have much magic to speak of, really. But every once in a while, I get visions or intuitions about something. It’s how I knew Clinton slept with that awful redheaded woman who lives across the square from us.” She shivered in disgust.

“So, you . . . what? Saw something?”