She smiles sadly. “No one knows. They were more or less forgotten. I hadn’t even heard of them until two years ago when the young Lord Ackerly descended on the finest social circles of the city, charming and handsome and rumored to be downright deadly with his magical knowledge. Everyone called on him, trying to find out whether he had learned Hallin magic. He never demonstrated anything but the most proficient wielding of Cromberg skill since Lord Downpike, whom many consider to be the most powerful man in Albion.
“Lord Downpike was, of course, obsessed with finding out what he knew. According to rumor, he’s been planting spies for years all over the Iverian continent—in Gallen, Saxxone, even the smaller countries like Ruma. Nothing worked. Lord Ackerly was a new, easier target. If Lord Downpike could get your Finn on his side, he thought he could access the elusive Hallin magical knowledge. Downpike tried everything—bribery, threats, even theft—to get to Lord Ackerly, but nothing worked. Lord Ackerly was unconnected to everything and everyone, acquaintance of all and friend to none. He only stepped in when he thought someone was leaning too close to encouraging war. There was nothing for Lord Downpike to do, no advantage for him to secure. Until . . .” She trails off with a pointed smile.
“Until me.”
“Until you.”
“But Finn has said nothing of having extra magic.”
“I’ve tested him myself—oh, don’t tell him! His magic is pure Cromberg. There was nothing strange in it.”
I nod. “And the things I’ve studied from Lord Downpike’s and Finn’s books function in the same way and contain the same relative information.”
“You’re studying magic now? But I thought—can you do anything?”
“No, no. My father may be Alben but he is not noble in any sense of the word. I simply nurture a scholarly curiosity.”
She laughs. “You probably know more than I do now.”
“I’ll admit I find it odd that you have access to all of this information and power and you choose to ignore most of it.”
Her smile becomes sly. “Dear Jessamin, I ignore nothing.”
“But what of the history? I want to know how it happened, where it came from. Who were the original Hallins and Crombergs? How did they discover the magic? What happened to divide them?”
Her look grows serious. “Don’t ask too many questions there. Some history has been lost to time. Other histories have been deliberately hidden. You’re not supposed to know any of this to begin with, and—” She shifts into a hollow, rattling cough. She pulls a handkerchief out to cover her mouth.
“Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
She’s coughing too hard to answer me, so I pour a glass of water and take it to her. When the cough finally passes, she puts the handkerchief down. We both stare.
It’s spotted with blood, seeping as we watch to form the familiar silhouette of a large bird.
“Oh,” Eleanor says, a soft exhalation of surprise. “That can’t be good.”
I stand, then sit, then stand again. “Where is your uncle? He won’t stand for Lord Downpike threatening you!”
Eleanor continues to stare at the handkerchief, her pallor gray. “My uncle left for a month-long holiday yesterday.”
“I’m sending the butler for a doctor immediately. Where is Ernest? Can he stay with you while I run to fetch Finn? Finn can fix this. I know he can.”
Eleanor nods, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Hattie, the maid, she’ll fetch Ernest.” She looks up, her lip trembling. “Jessamin, I’m scared.”
I pull her to me, kiss her forehead. “I will take care o
f you. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
I wait until the butler is dispatched and Hattie is helping Eleanor into bed before rushing down the stairs. Ernest passes me, his look frantic.
“Jessamin, I—”
“Neither of us can afford to stand idly by anymore, Ernest. I’m sorry for whatever part I play in this, but it is not my fault. It is Lord Downpike’s doing entirely. And until the people with power in this country are willing to openly stand against his vicious bullying to further his cause, everyone is at risk.”
He doesn’t have time to respond before I am out the front door. Finn can fix this. He will. And then—I don’t know. I don’t know how long we can play this game, run around dousing the flames Lord Downpike is sending to lick at our heels.
As I turn a corner at a run, someone grabs my wrist, spinning me to a stop against his chest. I look up into Lord Downpike’s falsely handsome face.
“Such a hurry, little rabbit. It’s as though someone has died. Or is dying, perhaps?”