“Of course.” I drew a deep, invigorating breath.
Fresh air, I told myself firmly. All I needed was the taste of the cool night air to start my thoughts moving briskly again.
I’d worked through sleepless nights often enough in my student days—but then, of course, I’d had Wrexham working beside me at the same ancient study table in the Great Library, the two of us staying awake together long after all of our fellow students had given up and gone to bed. We’d teased and challenged each other to ever greater heights in our endless rivalry to win the highest marks, the greatest victories...and most of all, to impress each other at every turn.
Those nights, I hadn’t needed any sleep; I’d felt utterlyalivefor the first time in my life. We hadn’t so much as kissed, at first—we’d barely even touched except for accidental brushes of arms and shoulders that had left me tingling for hours afterward. The mere, crackling awareness of all that lean, focused brilliance at my side, like captured flame—his silky, smooth dark hair tumbling over his forehead as he’d leaned over his books; his long, light brown fingers turning the pages and inspiring dizzying fantasies of how they’d feel if they ever brushed against my skin—had been more than enough to keep me pricklingly wide awake and determined to prove myself to both of us, no matter what that took.
And now, the memory of those late nights in the Great Library was enough to turn my smile genuine as I led the chief magical officer of the Boudiccate through the bronze-and-green corridors of my own school, past scattered girls who’d lingered in the wide foyer to chat on their way back to their private quarters.
They shot us awed and wide-eyed glances; I gave them firm nods in return. “Don’t stay up too late,” I told them. “Classes start early in the morning, and you’ll want to be alert.”
For the first time in all the years I’d known him, Mr. Westgate’s stern lips twitched in unmistakable amusement. He had the grace to stay silent until the great front door swung shut behind us, leaving us alone and unobserved except by the birds and small insects who swooped through the cool, darkening air and pecked at the pebbled drive beyond our feet.
With all the loud and bustling confusion of student arrivals at an end, the wild denizens of the fields and woods around Thornfell were re-emerging to claim their territory for the night. It had always been a favorite time of mine to sit outside and think in peace. If I knew my brother and my sister-in-law, they would be outside right now, too, taking their usual evening walk around the lake that glimmered in the distance, beyond the great bulk of Harwood House.
Mr. Westgate inquired, “Did you often retire early to bed in your own student days, Miss Harwood?”
I aimed him a sidelong glance, my smile turning mischievous. “Didyou?”
At that, he let out a huff of air that might almost have been a laugh, and turned to cast his own sharp gaze across the rolling landscape.
“Of course, you already know the Aelfen Mere,” I said, gesturing toward the lake in the distance.
Along with the Boudiccate’s other magical officers, he’d attended annual balls beneath those waves in my younger years, back when my mother was still one of the Boudiccate’s most famous hostesses and my late father’s greatest spell had still held sway beneath the lake. To begin our tour of the rest of the estate now, I led him in a circling path around Thornfell’s rambling red brick walls.
Rabbits, small and brown and quick, startled out of the grass before us as we walked, and a flash of red in the corner of my eye heralded a fox slipping swiftly out of sight. The woods rustled temptingly beyond our modest gardens, thick and green and far more vibrant than any of the plain hedges my new gardener had tamed into submission a few weeks ago. We were lucky, at least, to be at the height of spring; after a few discreet evening visits from Miss Birch across the past week or two, I could already glimpse bright flowers starting to unfurl in their new beds, where thick, tangled undergrowth had reigned supreme for the past twenty years or more.
Still, I wasn’t surprised to see Mr. Westgate’s gaze slip past the unimpressive gardens—and young Luton’s plain stone cottage—to the great, whispering woods that sprawled beyond, large enough to swallow Thornfell’s grounds many times over.
“Your father used to tell stories about those woods,” he said. “He claimed they were some of the most magical in Angland.”
“They certainly are,” I agreed, “but I wouldn’t venture inside them while you’re here. The—”
“Bluebell season, yes, yes, I know.” He waved my words aside with one flick of his hand. “We all heard your warning after supper.Bothwarnings, in fact. I may be aging, Miss Harwood, but you may rest assured that my ears still function perfectly well.”
I bit back a sigh. “I wouldn’t doubt it, but I thought I’d better repeat it more than once tonight. Students have never been famous for taking heed of sensible warnings.”
“Hmm.” He gave a quiet snort and shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back. “You never did, as I recall—beforeorafter your student days.”
Well.There were so many ways to interpret that statement that I couldn’t even begin to respond. From the first time I’d revealed my own magical powers to the world at large, defying all of my mother’s threats and warnings, to the moment last year when I had cast a spell that everyoneknewno solitary magician could ever manage, in my final attempt to prove myself to everyone who refused to hire a woman to cast magic...
I took a deep, steadying breath. “We all make mistakes,” I said. “But with luck, we can learn from them—and help others to learn, too.”
“An admirable way of putting it.” He turned his fierce gaze to me, his thick brows lowered. “But how many other people should pay the price for our mistakes?”
My throat felt suddenly dry. “I beg your pardon?”
“All the times I’ve visited this estate...” He shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. “Sofamously magical, so undeniably glittering...yes, you Harwoods have always shone in politics and magic alike. There’s no question of the power in your family. But perhaps that’s what’s led to your fatal flaw: as a dynasty, you were gifted too muchpowerto care for unexcitingduty.”
A sharp spike of pain jabbed through my jaw as it re-clenched. I had to force myself to breathe steadily, in and out through my teeth, as memories jostled before my eyes—my mother working so tirelessly through her too-short life, throwing everything she had at the good of the nation; Jonathan, supporting all of us throughout with his quiet, thoughtful kindness and his deeply principled strength; and Amy, who cared so fiercely foreveryone...
It took a long moment before I could allow myself to speak. “My family,” I said, “has raised every generationforcenturiesto serve Angland to the utmost of our abilities. We—”
“Theutmost of your abilities,” he repeated. “An exhilarating challenge, to be sure. But what happens when the good of the nation demands that you relinquish your own abilities? That you step aside from personal glory for Angland’s sake?”
And now we came to that same bitter old question, still furiously unresolved, all these years after I’d first won my place in the Great Library and naïvely thought the matter decided forever. My teeth ground together and my eyes narrowed as I glared up into his pitiless face. “It canneverbe for the good of the nation for half of Angland’s natural magic-workers to be stifled in their abilities! If wewantours to be the strongest nation in the world, with a magical defense that none can match—”
“Cassandra Harwood,” said Lionel Westgate with weary finality, “I’ve known you since you were a little girl. I watched your first public performance of magic beneath that lake, and I know as well as you that it hadnothingto do with bolstering Angland’s magical defenses. No, you only wished to show the extent of your own power off to the world—as you Harwoods are alwayssoeager to do. Why do you think I never hired you as an officer of magic, despite all of your famous skills?”
