one would know there’s magic in the Mansfield family.”
“What a dreadful question!” Sarah looked shocked, then thoughtful. “Losing Roger would be horrible, but losing Jamie would be worse. You did the right thing.” She hugged Tory. “Take care, brat. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.” Tory ended the hug. “Do you have magic you’ve concealed?”
Sarah glanced away just as their mother had. “It’s said that everyone has a bit of magic, so perhaps I have a touch. But not enough to be a mage, of course.”
“Of course,” Tory said dryly, thinking her sister protested too much. So the Mansfield women all had some magical talent.
But Tory was the only one who would be punished for it.
CHAPTER 5
No one saw Tory off the next morning. Everything had been said the night before. She climbed into the carriage, feeling like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine.
Her escorts, Mr. and Mrs. Retter, were pale, colorless people. They didn’t know quite how to treat her, so they avoided looking at her or talking to her. That made them boring escorts for the journey across England to Kent.
Boredom led to an acute awareness of her surroundings. Tory had always been good at sensing people’s emotions, though she’d never thought of that as magic. Now she actively tried to read the people she encountered when they stopped at inns. When they drove into a town on market day, she sensed jolliness before they saw the market square stalls. When they stopped at an inn outside London, she knew immediately that it was a sad place. Later she learned that the innkeeper’s old father had died a week before.
She also recognized that her mother was right: Magic was alluring. Tory liked understanding more about her surroundings. Though she desperately wanted to suppress her power, she found herself studying everyone she met, sharpening her magical sensitivity. Rescuing Jamie had opened a door she couldn’t seem to close.
Apparently she wasn’t a weather mage, since her wishes for rain to slow the journey were futile. The weather was perversely fair, and they arrived at Lackland Abbey on the afternoon of the fourth day. The school grounds were surrounded by a high stone wall that extended a vast distance in each direction.
The dour old gatekeeper opened the massive wrought iron gates and the Fairmount carriage rattled inside. As soon as they passed through the gates, Tory felt as if a suffocating blanket had fallen over her, reducing her magical perceptions to almost nothing. She had become accustomed to a gentle pulse of life in the back of her mind. Now only a feeble trickle of awareness was left. She hated the loss of her senses.
As the carriage traveled up the long driveway to a sprawling complex of pale stone buildings, Tory clenched her fists, fighting her anger and distress. The school looked cold and intimidating and old beyond imagining.
But there was one redeeming feature. When Tory climbed from the coach at the entrance to the largest building, she smelled a salt tang on the cool breeze. Molly had been right about the location. Tory felt better knowing the sea was near.
But she hated leaving the luxurious carriage. The velvet-covered seats and Mansfield coat of arms painted on the doors were her last tangible link with home.
Head high, she climbed the steps to the entrance, the Retters behind her. She flinched as she stepped through the heavy arched door. The atmosphere in the building was even more oppressive than outdoors.
A cold-faced porter greeted them. Mr. Retter said, “We are bringing Lady Victoria Mansfield to the school.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a flat packet. “Her documents.”
The porter accepted the papers. “Wait here.”
The reception area was cold stone with hard wooden benches on two walls. The Retters sat side by side on one bench while Tory paced. She feared freezing if she didn’t keep moving.
The porter finally returned. “This
“What a dreadful question!” Sarah looked shocked, then thoughtful. “Losing Roger would be horrible, but losing Jamie would be worse. You did the right thing.” She hugged Tory. “Take care, brat. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too.” Tory ended the hug. “Do you have magic you’ve concealed?”
Sarah glanced away just as their mother had. “It’s said that everyone has a bit of magic, so perhaps I have a touch. But not enough to be a mage, of course.”
“Of course,” Tory said dryly, thinking her sister protested too much. So the Mansfield women all had some magical talent.
But Tory was the only one who would be punished for it.
CHAPTER 5
No one saw Tory off the next morning. Everything had been said the night before. She climbed into the carriage, feeling like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine.
Her escorts, Mr. and Mrs. Retter, were pale, colorless people. They didn’t know quite how to treat her, so they avoided looking at her or talking to her. That made them boring escorts for the journey across England to Kent.
Boredom led to an acute awareness of her surroundings. Tory had always been good at sensing people’s emotions, though she’d never thought of that as magic. Now she actively tried to read the people she encountered when they stopped at inns. When they drove into a town on market day, she sensed jolliness before they saw the market square stalls. When they stopped at an inn outside London, she knew immediately that it was a sad place. Later she learned that the innkeeper’s old father had died a week before.
She also recognized that her mother was right: Magic was alluring. Tory liked understanding more about her surroundings. Though she desperately wanted to suppress her power, she found herself studying everyone she met, sharpening her magical sensitivity. Rescuing Jamie had opened a door she couldn’t seem to close.
Apparently she wasn’t a weather mage, since her wishes for rain to slow the journey were futile. The weather was perversely fair, and they arrived at Lackland Abbey on the afternoon of the fourth day. The school grounds were surrounded by a high stone wall that extended a vast distance in each direction.
The dour old gatekeeper opened the massive wrought iron gates and the Fairmount carriage rattled inside. As soon as they passed through the gates, Tory felt as if a suffocating blanket had fallen over her, reducing her magical perceptions to almost nothing. She had become accustomed to a gentle pulse of life in the back of her mind. Now only a feeble trickle of awareness was left. She hated the loss of her senses.
As the carriage traveled up the long driveway to a sprawling complex of pale stone buildings, Tory clenched her fists, fighting her anger and distress. The school looked cold and intimidating and old beyond imagining.
But there was one redeeming feature. When Tory climbed from the coach at the entrance to the largest building, she smelled a salt tang on the cool breeze. Molly had been right about the location. Tory felt better knowing the sea was near.
But she hated leaving the luxurious carriage. The velvet-covered seats and Mansfield coat of arms painted on the doors were her last tangible link with home.
Head high, she climbed the steps to the entrance, the Retters behind her. She flinched as she stepped through the heavy arched door. The atmosphere in the building was even more oppressive than outdoors.
A cold-faced porter greeted them. Mr. Retter said, “We are bringing Lady Victoria Mansfield to the school.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a flat packet. “Her documents.”
The porter accepted the papers. “Wait here.”
The reception area was cold stone with hard wooden benches on two walls. The Retters sat side by side on one bench while Tory paced. She feared freezing if she didn’t keep moving.
The porter finally returned. “This
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