outside, she gulped the sharp winter air and started to cry.
"Karla," Morton murmured, holding her close.
"She was a witch," Karla sobbed. "She was a witch and they skinned her alive so that little bitch could—"
She felt a shudder go through Morton. Then his arms tightened, as if he could protect her. And he would try to protect her, which is why she couldn't tell him about the danger she sensed every time Uncle Hobart looked at her. At sixteen, Morton had just begun his formal court training.
He was the only real family she had left—and the only friend she had left.
The bitter anger boiled over without warning.
"It's been two years!" She pushed at Morton until he released her. "She's been in Kaeleer for two years, and she hasn't come to visit once!" She began pacing furiously.
"People change, Karla," Morton said cautiously. "Friends don't always remain friends."
"Not Jaenelle. Not with me. That malevolent bastard at SaDiablo Hall is keeping her chained somehow.
I know it, Morton." She thumped her chest hard enough to make Morton wince. "In here, I know it."
"The Dark Council appointed him her legal guardian—"
Karla turned on him. "Don't talk to me about guardians, Lord Morton," she hissed. "I know all about
'guardians.' "
"Karla," Morton said weakly.
" 'Karla,' " she mimicked bitterly. "It's always 'Karla.' Karla's the one who's out of control. Karla's the one who's becoming emotionally unstable because of her apprenticeship in the Hourglass coven. Karla's the one who's become too excitable, too hostile, too intractable. Karla's the one who's cast aside all those delightful simpering manners that males find appealing."
"Males don't find that—"
"And Karla's the one who will gut the next son of a whoring bitch who tries to shove his hand or anything else between her legs!"
"What?"
Karla turned her back to Morton. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. She hadn't meant to say that.
"Is that why you cut your hair like that after Uncle Hobart insisted that you come back to the family estate to live? Is that why you burned all your dresses and started wearing my old clothes?" Morton grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. "Is it?"
Tears filled Karla's eyes. "A broken witch is a complacent witch," she said softly. "Isn't that true, Morton?"
Morton shook his head. "You wear Birthright Sapphire.
There aren't any males in Glacia who wear a Jewel darker than the Green."
"A Blood male can get around a witch's strength if he waits for the right moment and has help."
Morton swore softly, viciously.
"What if that's the reason Jaenelle doesn't come to visit anymore? What if he's done to her what Uncle Hobart wants to do to me?"
Morton stepped away from her. "I'm surprised you even tolerate me being near you."
She could almost see the wounds the truth had left on his heart. There was nothing she could do now about the truth, but there was something she could do about the wounds. "You're family."
"I'm male."
"You're Morton. The exception to the rule."
Morton hesitated, then opened his arms. "Want a hug?"
Stepping into his arms, Karla held him as fiercely as he held her.
"Listen," he said hoarsely. "Write a letter to the High Lord and ask him if Jaenelle could come for a visit.
Ask for a return reply."
"The Old Fart will never let me send a courier to SaDiablo Hall," Karla muttered into his shoulder.
"Uncle Hobart isn't going to know." Morton took a deep breath. "I'll deliver the letter personally and wait for an answer."
Before Morton could offer his handkerchief, Karla stepped back, sniffed, and wiped her face on the shirt she'd taken from his wardrobe. She sniffed again and was done with paltry emotions.
"Karla," Morton said, eyeing her nervously. "You will write a polite letter, won't you?"
"I'll be a polite as I can be," Karla assured him.
Morton groaned.
Oh, yes. She would write to the High Lord. And, one way or another, she would get the answer she
"Karla," Morton murmured, holding her close.
"She was a witch," Karla sobbed. "She was a witch and they skinned her alive so that little bitch could—"
She felt a shudder go through Morton. Then his arms tightened, as if he could protect her. And he would try to protect her, which is why she couldn't tell him about the danger she sensed every time Uncle Hobart looked at her. At sixteen, Morton had just begun his formal court training.
He was the only real family she had left—and the only friend she had left.
The bitter anger boiled over without warning.
"It's been two years!" She pushed at Morton until he released her. "She's been in Kaeleer for two years, and she hasn't come to visit once!" She began pacing furiously.
"People change, Karla," Morton said cautiously. "Friends don't always remain friends."
"Not Jaenelle. Not with me. That malevolent bastard at SaDiablo Hall is keeping her chained somehow.
I know it, Morton." She thumped her chest hard enough to make Morton wince. "In here, I know it."
"The Dark Council appointed him her legal guardian—"
Karla turned on him. "Don't talk to me about guardians, Lord Morton," she hissed. "I know all about
'guardians.' "
"Karla," Morton said weakly.
" 'Karla,' " she mimicked bitterly. "It's always 'Karla.' Karla's the one who's out of control. Karla's the one who's becoming emotionally unstable because of her apprenticeship in the Hourglass coven. Karla's the one who's become too excitable, too hostile, too intractable. Karla's the one who's cast aside all those delightful simpering manners that males find appealing."
"Males don't find that—"
"And Karla's the one who will gut the next son of a whoring bitch who tries to shove his hand or anything else between her legs!"
"What?"
Karla turned her back to Morton. Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. She hadn't meant to say that.
"Is that why you cut your hair like that after Uncle Hobart insisted that you come back to the family estate to live? Is that why you burned all your dresses and started wearing my old clothes?" Morton grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. "Is it?"
Tears filled Karla's eyes. "A broken witch is a complacent witch," she said softly. "Isn't that true, Morton?"
Morton shook his head. "You wear Birthright Sapphire.
There aren't any males in Glacia who wear a Jewel darker than the Green."
"A Blood male can get around a witch's strength if he waits for the right moment and has help."
Morton swore softly, viciously.
"What if that's the reason Jaenelle doesn't come to visit anymore? What if he's done to her what Uncle Hobart wants to do to me?"
Morton stepped away from her. "I'm surprised you even tolerate me being near you."
She could almost see the wounds the truth had left on his heart. There was nothing she could do now about the truth, but there was something she could do about the wounds. "You're family."
"I'm male."
"You're Morton. The exception to the rule."
Morton hesitated, then opened his arms. "Want a hug?"
Stepping into his arms, Karla held him as fiercely as he held her.
"Listen," he said hoarsely. "Write a letter to the High Lord and ask him if Jaenelle could come for a visit.
Ask for a return reply."
"The Old Fart will never let me send a courier to SaDiablo Hall," Karla muttered into his shoulder.
"Uncle Hobart isn't going to know." Morton took a deep breath. "I'll deliver the letter personally and wait for an answer."
Before Morton could offer his handkerchief, Karla stepped back, sniffed, and wiped her face on the shirt she'd taken from his wardrobe. She sniffed again and was done with paltry emotions.
"Karla," Morton said, eyeing her nervously. "You will write a polite letter, won't you?"
"I'll be a polite as I can be," Karla assured him.
Morton groaned.
Oh, yes. She would write to the High Lord. And, one way or another, she would get the answer she
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