Susan Krinard - Lord of Sin

“You knew her far better than I.”

He flinched. “I never claimed to hold superhuman abilities. You knew of Pamela’s earlier conspiracies, did you not?”

“I could not be everywhere at once.”

“Then you chose to begin something you could not hope to finish.”

Anger, however unreasonable, gave Nuala a sliver of courage. “Would you have let your brother betray Mariah and kill Ash?”

“Not if I understood what was going on. You could have approached me at any time, and I would have helped you before things got out of hand. You assumed that you could interfere in our lives without consequence.”

All he said was true. She had attempted too much. Even before Donbridge, she had known that her power had gradually been growing weaker, though she had not understood the reason. She should have taken heed of her limitations. Only she was to blame. Yet to do as she had intended, to admit her mistakes to this man who so despised her…

“I deeply regret what happened,” she said, meaning it with all her heart. “But Lord Donnington chose his own path.”

“Perhaps you wanted Giles dead.”

The accusation took her breath away. “You are wrong,” she said. “I would not wish to see anyone—”

Would you not, Nuala?

She turned her back to him, clasping her arms across her chest. “I wished no one such a fate,” she said. “Not even a man who would sell his wife for the chance to hunt and kill a unicorn.”

The silence fell like smothering snow. “My brother made many mistakes,” Sinjin said at last, his voice thick with emotion. “But he planned to defy the Fane and keep Mariah.”

“At the cost of Ash’s life.”

“You couldn’t even help Ash in the end. You left it all up to Mariah.”

“Because she had become strong enough. She didn’t need me anymore.”

“You were so certain of that, yet so ignorant of everything else?”

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t explain what she didn’t fully understand herself: how she had always depended upon her witch’s instincts to tell her when to take direct action in the lives of those she watched over, and when to leave them to determine their own ultimate fate. It had always been a fine balance, and she had utterly failed to find it at Donbridge.

Sinjin’s footsteps moved about the room, the tap of his heels beating out an agitated rhythm. He clearly wanted much more from her than an apology.

For his guilt was almost as great as hers. It simmered beneath his righteous anger and grief for his brother. He and Giles had never been close; to the contrary, both Giles and their mother, the dowager, had been cool and distant with Sinjin since his childhood.

And that made matters all the worse for him. He had to convince himself that he had not sacrificed a lifetime’s closeness to his only sibling because of his own choices. He wanted to prove to himself, and to her, that he had not betrayed his brother by loving Lady Westlake, for refusing to recognize the depth of Pamela’s obsession and determination to claim Giles for herself at any cost…even the former Lord Donnington’s life.

Yet Nuala had no power to ease his pain. She could not fight his battle for him; she could scarcely fight her own. She hugged herself more tightly.

“Why are we here, Lord Donnington?” she asked. “Is it your intention to punish me?”

“And how should I do that, Lady Charles? By exposing you for what you are? Informing Society that they have a witch and former chambermaid in their midst?” He barked a laugh. “Even if I were to attempt it, you might summon up a spell to turn me into a toad.”

“I have never possessed such an ability,” she said, staring at the window glass without seeing anything beyond it.

His footsteps came to an abrupt halt. “You admitted that you were a witch when you first revealed yourself to me,” he said, his words measured, as if he feared to expose his own suffering. “If I had not seen the impossible with my own eyes, I would not have believed such creatures existed. But you never explained what that means, where you came from, or how you knew that Mariah needed your ‘help.’”

No, she had not. There had been no time…and then she had chosen the coward’s way out rather than face just such questions as these.

But there were things she simply couldn’t tell Sinjin, part of her past that, if revealed, would only make him despise her more….

And she was not prepared for that. Not when she had yet to find her own redemption. Not when she couldn’t hate Sinjin, even when he made her face the weakest part of herself.

She turned back to him, assuming a calmness she was far from feeling. “If I answer these questions,” she said, “will there be peace between us?”

“Peace!” He laughed under his breath. “Is that what you want, Nuala?”

“We will doubtless meet many times during the Season,” she said. “You may believe what you wish of me, but I see no reason to trouble our friends and acquaintances.”

“Indeed not. It would be criminal to cause Society the least discomfiture.”

Nuala started for the door, intending to pass Sinjin as quickly as possible. He stopped her with a strong hand on her arm.

“I want to know,” he said, the words husky with something very like pleading. “What are you?”

She tried to relax in his grip, trusting that he would let go when he realized she would make no further attempt to escape. Once again his touch gave her a jolt, as if he were not her adversary, but something else entirely….

Someone passed by the half-open doorway. Sinjin released her. She retreated deeper into the room again, rubbing her arm where Sinjin had been holding it.

“It is no wonder you don’t understand,” she said. “Folklore claims that witches are evil hags who wish only ill to the world, that they cast spells meant to create pain and havoc.”

“And is folklore so wrong in its definition?”

She felt his challenging stare, but refused to meet it. “There might have been such people…surely there have been. But witches have been living in England for centuries, most in perfect harmony with…” She hesitated. “With nonmagical humans.”

“Humans? At Donbridge, you told me you weren’t Fane.”

“We—my people—are human in every respect but our magic. It is a gift passed down from one generation to the next, not gained through bargains with the devil or dark rituals.”

“There are more of you? God help us.”

His bitterness burned her like a white-hot brand. “Once there were many of us, yes. Enough to insure that our gifts were not completely lost.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and released it slowly. “We were bound by our magic and our traditions, many families scattered all over England, sometimes in small villagers where we were accepted and valued.” She dared to look at his face. “You wonder why they might value us. Many of us were healers, capable of doing what no ordinary physician could. Others were more proficient at casting spells over corn to make it grow thick and hearty.”

“You make these witches sound like paragons of virtue.”

“Oh, we were not. Nor did we claim to be.”

To her surprise, he said nothing to mock or berate her. “You are talking of things that happened in the past.”

“Yes.” It became very difficult to speak. “We are not as numerous as we once were. There are very few of us left in England, and most keep to themselves.”

“You didn’t.”

“Some of us…could not help but use our gifts when they were needed. I was able to…see when two people were meant to be together.”

“You’ve used this ‘gift’ before you came to Donbridge?”