It was her mother’s turn to be shocked. “How? Since when did the Lowes let their children see the sun?”
“It was the night his photo was taken. We were in the same pub. Is this about that rumor? That he attacked someone?”
“You already heard about that?”
“Oliver and Hassan were talking about it,” Isobel said, a lump in her throat. “Why? What happened?”
“What that boy did today … it was horrible. Bayard Attwater went blind from it.”
“He attacked Mr. Attwater?” Isobel asked, aghast. Bayard Attwater was a powerful man.
“It was dubious self-defense, but even so…” She took a deep breath. “I know that when the tournament begins, he won’t be as strong without his access to high magick. But either way, I don’t like this. He’s dangerous, troubled. Promise me you won’t be the one to confront him.”
The fear in her mother’s tone made Isobel’s own nerves rattle in her stomach. But she didn’t betray that. After the past month of arguments, Isobel knew better than to show her mother any weakness, lest she seize it and twist it into more reasons why Isobel shouldn’t be champion. And when she wasn’t fighting with Isobel about it, she was fighting with her father. It was exhausting.
“Can we not talk about the tournament?” Isobel asked, as if she were dealing with Oliver all over again. She rooted around her comforter for her CD player, eager to be alone.
“I just don’t get it, Isobel,” her mom said shrilly. “I really don’t. You have your whole life ahead of you. A year ago, you were talking about fashion school. You didn’t want anything to do with that book, or the tournament, or—”
“I changed my mind, okay?” Isobel snapped. “It’s my decision.”
“But it’s not your decision. You’re still a minor. If you need a medical operation, I agree to it. If you go on a field trip, I sign your permission slip.”
They’d had this fight a dozen times. Isobel ignored her and went to work untangling her headphones.
“I still want to know what your father said to you,” her mother continued. “I know how he is. I know he convinced you.”
Her father’s raspy voice filled her mind.
You’d abandon your own flesh and blood? After all we’ve done for you?
Is it because you’re scared? You’re too talented to be scared. The media already loves you.
Is it because you’re ashamed of us?
You could win, Isobel. You know you could.
“Maybe I want to be champion,” Isobel lied. “Maybe I want history to remember me for winning.”
“That’s how Briony used to talk, not you,” her mother said, and Isobel flinched at the mention of Briony’s name, at the memory of everything Briony had done to her. She knew Briony must’ve been hurting since her sister was declared champion, and Isobel was glad for it. Glad Briony Thorburn had finally been denied one single thing she wanted. “When you were a baby, I didn’t worry. I thought that since you’d only be sixteen, they’d pick one of your older cousins. It’s not like they’ve paid much attention to you since your father and I split.”
“They’ve always paid my school tuition,” Isobel pointed out. “And sent me birthday presents.”
“Isobel, your aunts and uncles probably didn’t even know how to spell your name until last year. Your father was content with visits once a month. But suddenly, those articles came out. Suddenly, you’re the famous pride and joy of the Macaslan family. They think of you as a tool to be used, not a person.”
Her words stung. Maybe most of Isobel’s childhood memories of her relatives were hazy recollections of diamond-studded wristwatches and cigar smoke. But at least, when the entire world had turned away from her, the Macaslans had embraced her with open arms.
But Isobel knew her mother’s words were more loaded than that. Almost a decade ago, she’d caught her father using her business to siphon money into fraudulent accounts. Hence the divorce.
“They’re still my family, aren’t they?” Isobel countered. “Don’t they have a right to use me?”
“No!” Her mother reached for her hand, but Isobel jerked it away. “No, they don’t.”
“So which of my cousins would you rather they use instead? Peter? Anita? Greg—”
“Any of them! Any of them other than my daughter!” When Isobel tried to shove her headphones in her ears, her mother ripped the cord away. “I’m not finished talking to you!”