“Not properly,” Anna said. “My father wanted us to meet, but Aunt Tatiana forbade us to see him. One day I do recall, though; I must have been around eight years old. Aunt had come to our house to retrieve a pair of candlesticks she insisted were family heirlooms.” Anna rolled her eyes. “She didn’t come inside, but I looked out the window because I was curious. I saw Jesse sitting in the open carriage. A skinny thing, like a little scarecrow, with that straight black hair and sharp little face. Green eyes, I think.”
Lucie started to nod, and stopped herself. “He was kind to Grace,” she said. “She remembers it as the only kindness she ever knew.” She took a deep breath. She knew she could not tell Anna and Ariadne the full truth: they could not know of her hopes to raise Jesse, or about the preservation of his body. But if they knew just enough to wish to help… well, there were other warlocks besides Malcolm Fade. “What I am about to say must stay between the three of us. If Grace finds out I told you, she will be very upset.”
Ariadne nodded, her amber eyes catching the light of the hearth. “Of course.”
“Jesse died when his first rune was placed on him. It was an awful thing,” said Lucie, letting a little of the real grief she felt creep into her voice. Anna and Ariadne might think it was empathy for Grace, and a bit of it was. But it was also sorrow for Jesse, for all the days he had not lived, the sunrises he had not seen, for the quiet hours trapped in an empty house all the years since his death. “And—well, let us say, there were mysterious circumstances surrounding the event. Now that Tatiana is in the Adamant Citadel and can no longer control her daughter’s movements, Grace has become obsessed with finding out the truth.”
Ariadne looked intrigued. “She’s playing detective?”
“Er,” said Lucie, who had not expected quite this reaction. “Yes. We went to see Malcolm Fade to ask if he knew anything of Jesse Blackthorn. He is High Warlock, after all; he knows a great deal. He implied that there was more to the story of what happened to Grace’s brother than what the Clave believed. And that a warlock was somehow involved.”
“Involved in what manner?” Anna demanded.
“And who was the warlock?” asked Ariadne.
Lucie shook her head. “He wouldn’t say.”
Anna gazed into the fire. “I would not normally feel much sympathy for Grace Blackthorn. But I do remember when Tatiana adopted her. I was only ten or so, but there were… rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?” Lucie asked.
Anna set her wineglass down. “Well, you know that Grace was orphaned. Her parents were slain by demons.” She cast a quick look at Ariadne, who had been another such orphan. “Ordinarily, a surviving child would have been sent to live with a family member. If there were no family members who could take an orphan in, they would be sent to the orphanage in Idris, or placed in an Institute, as happened with Uncle Jem. There are living Cartwrights. Grace was to be sent to live with her father’s cousin, until Tatiana intervened.”
“What do you mean, ‘intervened’？” Lucie asked.
“Tatiana bought her,” Anna said flatly. “The Cartwrights were already overstretched with their own children, and she apparently offered them quite a handsome sum. The story is that she’d been skulking around the orphanage for years, claiming she wanted a daughter, but she hadn’t found any child to her liking. Until Grace.”
Lucie was horrified. “Does Grace know? That she was a—a transaction?”
“I rather hope not, for that would be a monstrous thing to face,” Anna said. “Though perhaps it is better to know the truth.”
The echo of Grace’s own words gave Lucie a start.
Ariadne said, “I wish there was some way we could help her.”
“I think there might be,” Lucie said, choosing her words with care. “Only she mustn’t know we’re doing it. Perhaps we could… inquire into the circumstances of Jesse Blackthorn’s death. We are better connected than Grace; we might be able to learn things she hasn’t.”
“Do you really think it would help her, to know the truth about her brother’s death?” Ariadne asked. “It does not always do good, to dig up the past.”
“I think any sort of resolution about the matter might bring her peace,” Lucie said.
For a few moments, the only sound was the crackling of the flames. Anna gazed restlessly into them; it was always a paradox, Lucie thought, the way Anna—generous, openhearted Anna—could be as opaque as clouded glass.