Chapter 10

ChapterTen

So many of the students were happy to return home for Yule. He heard them chattering about the halls, even in the carriage that took him, his brothers, and a few of the neighbor’s children back to the street where they lived. Everyone wanted to guess what their parents had gotten them for Yule. Who would have the largest log, and whose would burn the longest?

These were all usual stories of children excited about a holiday break from their schooling. He knew that was the normal way to think.

But all he cared about was how deep the snow would be outside his window. How the desolate white landscape would make it even harder for him to get to sleep at night when he lay shivering in his cold bed. Balthazar didn’t care if it was winter outside. The colder it was in the house, the better.

At least Cassius and Lysander were busy talking with the other students about what they would get for Yule. His brothers were easy for their father to buy gifts for as they mimicked their father in everything. If Balthazar wanted it or particularly liked an item that he already owned, he would get one for his two children. But Alistair? He was harder. Eventually, his father gave up on trying to find something his strange son would like.

Now Alistair knew gifts would be waiting for him that Cassius and Lysander would steal. They were magical items that Alistair would never use or have any interest in—rare potion ingredients, sometimes the hides of famous animals, all the normal items that a boy his age and power should enjoy.

Or at least, that’s what everyone claimed.

The carriage rattled to a halt in front of their house, and his brothers said their goodbyes to the other students in the carriage. Even Alistair tried to give them all a nod, but his hair flopped in front of his eyes at the wrong moment, and his knit hat followed it, obscuring his vision.

He had the decided impression that the other people in the carriage weren’t interested in his goodbye, anyway. He was wasting his energy on them.

Hopping out of the carriage, he reached into his pockets and pulled on the hand-knit fingerless gloves that the brownies in the Academy had made for him. They’d noticed how purple his fingertips got in classes while trying to take notes. Apparently, it was worrisome enough for them to make a brand new pair of gloves that he could write with.

They weren’t made to capture attention. The brown yarn didn’t stand out, nor did the strands of earth green and deep blue look out of the ordinary. He thought they matched his hat quite well, and the brownies had done a decent job.

The carriage driver summoned their trunks down from the back and traded the magic off to all three of them. Even Alistair caught the trunk without too much difficulty.

Of course, Cassius sneered. “You can cast the spell at home but not at school? What is it, you’ve got some kind of performance anxiety? Your future wife will sure love that.”

How dare his brother even suggest that a wife wouldn’t be happy with a husband like Alistair? He already knew how different he was from everyone else in their family. Goddess, he was different from everyone in Wildecliff! No one needed to point that out.

Curling his hands into the gloves, he made fists at his side and retorted, “At least my wife won’t be married to a sadistic bastard like you.”

It was the first time he’d ever sworn at his brother. And though he’d stuck up for himself a few times before, no one could ever say that Alistair had been particularly brave. But right now, returning to the place he hated so much, he didn’t mind if he got knocked into the dirt for saying something Cassius didn’t like.

His brother let out a little snort while Lysander stared at him with his jaw wide open.

“Is that how it is?” Cassius said another huff of breath following his words. “So the whelp has a voice, after all.”

And then he walked away. Just left Alistair standing in the knee-deep snow with his trunk hovering next to him. Lysander quickly followed his brother.

The snow fell around him as the carriage moved to bring the other students back home. He’d never felt more elated than in this moment right now when he had stood up for himself and hadn’t gotten a black eye for it.

Atlas circled overhead, then landed on Alistair’s shoulder.

“Did you see that?” he asked his familiar.

The raven gave an uncomfortable squawk that suggested he didn’t think this was over. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Cassius would attack him in his bed tonight. But right now? He felt like he’d accomplished something.

Alistair made his way toward the looming dark house, staring up at the slate tiles on the roof that were already piled with snow. He’d found out the hard way that the snow could fall at any time and bury whoever was underneath it.

The front door stood open, just waiting for more cold air to blow through the entryway and make it even colder inside. He tucked his wool coat a little tighter around himself and ducked his head as he walked in. He didn’t want to see the portrait of his father looking down at him in that disappointed manner. Nor did he look at the wooden accents that made the dark walls somehow even darker. And he definitely didn’t want to see any of the dead flowers that his father insisted the maids leave because they were proof of the dark magic that went on within these walls.

He kept his head low through the hall, then turned right toward the stairwell that led up toward the family’s private chambers. At least the “children’s” wing would keep him safe. The stairs were icy even through his thick boots.

A gust of stiff wind blew through his jacket, and he shivered as he reached his door. How was it possible that the wind had gotten through his wool jacket? The blue fabric had never let him down before, but now even the neck didn’t seem high enough to keep him warm.

Or maybe it was just that knowledge that he’d returned. He’d come back to this horrible place that he hated. And that icy chill would never leave him as long as he was here.

The trunk bumped against his bedroom door, and he winced. At least no one yelled at him from inside their rooms or warned that if he kept making noise, they would come out there and deal with it themselves. Still. He hated being in a home where he had to fear what someone would say to him for as innocent a mistake as that.

Carefully opening his door, he stepped into the cold room and sighed as his trunk hit the floor.

His father had left the window open. Or maybe one of the maids had done so and forgotten that he hated the cold. Either way, snow had drifted through the window and would leave a wet spot on the floor once he got the fire going.

Alistair shuffled over to the window while Atlas leapt from his shoulder to his perch right in front of the chilled breeze.

“Sorry,” Alistair muttered, “I know it’s not what you expected either.”

Atlas squawked. He’d fluffed up so much that his feathers looked like he wore his own wool coat. Those dark eyes stared at him, thorns poking through as though he were a particularly angry, frustrated bird whose owner had forgotten him.

“I am sorry,” Alistair repeated. “I have no control over what happens in this house, you know that. If I could get my father to light every fireplace in the house, I would. I know you hate the cold just as much as I do.”

He paused in his apologies to listen. Why was there a scraping noise outside his window?

Alistair stopped mid-rant and peered out the windowsill down the building. Somehow, impossibly so, a toad clung to the side of the wall. And not just any toad.

“Browning,” he gasped before scooping the familiar up with his arm and dragging him inside the house.

Browning plopped onto the ground, breathing hard and covered in... winter clothes? Alistair’s jaw fell open as he finally noted the warm jacket wrapped around the toad like he was a child, the mittens on all four of his feet, and the hat shaped like a lily pad that had been tied around his thick neck.

She’d taken great lengths to ensure her toad companion had stayed warm, and now it was up to him to warm the toad back to life.

“How did you even get here?” he muttered as he slammed the window shut and rushed over to the fireplace. “It’s the middle of winter! What was she thinking? Atlas would have made it to her once the snow stopped, and she already sent me a letter. I haven’t replied to her yet because we were coming home from school, but I’d have told her all of that.”

Damned girl, she needed to learn some patience. He had half a mind to yell at her the moment he had the chance to, but when was he going to see this mystery girl from the other side of the river?

Browning hopped up to the fire and sat down on his back haunches, neck enveloping the tie of his hat. Those big, watery eyes watched each of his moves, and he made a little grunt every time Alistair stacked the wood in a way he didn’t like.

“I’ve been lighting fires in this room since I was five years old,” he muttered. “Stop critiquing my skills.”

Even Atlas glided down from his perch and landed next to the toad. The two familiars were quite particular in the way they wanted the fire lit, and then both of them scooted far too close to the flames.

“Here.” Alistair reached underneath Browning’s chin and untied the warm hat. “You’ll get too warm.”

He didn’t enjoy touching Thea’s familiar. Sure, there was always something interesting about all creatures, and he hated to think he’d insult the toad. But the little thing was sweaty sometimes, and he had clearly sweat on the journey and now was a little too toasty here by the fire.

The moment the hat was off, Browning opened his mouth as wide as possible and tilted his head back until he resembled some kind of planter he might have seen at school. The toad looked like he wanted Alistair to give him something, but he didn’t have any food here that would satisfy a curious toad like this one.

“Um,” he muttered. “I don’t know what you want.”

Browning shuffled closer to him.

“I really don’t have any food here, bud. I can go get some, perhaps in the kitchen? But I’m not sure we have anything that you’d like to eat.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I wasn’t expecting you or I would have foraged a bit. Bugs and worms are harder to find in winter.”

But the toad only got closer until Alistair realized something was inside Browning’s mouth. It glistened, dark and smooth like a stone, but not quite that hard. He had no idea what was in that toad’s mouth, but he supposed if something horrible was inside the poor familiar, he should help ease the discomfort.

Sighing, he rolled his sleeves up and steeled himself for what would likely be one of the most disgusting experiences of his life. Alistair kept his eyes open for as long as he could stand and then grabbed what was inside Browning’s mouth.

He tugged, and then it just kept coming—more and more of what revealed itself to be a long, smooth box. There was a black velvet bow around it that had been ruined by Browning’s saliva and a letter that was also wrapped around the box.

“Why?” he muttered. “Why couldn’t she have waited for Atlas?”

He shook some of the slobber off the box and then peeled the letter off. All the while, he did his best not to gag or make it more dramatic than it already was. Poor Browning thought he’d done a good job. He’d tried his best, after all.

He opened the letter to find her chicken scratch handwriting waiting for him.

Alistair

I know I already wrote you, but I found this while out shopping with my mother, and I couldn’t resist. It just looked so perfect for you!

And... Well.

Happy Yule.

Thea

She’d gotten him this gift for Yule? He hadn’t known they were getting each other anything for Yule, or he would have spent some of his allowance on her. But now he would look like a fool because he hadn’t gotten her anything at all.

Still, he stroked his fingers over the box, cleaning it one last time before he opened the lid.

Golden letters on the inside told him it was a mistake erasing quill. His eyes, however, couldn’t stop looking at the beautiful black quill with a golden tip that would make writing letters and even taking notes in his classes so much easier.

The thought that went into this gift nearly stopped his heart in his chest. It meant so much to him that she would take the time to even think of him at all, let alone buy him something with her hard-earned money.

He lifted the quill out of the box, and both familiars made little sounds of awe.

“Isn’t it lovely?” he asked them. “She got this for me.”

If possible, Browning puffed up even more in pride for his witch, who had done everything right. The familiar was a loyal one. Even Alistair could see that just by looking at him.

Now he wanted to get her something. He wanted to make this festival special for her too, but he didn’t know how. She’d seen something that made her think of him, and the honor of that... well, he didn’t know if he could match it as easily as she had done.

He never went shopping. He rarely went out of the house when he was home.

But he wanted to find a gift that screamed “Thea.”

He set the quill down on his bedside table and focused on Browning. “I’ll admit, I don’t know your witch as well as she knows me. But I want to get her something special in return, Browning. Something she’ll like.”

The toad focused on him and gave him a little nod.

“Will you help me?”

Remarkably, the toad held out its hand and waited for Alistair to shake it. This little creature was more human-like than his raven. Although, in looking at his own familiar now, he wondered if he simply hadn’t treated Atlas like the family member he was.

“All right, you two. Let’s figure out the best gift for Miss Thea. It is Yule, after all.”