Page 27 of The Thirteenth Count

Fern swallowed hard. He wasn’t tall, not truly—but his presence pressed in from all sides, crowding the air from her lungs, leaving her to drown on dry land beneath the weight of his attention.

“What a curious question,” he said at last. “Why do you think you’re here, Miss Silverbell?”

“I… I’m sure I couldn’t possibly know,” she said. “All I know is that I was to be elevated. I thought I’d be on the second tier with the other Stembloods… not here. Not in the Keep.”

“Mm. ‘Couldn’t possibly know.’” His tone sharpened. “Just as I ‘couldn’t possibly know’ whether you’ll ever learn to address your superiors with appropriate decorum.” He waved the matter away. “In any case—your Count was unusual. Exceptionally so. No one yet understands why you presented the way you did. I would very much like answers… but lacking them, I must act in accordance with my duty to Thornvale.”

He stepped closer—one slow step at a time—and touched a single finger to the base of her throat.

Cold. His finger was so cold.

“Including,” he said softly, “you.”

“H-High Blackwell,” she stammered. “Couldn’t you watch over me from the second tier? With the others who were elevated?”

He smiled without warmth. “Of course I could.”

“I don’t… I don’t under⁠—”

“What can I say, Miss Silverbell?” He smoothed a silk pocket square between his fingers. “You’ve become a curiosity. One I intend to keep close.”

He turned and ascended halfway up the grand staircase before looking back over his shoulder. “While you reside here, you will make yourself useful. Cassius will oversee your instruction. Magical studies, court etiquette—these are essential for any Stemblood wishing to survive above the tier they were born to.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “As much as I would enjoy managing your education personally, I have other demands I must attend to. But do expect my… attention.”

He looked to Cassius. “A word.”

Cassius followed his father up to the landing. The two men angled slightly away from her—just enough to make it clear the conversation wasn’t meant for her, but not enough to hide the weight of it.

High Blackwell’s voice dropped. Fern couldn’t make out more than a few fragments—“…presentation… unbecoming… elevate the appearance… our name…”

Cassius’ reply was quieter still, a smooth murmur she couldn’t decipher.

High Blackwell turned, looking down at Fern. A ring on his index finger glinted in the wardlight. She squinted her eyes to get a better look, but all she could make out was a splotch of dark red.

“Miss Silverbell,” High Blackwell gripped his son’s shoulder, “I must take my leave now, but I leave you in Cassius’ capable hands.”

And that was that. The most powerful man in Thornvale turned on his heel, leaving Fern alone with the second most powerful. The entry hall felt entirely too large for just the two of them. Quiet. Unnerving.

Cassius Blackwell stood atop the grand staircase and stared at her with a blank face. His presence was no less commanding than his father’s had been. Tall and lean, sharp-cheekboned, nearly a looking glass of High Blackwell—with perfectly styled blonde hair. His cool indifference made the absence of the warmth she’d witnessed during the Count feel even more jarring. A façade, perhaps.

He sniffed lightly and adjusted the fit of his tailored coat. “I apologize for the reception you received. Your familiar,” he took slow, intentional steps down the stairs until he stood in front of Fern, “is quite remarkable.”

Sprout chirped, and Cassius tilted his head, inspecting the mosswing with chilly curiosity. “I’ve read about the species. Rare. How did you acquire him?”

Fern shuffled backward and twisted her fingers together, trying to stop them from shaking.

Cassius raised an eyebrow a pinch. “This will be a rather unpleasant stay if you don’t learn to speak to me.”

“What… what do I call you?”

“Lord Blackwell will suffice.” He closed the gap between them. “Now, my question was genuine. How did you acquire him?”

Fern dropped her gaze to the floor. “I found him foraging one day in Shadowmere, Lord Blackwell.”

“And he simply came to you? How utterly unexpected.”

“No, Lord Blackwell. He was injured—his wing. I… nursed him back to health. He was such a little thing. I couldn’t leave him.”

“I see. Follow me.” He turned, leading Fern through double doors to the east. “Your first lesson, then. Addressing me as ‘Lord Blackwell’ in every sentence is improper. Use ‘my lord’ after the initial greeting.”