They had walked through the gardens together, just like she was doing now, drifting along the curved stone paths, the College’s forbidding stone walls behind them. Lady Augustine hadn’t changed much. Dark-haired, graceful, her face classically beautiful, she didn’t walk, she glided. Her demeanor was still regal, her features were elegant, and her magic, which could soothe the most violent psychotic in a breath, still as potent as ever.
“Do you think this is a punishment?” Charlotte had asked.
The Lady arched her eyebrows. “Punishment? For what?”
Charlotte clenched her jaw.
“You can tell me anything,” Lady Augustine murmured. “I won’t betray your confidence, sweetheart. You know this.”
“I carry something dark in me. Something vicious. Sometimes I feel an edge of it, looking through my eyes from inside me.”
“You feel the urge?” the older woman said.
Charlotte nodded. The urge was a constant specter hanging over every healer. They could knit together devastating wounds and purge diseases, but they could also harm. Using the destructive side of their magic was forbidden. “Do no harm” was the opening statement of the healer’s oath. It was the first words of the first lesson she had received, and over the years she had heard it said countless times. Harming was seductive. Those who tried it became addicted and lost themselves to it.
“Is it growing stronger?” Lady Augustine asked.
Charlotte nodded.
“Pardon you for being human.”
What? Charlotte glanced at the older woman.
A mournful smile curved Lady Augustine’s lips. “My dear, do you think you’re the first to have these thoughts? Our talents provide us with the means both to heal and to harm. It’s in our nature to do both, yet we’re asked to shut half of ourselves off and heal for years and years. This creates an imbalance. Do you think I haven’t imagined what I could do if I unleashed my power? I could walk into a roomful of diplomats and plunge the country into war. I could incite riots. I could drive people to murder.”
Charlotte stared at her. Of all people, her adoptive mother was the last person she would imagine having those thoughts.
“What you feel is normal. It’s not a cause for punishment. You’re under a lot of stress, and your body and mind are on the defensive. You put yourself under so much pressure, and that makes you vulnerable. You want to lash out, but Charlotte, you must keep your magic under control.”
“What if I stumble?” Charlotte asked.
“There is no such thing as stumbling. You are a healer or you’re an abomination.”
Charlotte winced.
“I have faith in you. You know what the consequences are.”
She knew. Every healer knew about the consequences. Those who harmed turned into plaguebringers, slaves to their own magic, existing only to deliver death and disease. Centuries ago on the Old Continent, an attempt was made to use the plaguebringers as a weapon during a war. Two of the healers had walked out onto the battlefield and let themselves go. Neither army survived, and the plague they unleashed raged for months and smothered entire kingdoms.
Lady Augustine sighed. “The realm takes us from our families so young because they seek to indoctrinate us. Even with this careful upbringing, they ask for only ten years of service because what we do wears us out. We give so much of ourselves. We’re the last hope of so many people, and we’re exposed to horrible things: wounds of violence, dying children, families torn by grief. It’s a heavy burden to bear, and it has an effect on you, on me, on all of us. To feel the destructive urges is natural, Charlotte. But acting on them will make you a murderer. Perhaps not right away. Perhaps you can even control it for a time, but in the end, the magic will consume you, and you will walk through the land spreading death. There are no exceptions to this rule. Do not become an abomination, Charlotte.”
“I won’t.” She would contain the darkness. She had to—she simply had no choice.
They walked in silence for a few moments.
“Let us imagine the worst,” Lady Augustine said. “You’re infertile.”
Charlotte’s heart had skipped a beat. “Yes.”
“It doesn’t mean you have to be childless. There are hundreds of children waiting to be loved. You can’t give birth, Charlotte. That’s only a small part of being a parent. You can still be a mother and know all the joys and tortures of raising a child. We get too hung up on bloodlines and family names and our own stupid notions of aristocracy. If someone dropped a basket with a baby on your doorstep, would you really hesitate to pick it up because the baby wasn’t of your blood? It’s a baby, a tiny life just waiting to be nurtured. Think on it.”
“I don’t have to. I would take the baby,” Charlotte said. She would take it and love it. Whether she carried it to term didn’t matter.
“Of course you would. You are my daughter in everything but blood, and I know you. I think you’ll make an excellent mother.”
Tears warmed the back of her eyes. Charlotte kept them in check. “Thank you.”
“What does your husband think of all of this?”
“Children are very important to him. His inheritance depends on producing an heir.”
The older woman rolled her eyes. “Conditional succession? Oh, the joys of having a noble bloodline and a little bit of money. Is this some new development? I don’t recall this being a condition of your marital contract.”
Charlotte sighed. “It wasn’t.”
“Did he mention at any point before your wedding that he required an heir?”
Charlotte shook her head.
Lady Augustine’s face iced over. “I do not appreciate being lied to. When did you find out?”
“When we realized there was a problem with conception.”
“This was a conversation the two of you should’ve had before either of you signed your name to the contract. Not only that, but it should’ve been formally disclosed.” She looked into the distance, the way she did when she was trying to recall things. “How could I have been so wrong? He seemed like such a solid match, a temperate man. Unlikely to cause any problems.”
A temperate man? “What does that mean?”
“Charlotte, you need someone steady, someone dependable, who will treat you with consideration. You’ve done over a decade’s worth of healing, and your magic is starved and tired of doing the same thing over and over. It doesn’t take much to upset this apple cart. That’s why I remained here.” Lady Augustine indicated the garden with an elegant sweep of her hand. “Serenity, beauty, and a low likelihood of psychological or physical trauma. That’s why after a bloody war, some veterans become monks.”