Free Bound by Erica O'Rourke

dear.”
    She nodded at the guard standing next to her—an Arc I didn’t recognize, who melted back into the shadowy room. Luc’s mother was blind, though she moved with such innate grace, it was easy to forget. Small and lovely, she barely came to Luc’s shoulder as he guided her forward. I caught the faintest wisp of freesia as she embraced me.
    “Your father’s inside,” she said to Luc, her hand on my arm. “And in a temper. Did you have words before you left?”
    He shifted uncomfortably. “Nothing new.”
    She sighed. “I suppose it’s good that someone stands up to that man. I certainly can’t.”
    Luc allowed himself the slightest smile. “You don’t need to stand up to him, Maman. He’s always fallin’ at your feet.”
    “Go on, now,” she said with a shooing motion, a pleased blush tinting her cheeks. I suspected Luc was absolutely right. Dominic might be the Patriarch of the House, but Marguerite was head of the family. “Tell him we’ll be along in a minute. And to mind his manners when we get there.”
    “As if he’ll listen,” Luc grumbled.
    I liked watching the easy, obvious affection between them, the way Luc seemed to forget about his responsibilities and the weight of his position. It was a side of him I rarely saw, and unexpectedly sweet.
    “Son,” she called, and he paused to glance at us over his shoulder. “You mind your manners, too.”
    “Yes’m,” he said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
    When he’d left, she turned to me again. “It is so good to have you here, Mo. I’ve wondered how you’ve been getting on.”
    It should have been easier to lie to Marguerite, since she couldn’t see my expression. But I didn’t even try. “I’m scared.”
    “Of course you are. Anyone with an ounce of sense would be scared. Rivening’s a terrible thing, and for that alone Anton Renard should be drawn and quartered.” She sniffed, adjusted the cashmere wrap around her shoulders. “I was referring to the magic, though. Are the two of you ... adjusting?”
    The two of us. Marguerite knew. I’d wondered, after our last encounter, if she realized what had happened, if she’d guessed at the true nature of the magic. Clearly, she had. And just as clearly, she hadn’t said anything to Luc. I wondered why—and if it meant I was right to keep quiet.
    “I’m getting there. It’s kind of a gradual process.”
    “I would imagine. You haven’t told Luc.”
    “No.” How to tell Marguerite that, even after he’d risked his life for me, I didn’t know where Luc’s loyalties lay. If he sided with the Quartoren, I couldn’t trust him. If he sided with me ... it would mean something I wasn’t capable of handling. Safer to keep the truth hidden, at least for now.
    “Your fear is understandable,” Marguerite said. “And you’re right to guard such a powerful secret. But you’ll tell him eventually.”
    I swallowed. She wasn’t asking me—she was telling. “When?”
    “That’s for you to decide.” She paused. “I can’t see everything, you know. Only slivers of the future, taken out of context.”
    “That must ...” Suck, I wanted to say. “Be difficult.”
    “It’s better that way, actually. I knew I’d have Luc. Can you imagine my surprise? All that time, his brother practically grown. And suddenly, I saw another son, years before he appeared. If I’d known the fullness of what would happen, I wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Might have resented him, even, and that would have been a terrible thing.”
    “I don’t understand.” Luc had a brother, I remembered, but he’d died. Luc never talked about it. The loss must have devastated Marguerite, but I couldn’t imagine why she would have resented her only remaining child.
    “Luc’s lost so much already. He carries burdens I can’t begin to fathom. But I know what I’ve seen, Mo. All of the prophecies are clear—your fate and his are tied so tightly, more than anyone realizes. Like you and the magic, in some