Star Cursed

“Of course not! I just want my family back!” Rory shouts.

“Rory. Let’s go to my room and talk,” I suggest, pulling her away. I need to get her out of here before she loses control. Frankly, I think she has a point. Sister Cora had a duty to Brenna, and she failed her.

“You can’t fix this, Cate.” Out in the hallway, Rory grips her satin skirt in both fists as she sinks against the wall. I pull her into the alcove of the third-floor window seat. We settle onto the soft cushions, staring out at the slush falling from the gray sky.

“I can’t fix Brenna,” I admit. “And I can’t stop Sachi from being sent to Harwood. I wish I could make it right, but I don’t know how.”

Rory sniffles. “I want to go to her trial.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Rory’s been learning to control her magic and her temper, but under those circumstances—well, who wouldn’t be tested?

Rory frowns. “I’m not asking you for permission, Cate. She needs to see a friendly face.” There’s a touch of iron in her voice.

“Well, then I’ll go with you; you mustn’t go alone,” I decide, crossing my ankles. “But first, we need to find out when the trial is. Your father would know that, wouldn’t he? Even if he’s not planning to attend?”

“I doubt he’ll be able to stay away. Maybe he’ll even testify against her.” Rory reaches up and adjusts her feather, which has blown askew in the draft from the window. “The way he’s acting now would break her heart.”

My lips twitch into a smile. There is one thing I can do for Rory. “How would you like a chance to tell him what you think of him? Without being arrested for insubordination?”

Rory squints at me. “How is that possible?”

“It just so happens that I’ve got an errand to run that involves your father and compulsion,” I confess. “Would you like to come with me?”

She grins. “I’d have to be mad to pass that up.”

• • •

The cobbled sidewalks are covered in a thick, slippery layer of ice, and it’s treacherous going. Perhaps we should have waited for the carriage to be free after all. Freezing rain pelts down, stinging my exposed nose and cheeks. Above us, the sky is a stormy gray just the color of Tess’s eyes.

Rory pauses before a four-story brick hotel. A doorman in black livery ushers us inside, where our cloaks drip onto the white marble floor. Rory leads the way to the second floor, where she hammers on a heavy oak door. The hallway around us is papered in rich gold, with ornate crown moldings. I feel like a sodden mess in this elegant place, but hopefully the Sisterhood’s cloaks afford us at least a little respectability. It’s a long, nervous moment before Brother Ishida opens the door, dressed in black trousers and a gray collared shirt. It’s strange to see him without his black cloak of office. It makes him look more like a man, a father, than a priest.

“Miss Elliott.” He nods brusquely, not quite meeting her eyes. “Ah, and Sister Catherine. Good day.”

Now that the moment is here, Rory seems to have lost all her bravado. She stares at her father wordlessly.

“May we come in, sir?” I ask. “We’d like to speak with you.”

“Certainly.” He steps back, bowing. My hand flies to my cheek. The cut has healed, and he won’t remember slapping me for my insubordination. Tess saw to that. But I’ll never forget it, nor the ravings that accompanied it. He said if it were up to him, he’d resurrect the burnings.

The memory strengthens my resolve.

“How can I help you?” Brother Ishida forgoes the usual ceremony, gesturing for us to sit on the green sofa. His sitting room is grand: full of velvet sofas and chairs, heavy gold damask drapes with a leafy print, and shining rosewood tea tables with curved legs like serpents’ heads. A brown and gold Oriental rug stretches across the wooden floor, and gas lamps with gold fixtures give off a bright, steady glow despite the gloom outside.

“Have you had any news of Sachi?” I ask.

“She’s in prison, awaiting her trial, as she ought to be,” Brother Ishida says flatly, taking the chair opposite us.

“As she ought to be?” Rory echoes.

“Indeed.” He turns black marble eyes on her. “She is a witch. She deserves whatever punishment the New London council deems appropriate.”

“Do you know when her trial is?” I ask.

“Saturday,” he says.

“Have you been to see her?” Rory asks. “Is she well?”

Brother Ishida taps his fingers on the dragon’s head carved into the arm of his chair. “I have not, nor will I.”

I expected it, but I’m still taken aback by his coldness.

“It’s that easy for you to cut her out of your heart, just like that?” Rory snaps her fingers.

Brother Ishida eyes her with distaste. “It was not easy, but it is the Lord’s will. The moment Sachiko first did magic, she erased herself from our family and from all good society. She is a blot on the Ishida name, and I will not—”

“But she’s still your daughter,” Rory says, her voice low and tense. “Isn’t there anything you could do for her? To help her?”

“Do not interrupt me.” Brother Ishida tugs at his collar with fleshy fingers. “There is nothing I could do, even if I were moved to intercede. And I am not. I have erased Sachiko’s name from our book of Scriptures. I no longer have a daughter.”

Rory gives a strangled laugh. “Yes, you do.”

A strand of black hair falls over Ishida’s forehead as he shakes his head. “No. I have cast Sachiko out. That is my duty to—”

“I don’t mean Sachi,” Rory says softly. “Me. I’m your daughter.”

Brother Ishida freezes, his eyes darting to me. “That’s ludicrous.”

“It’s not. You gave my mother money to keep her quiet.” Rory lifts her chin. “I’m your daughter.”

Brother Ishida rises, his face flushed with anger. He turns to me, not Rory. “Lydia Elliott is a common slut. She could have consorted with half a dozen men. Sister Catherine, I beg you not to listen to this nonsense.”

“Is it nonsense?” I ask, my hands clasped in my lap. “There have been—rumors, to the contrary.”

“That’s nothing but malicious gossip!” He turns on Rory, the vein in his forehead bulging. “How dare you come here and prey on a father’s grief? What a scheming, manipulative girl you are. Perhaps you knew of my daughter’s witchery—even encouraged it, thinking you could make a place for yourself in my home. As if the likes of you could ever replace my Sachiko! You were never worthy of her friendship. Perhaps you’re the one who taught her such wicked ways!”

Rory doesn’t flinch, though he’s shouting practically into her face. “If she gets witchery from anyone, it’s you. Your grandmother was a witch.”

Brother Ishida grabs her arm and hauls her to her feet. His grip must be bruising. “That is nonsense. I forbid you to repeat it.”

“What does it matter?” Rory snaps. “Sachi will be sent to Harwood. You won’t have any grandchildren. Your bloodline is dead—unless you’ve got another bastard somewhere.”