Mine to Tarnish Read Online Free

brush and pins. Not the Woman’s Canon. That is most definitely staying here. By the time everything is in a pack, Mother has returned with the drink. She hands me the glass of wine and takes the bag from me.
    “I’ll hide it out by our tree.” She gives me a final squeeze before letting go. “Go now. Nigel will be growing impatient.”
    “ I know.” I stop one last time. “No matter what happens, I’m grateful you’re my mother.”
    Her smile is small and sad, eyes radiating love. As I leave, I focus on that feeling, the love and care she has always given me. This is likely the last time I’ll ever see her.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    “ S tand straighter,” Nigel barks, a maroon hex quickly following that forces my already straight back more rigid with knife-like cuts every time it tries to ease.
    Thinking of my plan, I clamp my mouth shut, and attempt to ignore both the pricking of the spell at my back and his noxious odor while carefully holding the precious cup containing the promise of my escape. It’s a lot to manage. The sun bears down, the mid-afternoon heat enough to melt my face paint. If only he would decide he needs a drink. I know I’m anxious for one, just not this one.
    He returns to staring at me until after a few heavy blinks his head begins to nod. He’s supposed to have his sleeping powder tainted drink before doing this. But his head dips several times anyway before finally staying down. The pricking at my back fades with his consciousness. I slouch in relief. Except, only my posture is relieved; the rest of me is worried he’ll never want his wine.
    The air grows hotter and drier as I wait. It would be so much easier if I was under one of the many trees on Father’s property. I stare at the tree, the one from which Tilda was hung. The memory of it is terrifyingly vivid even after all these years. Will that be my fate if things go poorly? After about ten minutes, I give up standing in the sun and move toward a patch of shade several feet away. Farther from him, of course. There’s a better spot of shade next to his bench, but the heat has made his rotten stench stronger, even from this distance.
    As soon as I cross into shade, a faint yellow and red light whips around me, cutting into my legs. A hex. I hurry back into the sunlight, legs aching, only to find him staring at me again. At least he’s awake even if my legs are stinging from the cuts.
    “ You are going to be more of a problem than I suspected. If this keeps up, instead of tarnishing you, I might have to send you to Envado and let the barbarians have you.” His lips slop out as he squints at me.
    That was an idle threat. It has to be. That's the only fate I know worse than being stuck with him or tarnished.
    Finally, he says, “Give me the drink.”
    Relief shoots through me so violently, I’m certain he’s going to see right through the plot. I try my best to cover my feelings as I give him the drink and hurry back to my spot several feet away.
    “None of that. Come here, wench.” He points at the bench next to him.
    Not next to him. Just thinking of being that close has me choking. Just a few more minutes is all that’s needed. I can do this. This is the last time I must endure. After this I’ll either be free, tarnished, or dead. Such a lovely, encouraging thought.
    I take a deep breath of fresh air and perch on the bench beside him. His arm, wrinkled and spotted with age, snakes around me and pulls me close to him. Despite his weak grip, I let him. Now is not the time to risk angering him.
    The stench of body odor and rotting things is so suffocating, I struggle not to gag. And he hasn’t even sipped his drink yet. Instead, he leans back, closes his eyes, and lets the cup rest loosely in his free hand.
    Just my luck. He’s going to fall asleep, and without the drink, which means I won’t be able to escape for fear of waking him. Will I ever have such an opportunity to escape? His grip slowly eases from