To Bear an Iron Key Read Online Free Page A

that fateful day, there were times when Bromwyn would catch her mother glancing at her with something close to fear in her eyes.
    Bromwyn did not like to think about that; mothers should not fear their daughters.
    But Niove Whitehair—whom Bromwyn was convinced had never been young, let alone known the temptations of youth—was not one to overlook such a terrible trespass. Casting magic in anger? And against her own mother? Unspeakable. Unforgivable .
    To emphasize her point, she had cursed her granddaughter.
    Over her sixteen years in the village of Loren, Bromwyn had heard the residents speak in hushed tones about gypsy curses, how they were the worst things that could ever be set upon a person; that was why, she was sure, the villagers always welcomed the traveling folk whenever they visited to entertain and peddle their wares. But she knew that the gypsies had learned the art of the curse from witches.
    Now, as Jessamin put the final touches on the hem of her daughter’s wedding gown, Bromwyn recited the words of the curse to herself, once again looking for a way to unravel its power and rid herself of it once and for all.
    When anger rages within your heart
    And you speak words in haste
    Those very words will prompt events
    That will serve to give you a taste
    Of resentment and bitterness and icy fear
    Until you are ready to mend
    The rift of rage with self-sacrifice:
    Love brings this curse to its end.
    Love. Fire and Air, how was she supposed to find love when she was forced to marry against her will?
    But that, too, was her fault. She was certain that she had brought about her own upcoming marriage when she’d accidentally evoked the curse last year. Her temper had once again gotten the better of her, and once again with her mother. It had been over Bromwyn’s tendency to walk barefoot everywhere—which, as her mother had pointed out, was something only children did, and never mind the filth that seemed to be permanently etched onto Bromwyn’s feet. Jessamin had gone on about it being “unbecoming for a witch” and so forth, and Bromwyn, exhausted from a grueling day of magical study with her grandmother, had shouted: “What would you know about being a witch?”
    The very next day, Jessamin announced that Bromwyn was to marry Brend Underhill, Nick Ironside’s apprentice blacksmith, upon her seventeenth birthday.
    Even now, as Bromwyn stood shrouded in her bridal gown, the thought of her impending wedding in a few months’ time sent tendrils of cold rage through her body. She did not fear the thought of marriage, nor did it make her bitter. But she had never resented anything more in her life.
    “There now,” her mother said, pulling Bromwyn out of her dark thoughts. Jessamin sat back on her knees and looked critically at the white dress, which Bromwyn thought still fit her like a sack. “The length is right. Now if only you would be so kind as not to grow any taller until after your birthday, I would be most pleased.”
    Bromwyn bit back her anger and said nothing.
    Her mother sighed. “It is not as bad as all that. Marriage can be a wonderful thing.”
    Bromwyn nearly choked on her tongue to keep from saying something she would dearly regret. What did her mother know of marriage? Jessamin’s husband had died when Bromwyn was just a baby. Jessamin and Oren Moon had only a bare handful of years together; no one in the village even recalled that Mistress Cartomancer had ever been married. That, too, seemed to help her reputation as an esteemed card reader, for some reason that Bromwyn couldn’t fathom.
    “Brend is strong,” her mother continued, “and he will do what is right. He will keep you safe.”
    “Safe from what?” Bromwyn blurted. “The ignorant people here who worship their invisible god?”
    Jessamin frowned deeply. “Those ignorant people, as you call them, will be yours to care for, once your grandmother deems you worthy of the title ‘Wise One.’ Whether they are awed by your