Page 70 of Her Majesty's Necromancer
That seemed grossly unfair. Surely Lincoln had a right to know about his parents. "So why do you think she was your mother?"
"The text was very old and written in a style that was difficult to read. The general probably thought I'd have no interest in old records, so didn't hide them particularly well. Not then, anyway. It was only a sentence or two, but it stated that the woman who bore the next leader of the order would herself be a seer."
"Did this information come from the same woman who foresaw your birth and role as that leader?"
He nodded.
"No name was mentioned?"
"No."
"But since you are the leader, then the detail must be correct."
"Yes."
I stared at him a long moment, trying to gauge how he felt about having a seer for a mother, and possessing some of her supernatural power, but he'd once more assumed a stony face. "How much can you foresee?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I can't tell the future. I can't see very far ahead at all. What I possess is a superior ability to anticipate things before they happen, but not everything. I don't know how people will act or what they'll say, for example. Gambling and fighting seem to be different. I can almost always anticipate the way the die will fall, as well as what my opponent's next move will be."
"That's useful."
The corner of his mouth twisted. "Very."
"I wonder…"
He frowned. "Go on."
"I wonder if your supernatural instinct has melded perfectly with your skill and natural instinct."
He arched a brow.
"You're highly skilled when it comes to combat of all kinds," I explained. "Anyone who has practiced for years would possess excellent instincts in a fight. But couple that natural instinct with your hereditary one, and you've managed to take it to new heights. Perhaps if you were as skilled in non-combative interaction, you could anticipate what people would say and do. It seems your inherited ability enables you to occasionally guess when someone is seeking you out, or is speaking about you, but that's all. If you were more sociable, your instincts with people could improve too."
"Is that your way of saying I don't have much empathy?"
I smiled. "Some would say you lack charm and witty conversation. Not me, of course."
"Witty banter is a waste of time. I'd rather get to the point of a conversation."
"Sometimes the witty banter is the point of the conversation."
"Then those conversations and the people who have them are dull."
I rolled my eyes and tried to contain my smile. "Then you're not going to enjoy yourself at the ball tonight."
"Probably not."
My smile faded altogether as he turned to look out the window again. The last time we'd spoken of the ball and the reason he was going, he'd wanted me to think he didn't know who his father was. I didn't dare ask again and risk his ire.
"Thank you, Mr. Fitzroy," I said. "I appreciate you confiding in me. I won't tell a soul."
"I know."
The certainty with which he said it shocked me a little. Then it warmed me. I would do everything in my power to keep his secrets if it meant that much to him.
The carriage slowed as we turned onto Ratcliffe Highway. We came to a stop, and Lincoln opened the door and alighted first. He helped me down and we headed into Lower Pell Lane, leaving Seth with the horse and carriage. It looked less forbidding during the day, but more derelict. Paint peeled off ever door and window frame, while the windows themselves were gray from soot. The buildings looked as if they'd sprung up haphazardly, with a wall of brick here, a crumbling plastered one there, and a wooden arch connecting them. Children played on the street, their own imaginations as their toys, while their mothers hung out washing from the upper levels.
Lincoln knocked on the dragon's nose carved into Mr. Lee's door, but there was no answer.
