To Bear an Iron Key Read Online Free PDF Page A

I love, and so easily?
    Why am I so inhuman?
    “I must prepare for my readings,” her mother said coldly. “And you must perform your studies.” She sniffed. “It is quite obvious that even with your grandmother’s curse upon you, you still do not master your emotions. And unless that happens, you will not pass your test.”
    Bromwyn bit her lip. She didn’t know which caused her more distress: her upcoming marriage or her dreaded test of Witchcraft. Bromwyn had no idea what her test would actually be, let alone when it would occur; whatever the test was, it would happen sometime during her apprenticeship. Neither her mother nor her grandmother would speak of it, other than to tell her it would be soon, and that Bromwyn would have only one chance to pass. If she failed, she would have to cut her hair and lose her magic.
    Like her mother.
    “Go,” Jessamin said. “You may not have lessons with your grandmother today, but between your studies and your errands, you have much to fill your time. You will be stopping by the forge, yes?”
    Not trusting her voice, Bromwyn nodded.
    “Good. Do give Brend my regards.”
    With that, Jessamin parted the curtain that separated Bromwyn’s bedroom from the front of the shop and walked out.
    Bromwyn stared at the cascading fabric, which once again fell into place, dividing mother from daughter. With a heavy sigh, she began to shrug out of her wedding gown.

 
     
     

    FAR FROM COMFORTABLE
     
    The sun glared at Bromwyn as she strode down the main avenue of Loren. She felt the heat on her head and back, but she did not sweat. One of the first things Bromwyn had taught herself (quietly, of course; her grandmother was a firm believer in not experimenting with magic until you were old enough to undo the damage you would undoubtedly cause, so much of Bromwyn’s early years as a witch had been spent working the fun part of magic on the sly) was to spell her clothing to keep her body cool in the summer and warm in the winter. So she walked now, her thick black hair curling down to her knees, her dress heavy and proper, her feet bare, and though the sun did its best to have her bake in her garments, Bromwyn was untouched by the heat.
    She knew such comfort was merely an illusion, for her Way was of Sight, and so she could not actually prevent herself from feeling the weather’s touch. Her comfort was a lie. Even so, she was happy to believe in that lie, if it meant not sweating through her dress.
    Walking the Loren streets this summer morning, Bromwyn was not alone. But none of the passersby engaged her in conversation other than the barest whisper of a “Good morning.” She pretended, as always, that it did not sting. So she walked with her chin high and kept her mouth fixed in a smile. It was the polite thing to do, especially considering that one day she would be the Wise One of Loren. The villagers grudgingly had learned to accept her—and never mind that until she had become apprenticed at the age of ten to her grandmother, they had happily acknowledged her as the cartomancer’s daughter—but the people of Loren were far from comfortable with her. At least they didn’t outright fear her, as they did her grandmother.
    Then again, everyone was afraid of Niove Whitehair.
    Bromwyn walked, and around her, Loren thrived in the way that villages did. The sounds of daily life rang out: the bustle of people talking and walking, of pigs squealing, of dogs barking and carthorses clomping. She ignored them all, just as she ignored the ever-present mud and clutter and the stench of manure piles. Background noise; background smells. Bromwyn had too much on her mind to be bothered by such mundane things.
    She crossed the great circle at Loren’s center, keeping her gaze straight ahead, as she always did, instead of glancing down the street that led a winding path to the large church. No matter how kind-hearted the village priest was—and indeed, he was a gentle soul who always had a