Your brother is looking up to you.
Set the example.
Bethe example.
Be strong. Be strong. Be strong.
Keep his secrets.
Better yet, keep quiet.
But always,alwaysbe strong.
I take a large breath and turn to face the door, that bubbling rage straightening my spine.
“Show me your rage then,” I say, “because I do not see it. Show me, and I’ll challenge it with mine. The rage of a first born daughter.”
Her heels scuff against the stone floor as she stops in the doorway.
“I assure you, it would not be a fair match.” She glances briefly over her shoulder. “If you leave now, Lady Mordona, you are writing off the deaths of hundreds of Enchantresses merely because you don’t see this piece of paper as proof enough for change.” I hold the paper out again, even though her back is turned to me. “Are their lives not worth a second glance?”
Please.
Please look at it.
When she doesn’t turn, I spin on my heels.
“And what of you, Lady Oletta?” My voice has risen and all the chatter around me ceases. Sorin has always been the one to spin a tale as smooth as butter but perhaps that isn’t what is needed today.
Perhaps something sharper is needed today.
“Are you as enraged as Mordona claims you to be?” She stiffens, her eyes drifting over my shoulder, I’m sure to where Mordona still stands. “Are you willing to let Roman continue to kill and imprison women like them”—I point to the Enchantresses at the table—“like me, because of a piece of paper?”
Lady Oletta’s eyes may be warmer than Mordona’s, but there’s something off putting about the way she watches me. Like I’m an all too easy catch and she’s been hungry for far too long.
No one says a word so I continue on, buying as much time as I can until Sorin makes it here.
If he makes it here.
“I’ll be the first to admit that I have regretted my choices the last five years.” I ignore the eyes burning into me and instead power all of my focus on Lady Oletta. Mordona shifts behind me, her gown scratching against the marble floors, but I don’t turn to her.
The presence of Elwyn and Celia’s spirits crowd me, but this time I don’t feel suppressed by them, I feel empowered. “My family and I lived in a place called Loxley.”
Jarek slides his hand to the back of my arm, giving it a squeeze.
Keep going.
“It was a village of outcasts some would call it.” A few of the Loxlians in the room chuckle. I find Ulric in the crowd, but his face is stoic, watching me through tearful eyes. “We paved our own way, living outside the jurisdiction of Valebridge long before Roman was on the throne, and when we heard of his injustices, we…” I run the back of my hand across my forehead. Beads of sweat trickle down my temples. Elwyn and Celia wrap their arms around my shoulders.
I keep my arms low, but raise my hands to open the portal.
“Go on, Sam,” Elwyn whispers at my side.“Keep going.”
Right.
Keep going.
“We turned a blind eye.” I look at the Enchantress seated around the table. The one Jarek called Sera watches me over her glass, her lips turned up in a smirk.
