Summer will soon be upon us, but the cool air leaves me wishing I’d thrown on a cloak. The paved walkway is bracketed by manicured hedges and rose bushes. At the end, a carriage pulled by a beautiful horse with irregular brown and white patches and feathered heels awaits us. The footman holds his hand out and Arionna takes it to climb into the carriage. It’s ridiculously graceful compared to the way I clutch the footman’s hand and hoist my shorter body into the enclosure.
Dignified as always, my mother, Rhosyn, sits on the opposite bench to where I settle next to Arionna. Her caramel-colored eyes take in my appearance, and I self-consciously run my fingers through the indecisive waves and large spirals of hair resting against my shoulders.
“Good evening, Mother.” I conjure a wavering smile, hoping it makes it to my eyes.
“You have paint on your face,” she responds. Her words are impeccably enunciated, her tone flat.
Arionna shoves a handkerchief into my hand as I hide a wince. I grunt my thanks before wetting the tip of it with my tongue and aimlessly rubbing it over my face. Chewing on my lower lip, I dare to meet Mother’s hard gaze again. She shrugs.
We are drastically different people, but looking at her is like looking into a mirror. We have the same ash brown hair and rich brown complexion. Her fuller upper lip protrudes in a way that gives her a perpetual near-pout—an inherited trait that has led me to receive many unwarrantedare you alrightinquiries. But while she is lithe, I am short with muscle definition that she constantly reminds me is too manlyand requires covering up to protect the fragile male ego. I should be used to it, as there wasnever a moment in my life when she wasn’t criticizingsomethingabout the core of my being.
I was too wild and free-spirited, too outspoken, too cheerful. I very quickly learned to shrink myself down into what I was expected to be as Rhosyn and Eurig’s daughter—composed, quiet, and without an opinion of my own. I’ve bitten my tongue so many times that it’s a wonder I can even speak at this point.
The carriage jostles us as it rushes over the cobblestones of the street, making my bones and joints ache. I hold on to my seat as we race through city roads illuminated by oil lampposts, toward Paramount. Across from me, my mother’s face is stony as always, but she worries at her lower lip, her hands opening and closing in her lap as if she’s trying to keep ahold of her façade.
“Mother,” I say quietly.
My sister’s dark eyes flick sidelong to me. She’s a combination of our parents; her lighter complexion is closer to Father’s, and her pitch-black hair is as tightly coiled as Mother’s. Unlike either of our parents, however, Arionna’s body is abundant with curves, and oh, how she loves to flaunt them with formfitting gowns and plunging necklines.
“How badly injured is Father? What happened?” Arionna asks.
At least I’m not the only ignorant one. I press my hand over the pocket of my dress, feeling the familiar shape of the pocket watch that Father once gifted me.
Mother levels us with a look, and we both shrink back slightly. “There was a colossal fire at Paramount last night. As far as I’m told, the Fortress on the Mount still stands, but …” Her voice grows hollow and then fades completely.
“But?” Arionna prods.
Mother looks through the hazy window of the carriage, at the dark storefronts and few pedestrians. After hours in Barr naCahar is my favorite time. Everyone around here retires to their homes early, save for those looking for trouble.
Or for a ticket to a different life.
“Most of those affected by the fire suffered fatal wounds,” Mother says. She aims her words at the window, and shivers travel down my spine.
Fatal.
My mouth goes dry, my heart lurching. I lick my lips, trying to think of something to say. No words come.
The ride seems to last far longer than it should, but the closer we get to Paramount the more soldiers we see. Some are in brown livery and others in charcoal. Nagging aches thrum through my body, reminding me of my stupid lapse in memory. I should’ve paused to take the damn elixir. I stare at my hands, still stained, though faint, with a multitude of colors. I clench my fists and hide them in the skirts of my dress. Eventually, the carriage rolls alongside a loch toward the imposing iron gates that lead to the barracks and the brig below the plateau.
As we stop, there’s a confrontation outside the carriage between our footman and a couple of soldiers. My mother pushes the carriage door open and steps out, shutting the door behind her as more muffled quarrels ensue. I rub my palm over the cool window, clearing the condensation, then press my forehead firmly against it. Mother faces two soldiers who look down at her, their postures rigid.
“What are they saying?” Arionna whispers.
“I don’t know, Arionna. I can’t read lips.” I try to keep the frustration out of my voice; it’s not her fault we don’t know what’s going on. I push the door open ever so slightly, allowing more sound to flood in, along with the acrid odor of smoke clinging to the air.
“We received an official summons to visit Sir Eurig of Barr na Cahar,” Mother is saying. Her voice is steady, but from the way she’s clasping her hands, she’s certainly not calm.
“No one is permitted beyond the boundaries, Madam,” a soldier responds.
“But it was anofficialsummons.” She rummages within her cloak, looking for said summons, but the soldier holds up a large hand.
“Ourofficial orders are that no one goes beyond this gate.” He gestures to the large gate of beautiful iron work, the royal insignia—a crown turned on its side, the sun eclipsing it—clear within the geometric design. “Turn back or I’ll have to respond with force.” The heart-dropping click of his crossbow resounds as he snaps the weapon into place.
I gasp. Could my magic steer the bolt away fast enough if the soldier acts on his threat? With haste, I push the carriage door open more. “Mother, we should go,” I say, my voice quiet as to not make a bigger scene, yet firm enough that she hopefully gets the clue.
Mother’s withering gaze snaps to me, but right now is not the time for stubbornness.
“We can try again tomorrow,” I offer.
