Victoria cajoled. Ceridwen argued. And Seren? Seren spoke like Rhiannon had never come back. As if she was still gone. Not here. Never here.
“I can’t apologize for the things that I can’t change, kiddo.” Both visibly cringed at the use of the word. And Seren took another step away from her. Rhiannon touched the blooming asters next to her, and the buds bopped along with her pulse. She curled her fingers into a fist and slowly placed her hand in her lap.
“You’re suppressing the craft.” Seren did not question, her words a mere observation. “A spell, right? I can feel a barrier of sorts. I hope you remember what happened the last time a Crowhart tried to hold her power in.”
Rhiannon laughed, to her ears the sound brittle.
“I stopped believing in fairy tales, sister.”
She stood up, straightening her flowing skirt, and took a few steps to the side gate. She was done with this conversation. A hand on her arm froze her in place, her entire being focused on sensing nothing. On holding her breath. On counting to ten and then back to not feeling.
Her success was written on Seren’s face as sheer disappointment, so vivid and expressive on features so often tranquil.
Ceridwen was known as the serene sister. But Seren’s name should have been indication enough that her patience and her calm were forces to be reckoned with. Unlike Ceridwen, Seren did not carry them on her sleeve. She moved with them, lived by them.
Seeing the stillness ripple with Rhiannon’s thrown stone, the waters murky and disturbed, wasn’t pleasant. In any case, Rhiannon was pleased her control stood, no matter the cost. She had blown off Victoria, shaken Ceridwen—what was disturbing Seren in the big scheme of things?
“You’ve changed, Rhy.”
“Haven’t we all?” Rhiannon shook off the hand from her arm and continued on her path.
“Why did you come to see Mom?”
And just like that, her stride faltered. Sneaky, sneaky witch. She did not turn but she could feel the gaze on her shoulder blades, steady and languid. The waters peaceful yet again.
“I met Fowler in town.”
That entire sequence of events was a blur in Rhiannon’s mind, and she wasn’t even certain why she was bringing it up to Seren. The man changed, got older. Somehow sadder. And his leg did not heal well. Rhiannon winced at the memory. At the shame.
“Which Fowler would that be? I hear you are keeping the company of one these days.”
Damn the gossipy small towns, their yellow little newspapers, and their ways of allowing exactly no privacy. Hadn’t that been part of why she left?
When she turned, her face was carefully arranged in the bland smile that used to make clients and suppliers alike turn tail and run.
“Strange how for someone of no consequence, for someone who disappointed and abandoned you all, who you’ve cut from your life and from the family tree, I still occupy so much time during said family’s meals.”
It was Saturday, and Friday evenings were sacred for the Crowharts. They probably met at Ceridwen’s these days, even though it was Seren living in the ancestral home at the bottom of Viridescent cliff.
Seren’s smile gave away nothing.
“Telling someone that you were seen in a rather romantic pose on a balcony with Prudence Fowler really doesn’t take very long. I don’t think we’d even finished the appetizers properly by the time that conversation was exhausted.”
Rhiannon let out a peal of laughter, delighted in her sister’s zinger. Seren had the best sense of humor out of all four of them. Ceridwen was witty, Rhiannon sarcastic, Deryn brash, and Seren? Well, Seren was lethal when she wanted to be. But before she could say so, Seren surprised her again, though perhaps she shouldn’t have been caught off guard in the first place. Like water, all Seren ever needed was a tiny crack in the armor.
“What took longer to discuss and left the entrées cold, pissing off Victoria, was the fact that Prudence Fowler is a witch.”
Rhiannon narrowed her eyes, carefully choosing her words. She knew what she said to Seren now would be relayed to the family—she understood as much, there were no secrets between them. Once upon a time Seren would’ve held on to Rhiannon’s confessions. Would’ve kept them safe. No more. No, Rhiannon had lost that privilege when she skipped town in the middle of the night years ago.
“What Prudence Fowler is or isn’t is not a concern of yours or of any other Crowhart.”
Seren flicked away Rhiannon’s annoyance with a shrug.
“Well, you should probably share that with Ceridwen, then. Because while you might tell yourself you’re done with the craft, the craft is clearly not done with you. Heed its warnings, Rhy, because Pru is just one of them.”
Rhiannon smiled and laid a hand on Seren’s shoulder, pleased when her skin met nothing but simple body heat. Seren’s placid expression turned sullen on a dime.
“Now this is the baby sister I know and recognize. Sulking.”
