“It’s fine,” I interrupted.
Lady Vanessa and Tizzy exchanged glances in the mirror.
“It’s fine,” I repeated in a softer voice. “I...actually have somewhere to be.”
The two exchanged another glance. For all they knew, there was only one place I went—the palace dungeons to visit Mother. They weren’t wrong.
“Very well, I won’t keep you if you have plans,” Lady Vanessa said, her face breaking into a warm smile. I wondered how she could muster such an expression despite what she must be thinking. “Tizzy, help Narcissa dress. And take the gown to a dressmaker. I heard there’s a new shop downtown doing quite well.”
Tizzy began removing the pins on the ballgown. “Yes, milady. It’s called Jeraldine’s Dress Emporium. Witch-owned and run, I heard.”
“How lovely!” Lady Vanessa said, clapping her hands together. “I’m sure they have spectacular service. I’ll have to order from them sometime.”
“Perhaps for future gatherings, milady,” Tizzy said around a mouthful of pins. I stepped out of the gown and bent for my sage green day dress.
“Yes, of course. It’s lovely having these magic businesses pop up,” Lady Vanessa continued. “Just the other day I visited a quaint little bakery. They had my order whipped up in seconds and enchanted the coffee to stay hot even in these temperatures.”
Tizzy helped me into the dress. “I’ll take a look in my free time,” she said. “Oh, but have you seen the one uptown, milady?”
My gut sank as they chatted enthusiastically about witch-owned businesses. It only confirmed my assumptions—that the people of Greenwood Abbey feared me. Not my magic.
***
SOON AFTER, I TOOKthe carriage to the palace. A guard rode in front, his posture stiff and disapproving. Father had insisted I go with some sort of protection during my visits. The cramped carriage and the narrow-eyed glances of the guard, however, made me feel more like a prisoner than a lady protected.
When the gleaming towers of the palace grew close, we rounded to the back entrance where the dungeons were situated. The guard followed as I took my route down the dark hallway of wailing prisoners. I had come so often that their cries no longer startled me and the acrid smell didn’t burn my nostrils. The numbers on the cells grew with every step until we reached cell one hundred and fifty-six.
The burly prison guard before the door gave me a nod.
“Visitor,” he said gruffly into the slot. He unfastened the lock and chains, leaving the door ajar.
I wished I had Misty with me, but she didn’t like the dungeons. I suspected she didn’t like Mother either, though she would never admit it for my sake.
I clenched my fists and stepped in.
Mother sat in the middle of the cell, her knees tucked under her chin. Not a speck of dirt marred her chemise despite being surrounded by old hay and grime encrusted bricks. No doubt she had bullied her guard into allowing her various vain luxuries.
“Come to pay your dear mama another visit, have you, Narcissa?” Mother said, her words drenched in sarcasm. Her eyes flicked up my gown. “I told you you look awful in green.”
I kept my hands folded in front of me. “Mother,” I said. “How are you?”
She snorted, the sound echoing in the dank cell. “Why keep up this charade, Narcissa? If you cared I wouldn’t be here. Aren’t you busy enough frolicking about with your father and those othercreatures?”
Witches, she meant. I pressed my lips together. The only witch I had ever come in contact with was Amarante, and after the way I treated her, I didn’t expect any of the others to accept me. She was practically their savior.
My throat tightened when I recalled the events of last summer. Six months alone cleared Mother’s influence like spring fog dissolving in the afternoon sun. Without her praise and affirmations, her pretty gifts and rare shows of affection, the things she made me do became all the more horrifying.
Forcing Amarante into servitude was perhaps the worst. I had drawn her blood and bullied her into silence. The bullying was nothing new, but the physical assault was a line I didn’t think I would ever cross. The knowledge that I had done it without so much as a blink—that my desperate need to please Mother pushed me to do something so cruel—was the most sickening of all.
My silence was enough.
“So. You’ve been wasting away in your room like a prisoner. It shows.” Mother sneered. Her once full, deep voice had become tinny. I suppose being shrill was more advantageous in the dungeons, so as to better annoy her guard. “You always were a sulky girl. Pathetic and friendless. If I raised you right you would be queen by now. But alas. With that gaunt face of yours you won’t stand a chance with any prince.”
“If you don't want anything I will be on my way,” I said flatly, turning on my heel. I touched my cheek for a brief moment.
I had hoped to find Mother in disarray, like a proper prisoner. But once again I was disappointed. Satin smooth hair. Clean face. Straight spine. And that glint in her eye.
What I would do to get rid of that glint.
