A cowardanda traitor.
Merle whirled to me then, eyes narrowed. It always struck me how similar Bran and Merle appeared. The same caramel brown eyes that were always quick to spark with whatever emotion was currently consuming them. Usually mischief or joy, but tonight it was pure ire and perhaps a hint of worry. They were both so easy to read, their emotions laid open like a book to peruse, whereas I kept everything so tucked away, so hidden from prying eyes. They had the same high cheekbones, broad noses, and full lips. Yet where Merle’s skin was a deep brown, full of golden hues that shone under the sun, Bran had the darker skin of his father. All cool tones that glittered like diamonds. Merle’s skin was also speckled in freckles, marks that she claimed were kisses of the Sun Goddess herself. A trait I shared with her despite there being no real blood relation between us.I never took that small likeness for granted, there was something comforting in seeing a piece of myself reflected in someone I loved so dearly—a kinship that came from it.
I never met Bran’s father, only ever saw drawings that Merle had sketched when he was still alive and well. She never knew we had snuck through her things, never knew we had spent hours pouring over those drawings as children, trying to decipher what features Bran had gained from the father he lost.
Did I too look like my mother? Despite the inky black of my hair now, I knew we shared the same silver color. Yet her features grew hazy in my mind the older I became. I knew she had blue eyes, but was the almond shape of my grey ones inherited from her? Was the dip of my full upper lip hers? I knew my olive skin and the rosy hues beneath belonged to her too. But what about my sharp nose or jaw?
I had never seen my father, so I had absolutely nothing to compare myself to there. I couldn’t even remember my mother mentioning him, other than the night of The Cleansing when she ordered me to tell everyone that they hadbothdied of The Fever. A lie. Or was it a half truth?
Had he truly died from the sickness that plagued this Kingdom?
Or was he alive somewhere out there right now? If he was, did he know I existed or had he no idea that he had a daughter, that the mother of his child had burned upon the stake?
“Are you drunk, Syra?” The question was sharp, her eyes roaming over my features with the sort of intensity only a mother could muster.
I knew what was coming next, my stomach revolting as she walked to one of the shelves that housed our brewed potions, plucking an all too familiar vial from it.
A gag clawed its way up my throat, nose wrinkling as she uncorked and handed it over to me.
“Name, use, and the components," she demanded, as I pressed the vial to my lips and threw back my head. This time I truly did gag as the thick substance hit my tongue, struggling to swallow it down lest I be in even more trouble. The taste of salt and sulfur burned through my nasal passages and down my throat, my wince deepening as I struggled for a moment to keep it down. When the nausea finally passed, I tossed the vial back to her.
“Drunk Man’s Elixir," I answered, the words heavy upon my tongue as I tried to remember every detail I could with its lingering taste in my mouth. “Used to cause near immediate sobriety when one’s had too much drink, or in emergency cases, such as alcohol poisoning.” As I spoke, the elixir began to take its effect, the warmth in my belly and veins slowly ebbing away. It no longer felt like such a feat to stand straight, or such a struggle to find my words. “It's made by stewing two thistle roots, four goddess flower petals, and a fermented Tavarrian sea star for four days. For a more potent dose, adding a slurry of spiced flour to the mixture will help thicken and increase the absorption of the alcohol within the body.”
Merle leaned back against the counter, her arms crossing as the anger seemed to drain from her. That nagging, ever constant guilt wormed its way through my gut at her tired expression.
“Your trials begin in aweekSyra, you should be studying and resting, not getting piss drunk in taverns at Goddess forsaken hours of the night,” her tone both pleading and chastising, an odd combination that had my chest tightening. I must have looked nearly as dejected as I felt because she softened, her voice gentling, “I only want the best for you.”
I gave a small, pained smile, fingers playing with the hem of my tunic. “I know, Merle. I’ve just been so anxious, I needed to get out of my head for a bit.”
Surprise fluttered through me when warm arms wrapped around my shoulders, her hand smoothing down the back of my hair. “Yes, well let’s find you some better coping mechanisms then—ones that don’t worry me so much. I’m getting too old to be waiting up for the both of you.”
Letting my own arms wrap around her tightly, I nodded against her shoulder. “Sorry, Merle.”
“It’s okay, dear.”
With a full belly of spiced beef and rice, tiredness had my limbs growing heavy. Crawling into bed, I wrapped the blankets tightly around myself, relaxing into the warmth and comfort they offered. My eyes caught Bran's bed pressed against the opposite wall, empty and untouched. We shared a room for the entirety of the time I lived in this home, up until he enlisted.
I could still remember that first night alone. I cried for hours hidden beneath the blankets, terrified. I had never truly slept alone in my life until then. If it hadn’t been sharing a room with Bran, then it had been sharing a bed with my mother in that little room in the Old Quarter. With no fire to burn at night, the heat from our bodies was needed to survive the brutal Tavarrian winters.
Yet now I had grown used to this new normal, ignoring the loneliness that nagged at the back of my mind. Nights where the anxiety and worries plagued me and sleep was elusive were the worst. Sometimes when I thought too hard about it, I desperately missed the whispered secrets and conversation that could be spoken in the dark of night, but never the light of day. Bran had always been my confidant, he still was. But things always seemed to change. He had a whole life behind the palace walls that I didn’t know much of.
Had I too changed so much over the years?
If my mother were still alive, would she recognize the woman I’ve become? Would she be proud of the accomplishments I’ve made or would she condemn the way I’ve blended so seamlessly into this new life? A way of life that had robbed her of her own.
Rolling to the wall, I pushed the thoughts down. Down and down and down, until they once more grew quiet and hidden. It wasn’t often I allowed myself to ponder upon the past as much as I have today, to think of what I lost. I kept it tucked quietly away, hidden in the deepest, darkest parts of my soul. It was truly the only way to survive, to ignore it and continue this facade of who and what I was.
Turning slightly, my eyes flitted to the tiny window within the room, noting the curtains tugged closed, only slivers of moonlight drifting through to cast shadows upon my wall. I smiled lightly as they danced, a secret language for only them and I. My fingers moved with them, mapping their path before they began to change, my own shadows slipping from my fingertips to join in the fun.
It was only in the quiet darkness of my room, when all of Amori City slept, that I allowed myself this one reprieve. This one comfort.
The shadows slid up my arms, murmuring and hissing as they went–like little wisps that tickled against my skin. My eyes fell closed as they explored, as they tested against the hold I had upon them. I felt the moment that they sensed the sadness, the frustrations that whirled within me.
What saddens you so, Shadow-Blessed?
They hissed within my mind, drifting and ruffling through my hair. I nearly laughed at the question, at the name. Gone were the days of my mother whispering praises of the blessed magic Lua bestowed upon me, no longer was I her little shadow.Shadow-cursedthey called my kind now, damned by Lua and herblessings.There would never be repentance for a shadow-cursed Luanthian, there was no forsaking my Goddess and praying to Soli for forgiveness and mercy. There was no chance to gain acceptance and work within scullery or whatever dredges the Solerians would offer the Luanthians who converted and were spared.
No, for a shadow-cursed Luanthian the only fate was the stake, the only penance the cleansing fire of the Sun Goddess. Only in death would Soli forgive my sins. Or at least that’s what the Solerian priestesses claimed.
