“Misneach!”Wyatt’s booming voice echoes from the ground. Poking his head up, he checks if it’s safe, “Andi?What the…”
“You scared me. I’m sorry, are you okay?” I gawp at my hands, slumping to the ground.
Wyatt creeps out from his hiding place and cautiously walks towards me.
“I need to tell you something… insane.”
I blurt out everything to him. Wyatt stares at me, not talking for what feels like forever. I try to call the magic to my hands again to show him, but it flickers into a puff of smoke.
“Wait, wait, let me see if I have this right. You have magic, and you’re a princess?” he asks. He rubs his eyes; the once icyblue pupils now dulled by red. I shrug, having no answers for him.
“What has your mum said about it?” Wyatt rubs his neck.
“After Myles’ wild accusations yesterday, I told her, and she agreed it was ridiculous. But then…” Thinking back, her jaw had twitched slightly, and her eyes had widened for a split second before returning to her usual impassive expression.
Was I so blinded by rage that I never saw such a clear sign of a lie?
“I need to talk to her.”
“Oh, please, please, can I be there?” Wyatt jumps up, a mischievous look spreading across his face. “Your Highness,” he says.
The walk back to the cottage was excruciatingly long. Wyatt hounded me with questions—he had a million and one of them—yet for every burning question, all I had were empty answers.
Mum is the only one who can answer them; she must have known. She had to. But why hide it? Why did the witch say they needed protection from me?The magic I witnessed in the woods was magnificent. But I’m not so naïve to think magic isn’t dangerous, I know it can be; the blast towards Wyatt being a good example. But wouldn’t it have been better controlled, than locked away?
My head pulses as the beginning of a headache looms over me and sweat drips from my brow. The anticipation is eating me alive.
What if she refuses to answer?
What if she lies to me again?
What if she thinks I have gone crazy?
I pause on the front steps, grabbing Wyatt’s arm, stopping him from opening the door. “I don’t know if I can do this.” Myvoice cracks through my dry throat, “What if it’s not what I want to hear? What if my real family abandoned me?”
“Then you still have us. Our dysfunctional family is better than any royals.” He smiles, patting me on the back. “There’s only one way to find out the truth,” he says, pushing the door open, whether I’m ready or not.
Taking a deep breath, I step in front of him. Mum is standing at the table baking, a cloud of flour hazing around her. She wipes away a loose strand of hair with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of flour across her forehead.Baking is her way of keeping her anxious feelings at bay.
At the sound of the door, she turns around to look at me; dropping the bowl, it smashes on the floor. Mum rushes towards me, heaving me into a tight embrace.“It’s been hours, where were you?”
“I needed space… to think. I went into the woods, to the lake.” Mum’s eyes glistened as tears threatened to break free. She knew what the lake meant for Elana and me.
“I need to ask you something. I uh… I don’t know how to start.” Wyatt nods for me to go on.
Taking a deep breath, I blurt out, “Did you know about the magic? That the mark on my back isn’t a scar, it’s a marking of a magical family.”
Mum takes a step back; her eyes drop to my chest where my necklace should sit. She composes herself in a second.
“What are you rambling about? Magic?” She chuckles, half-heartedly waving me off with her hand, busying herself with tidying up the broken pieces scattered across the floor. “The mark is an unusual scar, that’s all. Remember, you fell off the tree. Nothing magical about it.”
“I used magic today out in the woods. Wyatt saw it,” I try to yell, but my voice breaks. “Don’t lie to me. Please.”
Mum stands up with the broken glass, placing it on the dining table. Every time I have asked about my scar, she always has the same answer: ‘Remember, you fell.’
I remember the fall, but that’s the thing about memories. They are fickle. Like trying to put together a jigsaw with broken pieces, squashing them in even if they don’t fit, filling the gaps with random pieces, hoping they make sense. Believing when others tell us they are right. How can I trust her now?
“Actually,” Wyatt intercedes. “I had to dive away from it, but I saw,” Wyatt says, running his hands through his sandy blonde hair.
