Chapter 1 To Wear Silence
Seri
I sat in the old rocking chair, one of the few items to survive Arabesque’s purge last fall.
Its familiar creak was a sort of lullaby as I cradled Josslyn in my arms. Her tiny hands, so delicate and new, curled into fists as she drank her bottle, her eyelids closed, but fluttering.
The scent of baby lotion and fresh laundry filled the air, a combination that wrapped around me like a warm hug.
Six months.
Six long, brutal months since Papa’s death.
I’d turned nineteen, saw my baby sister born, and watched the farm grow dormant.
Arabesque had stripped it bare, selling off the livestock, even Rasputin, Mama’s naughty old goat.
Only the kitchen garden and orchard remained, and both struggled under my care, as if the earth itself mourned the absence of Papa’s touch.
I miss him, too. Him and Mama, I thought with stinging eyes.
This wasn’t a home anymore. It was a prison.
I couldn’t fight back, couldn’t run, couldn’t even think clearly most days.
Arabesque saw to that. Every week, she drained my magic, leaving me hollow and brittle.
She didn’t care that siphoning was illegal, that it was wrong, that she eked out less and less each time, that she was slowly killing me.
She only cared about power, about bending the world to her will, about control.
She also didn’t care that I alone was responsible for Josslyn and the endless chores. Just keeping up with the never-ending laundry was a challenge.
Doesn’t help that Eluned changes her outfits three or four times a day, I thought, a little frown tugging my eyebrows together.
Josslyn stirred, shifting in my arms as she finished her bottle. I gently burped her, loving the soft warmth of her against my shoulder. She was so tiny, so vulnerable, and yet, she was my strength, my reason to keep going.
Arabesque saw her as nothing more than a future pawn in her games, but to me, she was my sister. When Arabesque failed to name her, I’d given her Mama’s name, one that meant happiness and cheer, but spelled it differently to make it her own.
I smoothed down her little thicket of black hair, marveling at how much she looked like Papa, a bittersweet thought I quickly pushed aside. I wanted to wrap her in a cocoon of safety, to shield her from every harsh word and cruel touch that Arabesque would supply.
But how can I protect her when I can’t even protect myself?
As I rocked, I let out a long sigh, and an answering whine came from Brumous. The dire wolf pup lifted his head from where he lay at my feet, his blue eyes striking against his charcoal gray fur.
Three months ago, Arabesque had dragged him home from somewhere, a tiny pup barely weaned.
She’d been intent on creating a dire that could shift into a human form, but only succeeded in fracturing him.
Writing him off as a failure, she’d planned to drown him in the river until I intervened. Since then, he’d rarely left my side.
“It’s okay, Brummy,” I murmured softly. It was a habit now, to practically whisper. Anything louder drew unwanted attention.
He rubbed his head against my leg, and I reached down, my fingers brushing through his patchy fur, still regrowing after Arabesque’s spells. Unlike a normal dire, he couldn’t speak, part of his mind seemingly shattered thanks to her cruelty, but we made it work.
Maybe because broken things recognize each other, I mused.
As the sun moved across the room, I settled a sleeping Josslyn into her crib, swaddling her as best I could in a blanket far too large for her, then straightened with a wince.
Between the siphoning, being punished whenever Amabel or Eluned felt I ‘deserved’ it, and receiving only meager meals, my body was slowly shutting down.
How much longer? I wondered silently. How much longer before I just don’t wake up one morning?
Then what would happen to Josslyn and Brumous?
The pup moved to the door when I stood, watching me with his usual silence, and my heart ached for him. Ached for all three of us.
Especially now that Arabesque no longer bothered to hide her Dark magic or her association with rogue werewolves.
She talked to her daughters about seizing more power as if I wasn’t even around, and rogues flitted around our property, their eyes like red embers in the night.
They scared me almost as much as Arabesque did, and I never went outside after dusk anymore.
“I could leave, you know, Brummy,” I whispered over the creak of the old wooden floor. “Sneak away some morning, find the Royal pack. Mama was one of them, so someone there might help.”
He tilted his head, his ears perking up, as if considering my words. I knelt beside him, running my fingers through his fur and grieving for the scars I felt there.
“But I can’t leave Josslyn or you. I won’t leave either of you.”
In response, he licked my cheek, as if thanking me for not deserting him. That made me smile as I led him to my room, closed the door, and locked us in.
My closet floor was a mess of scattered supplies.
Ever since Josslyn was born, I’d been trying to craft a ward against siphoning.
I had to be careful, had to work in stolen moments, but every failed attempt left me more desperate.
If I could just keep Arabesque from draining me, from sapping every last drop of my magic, I’d have a chance to fight back, or at least enough energy to get the three of us out of here.
Crushed quartz, a variety of herbs, and half a stick of chalk spread out in front of me, and I sat cross-legged with a grimace. The pain was always behind my breastbone now, a sharp ache whenever I tried to use even the smallest spark of magic.
The siphoning had other side effects, too.
Each time I tried to concentrate, I hit a brick wall.
Words and shapes danced tantalizingly in my mind, but the haze of fatigue blurred them, leaving only frustration behind.
And I was cold. So cold! It made my hands shake and my teeth chatter at times, and not even standing in front of the heated oven could warm me.
Still, I tried. Every day I tried. I had to. For Josslyn, for Brumous, and for the faint hope that one day we could escape.
“Let’s try again, Brummy,” I whispered, and he touched his nose to my cheek as if to agree.
Taking a deep breath, I reached for my magic, and the sharp ache flared.
One hand went to my chest, rubbing as though I could soothe it away, and the herbs slipped from my other hand, falling to the floor with a soft rustle.
I sighed, my shoulders sagging. I used to be precise, meticulous, my magic smooth and elegant.
Now, I could barely hold a sprig of rowan!
“It’s just crystals,” I muttered. “Just herbs. Just symbols.”
But I knew I was lying to myself. Magic wasn’t only about ingredients; it was about intent and energy. And I had none left to give.
“Grr!” I groaned, pulling at my curls.
Brumous laid his chin on my shoulder, and I smiled faintly at his attempt to either comfort or encourage me. Maybe both. He knew something was wrong, even if he didn’t understand it entirely, and was as clueless as I was about how to fix it.
“Not going to happen today, but soon,” I murmured, sadness creeping into my tone. “Look at you, Brummy. You’ve been through so much already. Just like me.”
Out of nowhere, I was crying, sobs racking me, and I couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but sit there and cry. Brumous whined and shoved his head under my arm, and I held onto him, hugging him close and soaking his fur with my tears.
At last, the storm passed, and I apologized to the pup as he licked my damp face. Kissing the top of his head, I stood and closed the closet door reluctantly, but if I didn’t get started on dinner now, I’d pay a heavy price later. And it was clear no magic was happening today.
Brumous followed me to the kitchen, his tail wagging a bit, probably hopeful of a meal, and I sighed. I was hardly given enough for myself, let alone him. Fortunately, spring was here now, and I could begin foraging to supplement my meager rations.
As I poked my head in the fridge, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hall, one set light, one set deliberately loud, and both entirely unwelcome.
My stomach tightened as Eluned sauntered in, her brown hair wild and her dress flamboyant as usual.
She sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling in distaste.
“What, no snacks ready?”
“I’ll get right on it.” I kept my eyes down. Defiance would only earn me pain, and I couldn’t afford that right now.
Amabel, in her sleek black pants and stylish white top, leaned against the doorjamb and surveyed the kitchen.
I knew what she saw: Pots and pans stacked haphazardly and the sink overflowing, but I couldn’t keep up with everything all on my own and take care of Josslyn, a fact that often earned me punishments.
“Looks like someone’s been neglecting her chores,” she purred. “My, my, Serafina. You’ve gotten so lazy.”
I ignored her and worked on a snack tray, but Eluned knocked over a bag of flour, the white cloud exploding in the air, and my shoulders slumped at the mess.
“Clumsy me! Clean this up, worthless. Now.”
When I didn’t answer, only grabbed the broom and dustpan, they left, their laughter echoing through the kitchen as the door slammed closed behind them.
I turned to Brumous.
“Let’s get you fed at least.”
Filling his bowl with my own dinner, I watched as he ate with gusto, making me smile.
My gaze drifting to the window, I leaned against the counter and stared at the sky, the deep gray clouds warning of rain coming.
Birds flitted between the trees, their movements quick and restless, as if they could sense the inbound storm, too.