Chapter One Wren #2
It was happening…my chance to break out from under my father’s and mother’s thumbs and gain the respect of my sister and my peers. A way to belong. To break out of the gilded prison surrounding me—
Eleven.
The final gong rent the air, its echoes sending pinpricks down my spine. Midnight.
I twisted about the room, waiting for the scratching of paws on the wood flooring, searching for the black hound encased in shadows sent by the three most formidable beings in our realm.
Any second now…
No footsteps. No scratching. No twist of the lock opening.
All I heard was a silence so loud, it stung. A silence and the haunting echoes of my desperate exhales.
“Where is the hound?” I heard myself saying, though I couldn’t feel my lips moving.
A sharp stab of ice pierced my chest when the echoes of the clock’s chimes eventually ceased. When that wretched silence reigned over the parlor in its truest form.
“Where is it!” I was yelling now, uncaring that I sounded like a petulant child. “It’s supposed to arrive at exactly midnight, right?” I raced to the clock as if it were a foe, running my hands over its worn sides. “Is it broken? Off by a few minutes?”
It had to be broken. That was the only explanation. Not once in all of our family history had a Hayes not received a gift on time.
Whirling around, I came face to face with Father, his lips slashed in a thin line. My eyes prickled, tears begging to be freed. His stony features told a story all their own, and I had a suspicion I wouldn’t care for the tale.
“What? What is it?” I asked, breathless, feeling like I’d die should another second pass.
I was panicking, I was aware of this, but…
but this was the only opportunity I’d secure to gain respect, to step out from my family’s shadow and be my own woman.
Someone society regarded as an equal because I’d been given a divine token of great honor.
I supposed I expected the world in the form of this gift. A silly notion, a desperate hope to be more.
From my periphery, Mother stood and gently placed her glass upon the side table.
She, too, joined my father, and her attention roamed the room subtly, a slight twitch forcing her lips downward.
True emotion shone in her eyes for the first time in years as she glanced out of the parlor toward the front door. It was locked and secured.
No.
I stepped backward, my spine hitting the wall with too much force. A painful puff of air left me, and Callie hissed audibly, her face contorted in grief.
Panic surged, a humming in my ears drowning out all sound. I didn’t realize I was running until Callie’s face vanished entirely and the warmth from the parlor evaporated. In the hallway, I glowered at the ornate front door, willing it to open. To hear the baying of the hound.
Silence.
“Wren,” Callie started, standing behind me, her voice a whisper. “It’s all right, maybe—” The humming drowned her words out. I couldn’t stand there a second longer. Couldn’t stand there as they all judged or pitied me. Because…I’d been overlooked. Deemed unworthy.
Grabbing my skirts, I raced in the opposite direction of the door, my mother’s muffled voice calling my name while I darted down the corridor and beyond the empty kitchen, the doors leading to the garden in my sights.
The brisk night air of Andalay struck me in a startling blast, the chill drifting across my warm skin like a thousand pinpricks. Callie called out to me now, begging me to return, but I delved deeper into the mess of enchanting pink and amber roses that had grown wild.
Fireflies flitted about, and I angrily swatted them out of my way, repressing the memories of my youth when Callie and I would bottle them up in hopes of stealing their light.
It’s a mistake, I repeated as I reached the end of the garden, now facing the thick hedges blocking off our mansion from the main streets of Andalay.
Perhaps I hadn’t waited long enough, or maybe it had been delivered and I’d been too busy fretting to see it. But Father had explained that I would be drawn to the item like it was a piece of myself. A piece of my very soul.
I’d felt no such connection in the parlor. Not in the entire house. Not even in this wretched garden of brazen blooms.
Just…emptiness.
I dropped to my knees, the dampness of the earth seeping through my skirts and undoubtedly staining them forever. Lifting my chin to the sky, a heat of anger washed over me.
Hadn’t I been devoted enough? Good enough?
I was the only one in my family who’d pored over the books of the Fates and their gifts.
It was me who visited Day’s temple every first day of spring, offering a bouquet of freshly clipped canary-yellow roses and creamy lace.
Me who thanked the Fates each night before bed and prayed that Dusk would keep the deceased safe.
Me who greeted each morning with a smile and a prayer to Dawn.
I’d gone as far as commissioning a statue of my favorite Fate, Day, to stand before our home. A symbol of light and peace.
It hadn’t been enough.
Glowering at the moon, I clenched my hands into fists, my lungs working to get in air.
A soft trickle of chords sounded from somewhere in the distance, some sort of music escaping a magical instrument. The fireflies flickered a resplendent blue in response, pulsating with the ethereal light.
It could’ve been ten minutes or an hour, but broad hands eventually grasped my shoulders. I smelled brandy and musk—Father.
Silently, he urged me to my feet, my knees trembling.
I’d never felt so small. So weak.
Step by step, we wandered through the garden and back into the warmth of our home. Callie stood by the threshold, the corners of her bright green eyes narrowing as she wrung her hands. She didn’t speak to me.
The rest was a blur as Father led me to my bedroom on the second story. He didn’t utter a single word during the entirety of the walk, and somehow, that made it all worse.
The pity. The quiet shame.
The moment my bed was within reach, I tumbled unceremoniously onto the fresh white coverlet, grasping it in angry fists.
My heart hammered as my father paused above me. There were no tender words offered or kind condolences. No determined promises to discover why I’d been forsaken. Just the jarring click of the door shutting a minute later.
I was the first Hayes in all of our history who hadn’t been blessed.
Now I’d be seen as nothing but a curse.