Chapter 31
Idetermined to use the week that Mother and Algernon were away to get to know my new stepsister better. Armed with my fresh resolve to stop shrinking from the world or letting my scars dictate my life, I suggested outings.
We went to the menagerie, where I marveled at a peacock fanning its tail like jeweled feathers.
We swam in the stream, its icy bite shocking me back into remembering why I rarely went swimming.
We wandered the woods and I showed Cynthia my favorite glade where I’d once found a perfect circle of mushrooms. I even dared to venture into the town itself, striding straight into the bookshop I had avoided for months.
The air inside smelled of leather and dust and ink, all of which reminded me of Father and our time translating documents together, and I triumphantly left with several new volumes, determined to polish some of my lesser-used languages before they faded from my memory.
It was like waking up after a long, heavy sleep.
My old self—curious, talkative, full of restless energy—was stirring once more.
Comfort, delighted by my sudden burst of life, accompanied me everywhere, introducing me to friends and acquaintances as if she had been waiting for this moment all along.
People noticed my scars, of course. I caught the flicker of surprise in their eyes.
But no one said anything, and I found I could live with that.
The day before Mother and Algernon were to return, I managed the impossible: convincing Cynthia to come with me into town. Comfort had gone off with some friends and, for once, it was just Cynthia and me.
We walked along the dirt path, skirts brushing against the grass creeping onto it and the silence between us stretching taut. Comfort wasn’t there to fill the gaps with her bright chatter, but I was oddly relieved. Perhaps this was my chance to start a real friendship with my stepsister.
“Tell me about Algernon,” I said at last, hoping for an easy topic for Cynthia to discuss. “I hardly know anything about him.”
Cynthia shrugged. “He’s just Dad. He likes reading history books and then when we travel together, we look for those historical landmarks and talk about the great battles or important events that happened there. He’s a very good cook and he’s really good at chess.”
“It’s no wonder you know a lot of history then,” I said, giving her an encouraging smile. “You were incredible during the history quiz on game night.”
Her lips twitched, almost a smile. “He used to read history books to me when I was little.” Then she glanced sideways at me. “Your dad told you stories, didn’t he? Oh—sorry. You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want to.”
“It’s all right. I like remembering him.” My voice softened. “He was a wonderful storyteller. Every night it was something new—fairy tales, legends from faraway lands, myths he’d collected during his travels. It was like living in a world full of magic.”
“You must hate Dad for taking his place,” she blurted.
I stopped walking, surprised by her bluntness. “No, I don’t. He hasn’t taken Father’s place; nothing ever could. But I’m glad for Mother. She was so sad before and it’s good to see her happy again.”
Cynthia stared at the path. “I don’t remember my mom,” she admitted quietly.
“She died when you were a baby, didn’t she?”
Cynthia nodded. “Dad says I look just like her.” She gave a fleeting smile, then stopped walking entirely, scuffing the toe of her tiny slipper against the dirt.
I mirrored her, waiting.
“I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting,” she said at last. The words came out tense, like they’d been trapped inside her for weeks.
“I know you’re happy to see your mom with someone again.
It’s just that Dad and I have been together for so long, just the two of us.
And now I have to share him, so it’s…strange. ”
This was more honesty than I had hoped to get out of Cynthia. “It’s okay,” I said gently. “Change is hard for everyone.”
We resumed walking, and I could feel something shift—like ice breaking apart on a river. I couldn’t call it a warm friendship yet, but at least there was a thaw.
“Didn’t you used to live at the castle?” Cynthia asked after a while. “Comfort told me when we first met.”
“Yes. Father was a linguist there.”
“And you were too, right?”
“I was only an apprentice.”
Her eyes lit up. “Did you know the prince?”
“There are two princes,” I said. “The older one is Hubert, the younger is Curtis.”
“And you knew them?” She leaned in. “What were they like?”
I hesitated. Talking about Curtis felt too personal, and the ache of missing him hadn’t gone.
Any time I tried to examine my feelings for Curtis, hoping I felt more distant after more than a year, I was always disappointed to find that I missed him so much that it felt like pressing on a bruise. So instead, I spoke of Hubert.
“Hubert’s a little older than you,” I said. “He’s brilliant with history and a natural at swordplay and jousting. He’s serious…a little too serious sometimes. Handsome, too, if that matters.”
“He sounds amazing,” Cynthia breathed, her eyes wide.
“I suppose,” I said dryly. In my mind, Comfort’s words from a few nights ago came back about how being handsome meant very little without character.
“If we ever go there,” Cynthia pressed, “would you introduce me?”
I nodded, though a part of me recoiled at the thought. Going back to court still felt impossible. It was one thing to bare my scars to strangers in town. Those were people who had never known me. But to step back into the castle, among those who had seen me before the fire, before the attack?
That was still too much.