Chapter I.6 #2
She placed the bracelet at the bottom of the bowl and poured just enough water to cover it and then a little more. Grasping the edges of the bowl, Miria called on her power and focused on the dilemma at hand.
“Show me what I need to know.”
The water shimmered like a thousand lights sparkled from beneath it. Then the magic settled, and Miria found herself looking at Adaline.
Her heart fluttered in her chest. No matter how many people she might meet, Miria would never find another woman as beautiful, could never imagine that seeing anyone else would make her feel so much joy.
Adaline, however, was not looking at her.
It was unclear when the scene unfolding in front of Miria’s eyes took place.
It could be the present, although that seemed unlikely.
It could have been this morning, or yesterday, or a week ago.
Based on the date of Adaline’s letter, Miria doubted it was much further in the past.
Adaline stood on a stool, her spine rigid and her hands curled into fists.
Her long, brown hair was darker than it used to be, as yet untouched by the sun, and pulled up in that way that could only be achieved by a lady’s maid with a small armory of pins or (in Miria’s case) a bit of magic.
Without even a single loose tendril to fall on her high cheekbones, Adaline’s large honey-colored eyes seemed to take up most of her face.
The last time they’d seen each other in person, the sun had freckled Adaline’s pale cheeks and turned strands of her hair to gold, but Miria knew from Adaline’s letters that she hadn’t been permitted to run freely outdoors for the past year, and her unblemished skin and darker hair were proof of it.
Not that Miria minded the effect. Adaline’s skin looked soft and dewy sweet, and she imagined what it would be like to rub their cheeks together.
(Nor, to be clear, had Miria minded when Adaline’s skin had browned and freckled in the sun.
It was still Adaline’s skin, and therefore perfect in whatever state it happened to be in.)
There was the sound of a soft grunt by Adaline’s feet, and with some effort, Miria dragged her eyes away from Adaline’s face.
After two years of not seeing her in person and five months since the last time she’d scried on her this way, Miria hated shifting her gaze.
But the magic had answered her call with this scene, so she’d best pay attention to all of it.
A woman slid about on the floor by Adaline’s stool. She had several pins stuck in her mouth, and she was fighting the fabric around Adaline’s ankles. Only then did Miria realize what she was watching: Adaline was being fitted in her wedding gown.
Surely, it had to be a wedding gown. Miria could not believe that even the queen’s cousin (which Adaline was) could have need for so fine a gown otherwise.
She’d been too enamored by Adaline’s pretty face and detailing its changes to take in the dress before, but Miria allowed herself a moment to feel awed and possibly a bit intimidated.
It was one thing, after all, to know that Adaline’s family was nobility, that one of her uncles was the Lord of Gawfrid and one of her cousins was married to Waere’s king.
It was another to be reminded of what that meant.
Truly, being raised in the woods had made Miria feral. Social stations and money were abstract concepts to her normally.
The gown was a light blue, as bright and bold as a perfect sunny day.
Nearly every inch of it was embroidered, and the bodice was so covered in sapphires and pearls in the shapes of birds that the dress sparkled like a river in the sunlight that streamed through the window to Adaline’s left.
Additional jewels flashed around the neckline and sleeves.
The dress was both stunning in its beauty and offensive for the same reason. Though dazzling, it overshadowed Adaline’s natural beauty, and Miria couldn’t tolerate that.
Adaline, on the other hand?
Things Adaline professed to love: pretty dresses, swords, and Miria. Though not necessarily in that order. Regardless of her opinion on the wedding, Miria was certain Adaline adored the gown.
Miria mentally pulled back further from the vision, trying to gain a wider perspective on the scene.
The room Adaline stood in was richly furnished in a way that made Miria’s father’s new house look shabby, but the fine trappings were not nearly so interesting to Miria when they were found somewhere she expected them to be.
It was the difference between seeing a deer in the woods and finding one in a sitting room.
“Do you not like it? Stop looking so glum.” Adaline’s mother hovered at the edge of the scene, on the cusp of Miria’s scrying bowl. She darted in and out of Miria’s view as she paced.
“It’s stunning. Of course, I love it.” Adaline fidgeted, seeming to only be holding her arms in place with great difficulty. “It’s not the dress that’s making me glum. It’s marriage to a stranger.”
“You met once. Therefore, he is not a stranger.”
Adaline rolled her eyes.
“Don’t make that face at me,” her mother snapped, which was a rather impressive observation since she wasn’t looking in Adaline’s direction.
But Adaline’s response was exceedingly predictable.
“Did you think you wouldn’t have to grow up one day?
That you could play soldier with the boys forever?
Your father should never have indulged your peculiar habits. I told him you’d become incorrigible.”
Adaline crossed then uncrossed her arms as the seamstress gently cleared her throat in way of admonishment. “I thought you’d give me more time.”
“Time for what? Your beauty won’t last forever.
This is a good match—your bloodline and his money.
Your uncle Sigmun recommended it strongly, and you will only get richer now that he has secured your future husband land and a title from the crown for your wedding gift.
That took no small amount of effort. Be grateful. ”
“If this family needs money that badly, I don’t see why we couldn’t just sell a few of the jewels from this dress.” Adaline raised her wrists so the sapphires flashed in the sunlight.
She had a point. Miria might be feral, but she nonetheless knew enough about money to know that just a few of those jewels could probably feed the average Swiftdok family for a year.
Her mother sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You are the queen’s cousin, and you should look like it. I suppose you’d rather be traipsing through the mud in men’s clothes again.”
“Now that you mention it.” Adaline grinned.
“That’s exactly why we didn’t tell you until everything was arranged. You need to grow up, Adaline. You have duties as a lady. You can take it up with the Divine Order if you’re angry you weren’t born a boy, but ask your brothers—even boys have their duties.”
“I don’t want to have been born a boy. I just don’t want to marry one.”
In spite of everything, Miria smiled. Adaline appeared so close, it was as if she could press her finger into the water and touch her. But the water shimmered again, the scene fading from view until Miria was left staring at nothing but a wet charm.
She plucked it from the bowl and pressed it to her lips, hoping Adaline could feel that on her wrist, assuming she was wearing the charm. Beneath the swaths of blue silk she had on, it had been impossible to see.
Returning the charm to her own wrist, Miria’s gaze fell on Adaline’s letter, and it reminded her of why she’d scried in the first place. It was time to put the lonely wishes of a lovestruck girl aside and focus on a witch’s task.
Show me what I need to know.
What had that scene shown her that was helpful? There was nothing to it that Adaline hadn’t mentioned in her letter.
Miria dried her fingers off against her tunic and picked up the letter, reading the words for what was probably the hundredth time. Another reading didn’t make them less painful, and it certainly didn’t change anything.
Or did it? I’m to be married to the Overseer’s son at midsummer, Adaline had written, and Miria sucked in a breath. Of course. That was what the scene had shown her.
Lord Sigmun’s gift to Adaline and Hans was to be nothing short of land and a title for Miria’s brother.
Hans would cease to be the Overseer’s son, and become …
well, something. Adaline’s mother hadn’t said what the title was, but it hardly mattered.
It was a title, and that was enough. Her family—her selfish, greedy, traitorous family—was to be granted status.
Far more than they’d already snatched for themselves.
Whatever her father had done with that wish spell, even his grasping hands could not have anticipated it would bring him so much.
His son would be titled. His future grandchildren would be counted among the nobility.
All he’d had to do to win such a prize was give up a daughter, leave her to what he’d believed was her death.
Miria’s blood thrummed with a bloodthirsty tune as she tossed the scrying water onto the ground outside. She wanted to throw the bowl as well, smash it to a million pieces like her heart had been smashed that day she’d been abandoned.
But the bowl had been her nana’s. To Yali, it had been a treasure from her home country, a land she’d last traveled to when she hadn’t been much older than Miria currently was; it was a piece of her heart.
To Miria, the bowl was a reminder of the woman who’d picked up her broken bits and put them back together, which also made it a piece of Miria’s heart.
So Miria took the bowl back into the cottage, searching for the calm she’d felt earlier.
The peace she’d felt looking at Adaline’s face.
Her heart was whole again, healed by Yali and entrusted to Adaline. She’d survived, and more—she’d thrived, as Yali had promised.
But so had her father.
That would be no longer. Miria understood what she had to do, and it was so simple.
So elegant. Her father had risen as far as a man born without a title could rise, and he must believe his son would rise even higher.
So what if he’d tossed aside a daughter to do it and would ruin another woman’s happiness, as well?
It wasn’t like he cared about hurting girls or women.
But Miria did. She would be the so what.
All she had to do to ruin her father’s plans was stop the wedding. Dash his hopes to the ground and shatter them like glass. And when she was done, she would make sure he knew that she was behind it. Make sure he knew his cruelty had created his own destruction.
The best part was that Miria’s sisters could not possibly be harmed by this plan, and Adaline would be saved.
There was no need for curses. Miria would not have to suffer at all for her vengeance, and Adaline would be an eager participant, even if she did not yet know the entire extent of Miria’s motivation.
For the first time since Adaline’s sparrow had delivered her letter this morning, Miria felt …
not happy, but perhaps content. In spite of the unseasonable heat, midsummer was still a few weeks away.
Adaline’s family would not arrive until close to the wedding, so there was ample time to plan and prepare.
But first, she had to dry Adaline’s tears and give her hope. Miria grabbed her quill, but before she could begin writing, she set it back down. These were dangerous words to write.
With her other letters to Adaline, there was always a risk, but Miria assumed Adaline could explain away the correspondence if unanticipated eyes discovered it.
Telling Adaline she had a plan to stop the wedding would be a lot harder to explain, and perhaps as importantly, the day’s events had awakened a longing in Miria’s chest, one that was as ever-present as her shadow but mostly ignorable like a shadow, too.
Only the shadow wasn’t mindlessly trailing behind her today.
It stretched and waved its hands and grasped at her coat-tails.
Adaline’s tear-stained letter. The shock of the marriage announcement. Seeing Adaline in the wedding dress.
Writing of her intentions to Adaline was no longer enough to satisfy Miria. She needed to see Adaline. Really see her. Talk to her.
Miria’s fingers twitched at her sides as she consulted the spell books.
All this time, she’d stuck to writing letters with Adaline because it was simple, but there were other methods to keep in touch.
None of the witches Miria knew used those methods regularly because of the heavy magical toll and the complications for all involved, but perhaps …
She pulled the book she needed from the shelf, telling herself she wasn’t being silly.
There was a real danger in committing her thoughts to writing.
But the truth was, today had broken Miria’s patience.
While revenge couldn’t come soon enough, one month provided plenty of time for her to plan.
She could do something silly and magically costly in the meantime.