Chapter 8 #2
Beatrix’s fingers twist in her apron, her eyes not quite meeting mine.
“All these years,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve let you believe that your mother died in childbirth, but that’s not exactly true.
Eventually she went into labor, earlier than either of us had hoped.
We traveled to Thermia just like we’d planned, and you were both born in a cottage just over the border. ”
“Both?” I ask sharply.
“Two identical girls, both born with a lot of hair.”
My ears ring with shock. I’m hearing Beatrix, but I’m not entirely sure that I’m processing what she’s saying because my voice is perfectly even when I ask: “And she didn’t die during the birth?”
“No.” Beatrix says, her face slightly pale.
“She didn’t. Amora gave both babies to me while she recovered for several hours.
I was happy to take care of both of you, and expected that once your mother was feeling better we would all return to Vernallis together.
No one knew your mother was living on the estate or that she’d been pregnant, and while we’d have to be careful, I thought you’d all be safe there.
Especially since your mother possessed such powerful magic, she would have been able to protect all of us from any threat.
But once she’d recovered, she came to me with a strange expression on her face. I remember she seemed vacant, but I of course assumed she was just tired. Then she asked me ‘which one was born first?’ And I told her, it was your sister.”
“Then she took the baby from me and said that here was where we would part ways. She made me promise to care for you and keep you hidden from Thorne—though of course I would have anyway—and then she took the other baby and left.”
I stare at her, blinking furiously. “Left…to go where?”
“I don’t know,” Beatrix says, looking devastated. “She didn’t say where she was going, and I never saw her again.”
“So she never came back to look for me or…anything? You never found out what happened to my—” I cough, unable to force the words “my sister” out of my mouth “—to the other baby?”
“No,” Beatrix says, her voice cracking. “I…I never found out where she went.”
My ears ring as Beatrix finishes her story, blood pounding in my skull like a war drum.
The room tilts and spins around me. A twin.
A mother who chose to leave me behind. Every memory I’ve ever had suddenly feels like a lie, a half-truth with its matching piece somewhere out in the world without me.
“Could she have gone back to her home in Solistine?”
“Perhaps.” Beatrix bites her lip. “She might have gone back there, but I’ve never thought so.
Remember that we knew each other quite well—or, at least, I thought we did.
She’d always been very clear that she hated her life in Solistine and believed she was meant for greater things.
She wanted power and luxury. I’ve never believed Amora would be satisfied with anything less than royalty, and I’ve wondered over the years… ”
“Wondered what?” I demand impatiently.
Beatrix sucks in a sharp breath, as if steeling herself. “I’ve wondered if, after her first chance at power through Thorne fell apart, she might have gone in search of another court.”
“Which court?” I ask, thinking out loud more so than I’m expecting Beatrix to answer me. “There are only four kingdoms in Ellender, and if she’d been thrown out of Vernalis and she didn’t want to return to Solistine—” I break off as understanding dawns.
“I see you’ve come to the same conclusion I did,” Beatrix says, eyes fixed on my face. “The last time I saw your mother was in Thermia. Rumors have been circling for years about the powerful magic in that kingdom, and their queen hasn’t been seen or heard from in years.”
I swallow thickly, staring into space as my mind races.
No one knows much about the court in Thermia, and I too have heard the rumors that Beatrix is talking about.
Everyone says the magic is stronger and wilder up there than it is further south.
There are supposed to be monstrous creatures hiding in their mountains, and their queen is thought to be reclusive and possibly mad.
“And then, of course, there are the lights,” Beatrix says, breaking me from my reverie.
I look up sharply. “What about the lights?”
“Well…it’s just odd.” She bites the inside of her cheek.
“They only appear on your birthday, and ever since you were a small girl you’ve been insisting on going to see them.
I always wondered if maybe there was something to that, like one or both of them are letting you know they’re still out there somewhere. ”
I suck in a deep breath, then another. My thoughts are racing now—maybe she’s right. Maybe the lights are about me in some way, but even if not, at least they’re a place to start. I have to find out what happened to my mother and my sister. Nothing else in the world matters more.
Beatrix’s chin trembles. “Do you hate me for keeping this from you?”
“No,” I say quickly.
She looks at me, disbelief across her face. “You’re angry with me, though.”
I shake my head and push back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the floor. I circle the table until I’m standing behind her, and my arms find their way around her shoulders, feeling the familiar softness of her shawl against my cheek. “I’m not angry—not with you, anyway.”
I understand why she didn’t tell me any of this before now, and even though I’m hurt, those feelings are directed toward my birth mother and not at the woman who raised me and kept me safe all these long years.
Beatrix remains still for a long moment as I hug her, then pats my arm clumsily and moves to stand up.
She brushes her sleeve over her damp cheeks as she rises and strides back over to the food lying across the counter.
I watch in a daze as she busies herself at the counter once more, shoulders hunched, fingers trembling slightly as they gather up the bread and dried fruit.
“I’ll pack this up for you,” Beatrix says in a thick voice, then her eyes narrow on me. “Is that what you’re planning to wear?”
“Yes,” I say defensively. “Why?”
Her eyes travel from my worn boots to my thin shirt, her lips pressing into a worried line. “Thermia is colder than Vernallis, you should really take something warm to wear with you. Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
I slump into the chair, mind whirling, but before I can even begin to process everything, Beatrix returns, balancing a wicker basket in one hand and a deep crimson cloak draped over her other arm. She thrusts the fabric toward me with a firm nod. “Put this on.”
I unfold the scarlet cloak, eyeing it doubtfully. “Won’t it be too long? You’ve got at least five inches on me.”
“It’s not mine.” Her hands move methodically, arranging food parcels in the basket. “It belonged to your mother. Whether that’s lucky or not, I couldn’t say. But at the very least you shouldn’t trip over the hem. Amora barely reached my shoulder—you have her stature.”
My heart pangs with something slightly painful, but I don’t argue anymore as I swing the cloak around my shoulders. Eugene pokes his head out of my satchel and gives me an assessing look before running across the table, up my arm, and settling himself in the folds of the hood hanging down my back.
Beatrix thankfully doesn’t notice him as she turns back around and hands me the full basket. She blinks when she looks at me.
“What?” I ask, feeling nervous that she’s about to drop another bombshell on me.
“Nothing,” she says, voice suddenly sounding thick again. “With the cloak and now you’ve let your hair grow out…You just look like her, that’s all.”
She pulls me into another hug, this one slightly painful. “Be careful.”