Chapter 8 #2
I erupt in giggles as she pokes and tickles me.
I seal my lips together and Viola straightens to continue her brushing.
“It angered the Council that Atticus would risk the Archweaver line in such a way. Not only was I qualified to be Heir, but Vincentius as well. The position of Archweaver is not tied to blood, but to power. To deny us both out of pure selfishness…” Her lovely eyes flare.
My hair shifts with the force of her exhale.
“Regardless, Atticus was determined and he succeeded. That is how you and Ali came to be.”
“But you said I was a Rosemont? Why am I an Androclaria?”
“Because, my little love, you are very special. You are gifted with two threads. You could be either. Gildra—” her breath catches, her face shadowing.
She clears her throat and tries again, “Your mother was the last Rosemont and you should’ve been named a Rosemont to continue the line, but you were born before Alasdair. ”
I follow the blotchy formation of her scars with my fingers, tracing how they branch down to her elbows like rivers, and ask, “So?”
“Their first child… he did not take a breath when he was born. Because of this, Atticus feared that Alasdair would suffer the same fate. So, he claimed you, his living child who came into this world dripping with power.”
My legs are asleep from sitting on the floor for so long.
I stretch them out, wiggling some of the tingling sensation back into them, before I drag myself to stand.
The back room is too cold, too quiet. The enchanted window’s light is dull, with a dreary light that reflects my mood.
My bare feet patter softly on the wood floor as I move to the main shop.
The crystals in their glass cases do their best to lift some of the heavy atmosphere. I touch the glass, the light dancing along my skin, then let my fingers slip away as I fall into another memory, this one from when I was older and began to understand my situation.
I soak my aching hands in the potion-filled bowl Viola hands me.
My teeth are bare as I breathe heavily, rage sending little vibrations down my frame.
“It was Alasdair’s idea to steal the cakes from the kitchen and yet I was punished.
It’s not fair! I’m always the one who gets in trouble with Luciana.
And Alasdair just stood there and watched as his bitch of a mother split my hands open with that fucking stick of hers.
” I grumble. “At least he used to cry when that happened. I almost miss the sniveling. I should’ve known he’d turn out a heartless asshole since sibling loyalty clearly missed our bloodline.
Valen would never let that happen to Emilia. ”
“Language,” Viola murmurs softly, plucking one of the long-stemmed lavender flowers from the bouquet by her bed. She frees the buds from the spike and adds them to the water.
I scowl. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Of course not. Fuck Luciana.”
A laugh explodes from me. “Oh, you can use crude language, but I can’t?”
“I am a woman and you are still a child, so yes.” Her long fingers stroke down my cheek. “Oh, my sweet. If I could, I’d render her flesh clean of skin one finger-width strip at a time. But for now, I’ll wait until Atticus is alone and talk with him.”
“Like that will do anything. He was there and said nothing.” I duck my head, shoulders rounding. “Why did he even want me?”
“What was that?”
I glance at my aunt. “Why did Dad claim me as an Androclaria if he hates me so much? Why even let me live? Does he enjoy watching Luciana hurt me that much?”
The silence stretches. Viola’s brows are tight, her bow-shaped lips thin. It takes me a moment to find the words to say, “Tell me. Please.”
Viola sighs softly and slides closer to me on the bench of her vanity. She wraps her arms around my shoulders and I lean into her familiar, warm embrace. I curl to better lean against her breast, the softness a comfort that has cradled me all twelve years of my life.
She speaks softly for only me to hear. “Creation and Entropy do not gift children often, let alone to mixed parents. It is why our domains are so sparsely populated when Transformation and Preservation are so full. It didn’t used to be that way.
Each family line used to be as bountiful as the Bauer line.
Valen and Emilia being born eleven months apart was not the miracle it now is. It was quite common then.”
She takes a steadying breath and I wait patiently for her to continue.
“When Gildra became pregnant, the whole Order was shocked. Atticus lay with so many that cycle with no success that we were all sure that he would fail again. But to choose Gildra—” Viola’s wiry body tenses, her breath holding until she manages to continue, “Gildra was already losing control of the black flame. I was so sure she would lose you early, but Gildra…” A small, broken laugh shakes Viola’s frame, “Oh, Gildra. My stubborn girl.”
I murmur into Viola’s embrace, “You loved her.”
“So much. Her, Rossana, and I were like three souls divided into three bodies and Gildra was special to both of us. She could see things as they were, not as what others believed. And she saw you, Astoria. She proclaimed that you were bound for greatness, a harbinger of a new golden age for weavers. Her steadfast conviction convinced Atticus of the same. He proudly boasted that you, his child, were the future of the Order, an Archweaver like none other. And I swore to the Weave itself that I would honor Gildra’s choice. You would live. No matter what.
“Your birth—” Viola’s tale cuts off and she releases me to cover her mouth with her hand.
I wait patiently, familiar with this heavy grief that consumes my aunt in waves.
Finally, Viola releases a trembling breath and continues, “We knew your birth would take Gildra. She was already beginning to ash during the last few weeks of her pregnancy. She’d lost toes and fingers, her skin was a grayish tint as it spread.
But she loved you, Tori. She’d sing and talk to you all day, tracing her fingers around you as you rolled and kicked.
She did everything she could to guarantee your life, even though it hastened her end. ”
My throat aches and I whisper, “Why would she do that?”
“Gildra was never to have the same long lifespan as other weavers. She decided that if that was her fate, then she’d pass to the Weave birthing you, her greatest love.
Even as she breathed out smoke, she refused to allow a healer to cut you early from her, no matter how much Atticus insisted.
It wouldn’t save her from the black flame and she believed you were in no danger from it.
Atticus disagreed. Jinx had to stand before Gildra’s birthing bed in all her beastly glory to hold him back from interfering.
I was the only one permitted by the bedside and I had spent months preparing for it. ”
Viola shifts her arms so that the thick scars that mangle her flesh are visible.
“Gildra did not push. She did not need to. You came into this world all on your own, just like Gildra knew you would. Magic poured from your tiny body in staggering waves, the likes of which I’ve never seen before.
I caught you in my arms, held you as your power burned me.
My brother was screaming that I bring you to him, but I knew in my soul that I was to bring you to Gildra.
The power coming from you, that heat, it saved you from the cold, black flame.
I put you on her chest, and the flames…” Tears drench my hair and Viola sniffles loudly.
“Daughter and Mother. Creation and Entropy. The gold and black flames. They became one, swirling around you like the sun and moon waxing together. Gildra was flaking away as ash replaced her flesh, but she managed to kiss your sweet head and whispered your name as she passed, her body crumbling away to leave you nestled in the softness.”
She leans back and wipes her face roughly.
“Your father and I disagree on what Gildra intended to whisper. She only managed to say ‘Astoria Rose’ before passing and I know she was trying to say ‘Rosemont.’ But your father saw your power and claimed you Astoria Rose Androclaria. So, no. He does not hate you. He hates that he fears you.”
The grimoires shift and hiss as I walk through the stacks, my fingers trailing along them.
A few arch like cats into my touch, others shying away.
I try to read titles, try to navigate through the stacks to find something that can assist me with The Arachnomicon.
But I’m too distracted, too lost in my memories of Viola to do more than wander.
On my sixteenth birthday, Viola took me to the Archweaver archives, where we could be alone. She sat me down on our favorite bench and told me the rest of my birth, the missing truths she withheld until I was old enough to understand.
She takes my hands in hers as she speaks, her voice straining as if she is confessing her sins.
“We did not know you were a Dual Thread until after you were born. We were sure you were of Creation; we could sense the magic from Gildra’s womb, but when Gildra passed and Jinx remained, her power shifted to link to your soul.
That is how we knew, even though your heart was too little for anyone to fully see the threads.
An emergency Council meeting was called to discuss what was to be done.
They wished to cull you and I would not allow it. ”