Chapter 24 #2
I don’t know if I accidentally spoke the sentiment out loud or if she was able to surmise it from my aura. It’s been like this since we were children; she’s always been able to sense my thoughts without me having to say them.
As we approach, the sound of chittering diverts my attention to the seating area where children are congregated on the tiered stone steps. On the stage, a chalkboard stands next to a desk. A teacher’s desk, I realize.
I’m struggling to take it all in—the outdoor theater filled with children ranging from roughly nine-years-old to twelve, but also the butterflies flying overhead, and the sweet, perfumed smell of nectar from the flowers.
I stand under the shade of the trees taking it all in, when I notice my sister walking down the stone steps and toward the stage, the children’s voices quieting as she passes.
“Good morning!” Her voice is lilting and a smile overtakes her features.
The class sings back: “Good morning!”
I promptly take a seat on the highest row as I come to the realization my sister is the teacher. My sister, who has arguably taken the lives of as many men as I have, picks up a piece of chalk and plays with it between her fingers as she looks over the students.
“Who did their reading assignment?” she asks, and every hand shoots up. “Good. Then everyone should be able to answer a question if I call on you.”
She opens a text on her desk and runs a finger down the page before asking the first question.
Her eyes scour over the array of students until she chooses one, calling him out by name.
Alec is swift to answer, and he beams when Beau gives him a pleased smile.
She continues her interrogation—because that’s what it is—as she paces in front of the kids, figuring out if anyone has skimped on their assignment.
I’ve seen her in action enough to know when she’s sizing someone up, and most of the class sits at attention as they wait to be called upon.
One boy, Mason, cowers in his seat when her eyes land on him, and I pity him as he stutters over an answer.
He’s wrong, of course, and Beau’s disappointed expression is punishment enough for his lacking effort.
I spend the morning observing her as she lectures.
The noise of the city bustling around the amphitheater mixes with the sound of wind in the trees and the buzzing of bees.
As the sun rises in the sky, the canopy of trees keeps the theater shaded.
It’s idyllic and makes me melancholy for the people back in Kenta.
There’s a peace here I haven’t felt in years back at the capital.
Beau has always said children have the best auras. I never thought much of it but watching her interact with them reminds me so much of how her mother was with us when we were young. Still as intimidating as hell, but also forthcoming with her joy.
In Kenta, Beau existed.
Here, she’s thriving.
Jovie has given her so much more in a few years than my father ever did in her whole life.
At the end of her lectures, she gives the kids the day off from assignments and they’re boisterous when they scramble to leave, running to the parents waiting for them around the circumference of the theater.
I wait for Beau to clean her chalkboard and tidy the supplies on her desk before she comes to meet me at the top of the stairs. We fall into step as we take a different path back to the cottage.
Maile is a city unlike anything I could have ever imagined, as if it was pulled from the pages of a fairytale.
Magic is as common as breathing. People exercise their gifts out in the open, free to use them however they please.
I can practically feel the magic in my lungs, on the breeze as it dances across my skin. It’s intoxicating.
“Is this how it always is?”
Beau’s smile is earnest when she answers. “Always.” She swings the excess material of her skirt as she leads me higher into the city. “Your aura has calmed since this morning,” she says, eyes flitting over me. “Although, you’re still angry with me.”
The soldier from this morning has been replaced by another, and I keep my eyes on him as he scales the roofs a street over from us. I don’t remove my hands from my pockets, making it clear that I pose no threat. To my sister or otherwise.
“Tell me,” I say, returning my attention to the sloping street ahead. “When exactly did you decide to overthrow our father? Was it an impulsive decision influenced by Jovie, or was it something you had planned since we were children?”
Beau’s never been one to be dismayed by my attitude. “I saw the deception in Jo’s aura as soon as I laid eyes on her.” Smirking, she reaches out and plucks a stray flower petal from my shirt. “Much like I see it in yours.”
“That’s news to me.”
“You’ve always had a little bit of deceit hiding in there,” she says, twirling her fingers in the air. “Whether you mean to do anything or not.”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“It was always my wish to overthrow our father,” she says without a hint of remorse. “It wasn’t until meeting Jo that I ever hoped it was a real possibility.”
“And what was I? Collateral damage?”
“Yes.” She looks away, at nothing and everything all at once. “It wasn’t an easy decision. Jo wanted to bring the offer to you sooner, but I warned her against it.”
My heartbeat seems to still as I absorb her words. “Why?”
“You love too hard. Always have.” She shrugs. “But there’s one thing you value over love … and that’s loyalty.”
I exhale a burst of air through my nose in a huff as I shake my head. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
“I know.” She looks back to me, the corner of her lip quirked up in a small, humorless smile. “I can see that now.”
Something in her face sends a frisson of unease down the nape of my neck. “Oh, yeah?”
“I believe our father had been planting falsehoods in your mind for a long time. Probably starting before you even left to join the army. But your aura is vastly different from when I left home,” she says, swinging her skirt as she walks. “Loyalty is still there, but it’s divided.”
I look up at a flicker of butterflies floating on the breeze. “I hadn’t been home more than a handful of times since I joined the army, so when I did return, my perspective of our father was still that of a boy. I was just too stubborn to see him for he was—is.”
“Jo told me there was something you refused to speak of, on the wharf. Something about the reason Wren switched sides.”
A humorless breath escapes me. “She’s not willing to have this conversation with me herself?”
Beau looks at me as she has done for the majority of our lives—admonishing, with a knowing tilt to her brow. She doesn’t need to voice the obvious, and that’s the fact Jovie doesn’t want to speak to me at all.
“Our father has found a way to regain his magic.”
By the way her expression doesn’t falter, it’s apparent she already suspected what was going to come out of my mouth.
“How do you know that already?” I ask.
She gives me a look that says everything without having to say it; she’s not dumb enough to reveal her sources.
Sighing, I nod my understanding.
“Listen, I think you’re being honest about wanting to take the throne from our father, so please believe that what I’m about to tell you is in your best interest.” Her mouth thins as she inspects me before she looks away, as if she can’t stand to look at me as she speaks.
“You’re wasting your time here. Jo will never help you. ”
There’s something in the bluntness of her statement that tells me she’s being truthful.
Whatever Jovie’s reasoning, it’s nonnegotiable, which makes me believe she’s holding on to an alliance with Roison.
For what, I’m unsure. What could Chryse have offered her to not even consider hearing me out?
Besides my marriage being an obvious point of contention.
“Does she draw anymore?” I ask, solemnly.
If Beau is taken aback by the sharp deviation in the topic of my question, she doesn’t show it.
“No,” she answers, softly.
And that’s the worst news Beau’s given me today.