2. Blood and Truth #3
A labored sigh slipped past her father’s lips. “When you were young, we suspected there was more magic in your blood than Rootfolk typically have.”
Her mother shot him a sharp look. “Corvus—”
“She’s right, Mira. She deserves to know something,” he breathed. “The draught dampens the magic’s potency. We just wanted to keep you here. We wanted what was best for you.”
More magic? That’s what this is about? Fern scoffed. “What’s best for me? How could a Stemblood elevation possibly hurt our family?” She crossed her arms. “If anything, that would help us!”
The room was quiet. Her parents looked at one another, then at Fern. Sprout meowed loudly before resting his head on Fern’s lap. She was breathing hard, furious. How could they do something like this to me? To our family?
Her father opened his mouth to speak, but her mother cut him off before he was able.
“You’re right, Fern. Our actions were uncalled for and selfish.
We… should have been honest with you from the start.
” She turned to her Bonded, taking his hand in hers.
“We always knew this was a possibility, Corvus.”
Corvus looked as if he had aged ten years in a matter of minutes. “But it’s too soon.”
With a sad smile and a slight shake of her head, her mother said, “It’s not. Fern’s no longer a child.”
Fern’s fury melted away, leaving behind something she’d longed for but never expected to feel this way. Finally, they saw her as she was—though she wished it hadn’t taken lying to her to get there.
“Come, Corvus.” Her mother led her father across the room. “Let Fern get ready. We leave at the twelfth bell.” She paused before opening the door. “Wear the black dress, dear. You look lovely wearing it.”
“Wait!” Fern stood, hand outstretched. “Please, I still have more questions!”
Mira shook her head. “Honestly, Fern. There is no time for this.” Her father gave her one last look, and the door closed behind them.
Fern sank back down, pouting. Yeah, I’m an adult alright. Just not old enough to know what’s really going on.
In the blink of an eye, the life she’d known had been destroyed. Between dragging a Deadwood through the woods, to drinking a forbidden draught, to learning the magic in her blood might sing—she no longer knew who she was.
Fern ran her fingers down Sprout’s spine, being mindful of his wings, and opened her wardrobe.
The black dress was extravagant, a garment passed down from her mother.
A gift from Fern’s father, her mother had told her.
Though it was far finer than anything a Keeper should have.
He must have saved at least twenty crowns to pay for it.
She fingered the skirt. The dress was made of heavy silk that seemed to absorb light, with long sleeves that tapered to points on the back of her hand, fitted with a loop that went around her middle finger to keep them in place. The bodice was fitted, laced with dark ribbon.
She pulled on the dress, letting it fall into careful pleats at her ankles. Then she caught sight of the black vines that had crept down past her ribs to her left knee. She was lucky the blight wasn’t worse.
“Sprout,” she called as she lifted her hair from the nape of her neck. “Help me tie this.”
The little mosswing’s wings fluttered as he seized the ribbon between his teeth. She felt the light touch of his paws as he scampered across her shoulder blades, helping with the intricate lacing.
She released her hair, gave Sprout a scratch, and took a step back to view her reflection in the looking glass.
Grey eyes met her gaze, and she could see how the fitted dress emphasized the strength in her arms and shoulders from countless hours of foraging.
Not too thin, not too fat, either. I look good.
Pride filled her as she took in her powerful frame.
With one last glance at her reflection, Fern made her way downstairs, Sprout flitting ahead of her.
Her parents’ collective gasps as Fern reached the first floor had a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She twirled, letting her skirts fly as free as her hair.
“You look stunning, Fern,” her mother said, with her hands clasped over her mouth.
Her father hugged her and kissed her temple. “You’re beautiful.”
“I feel beautiful.” She grinned. “This dress fits me perfectly!”
“Of course it does,” her mother chuckled. “You’re my daughter, after all.”
Gripping Fern’s shoulders, her father turned her toward him. “In all seriousness though… are you ready?”
“That depends. Are you going to tell me what’s really happening?” she asked, eying her father expectantly. “Why I have more magic than I should? Where you got the bloodleaf?”
Her father looked at the floor. “Fern. Don’t ask again.”
Fern shrugged. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Besides, it’s not like we have a choice in the matter. All must attend the Count.”
“You always have a choice, Fern.” Her mother laced her fingers with Fern’s. “We could—”
Before her mother could finish her sentence, the timing bells tolled.
“We could what?” Fern asked.
Her mother just shook her head and donned a black veil to cover her Oathblight. “Nothing, dear. We’d best be on our way.”