5. The Last Normal Day #3
Her mother stiffly got up to clean what was already spotless.
“Well,” he rubbed the back of his head, “High Blackwell will want to assess your… situation.”
The angrier Fern was, the more agitated Sprout became. He scratched at his post and puffed up his chest, hissing at the air.
“As he does with everyone who receives an elevation,” Fern seethed, but her anger died when her father’s face fell.
Her father was quiet, and he wouldn’t quite look her in the eye.
“Right,” he said, but his voice suggested it wasn’t right at all. “You’ll be safe. That’s what matters.”
The words cut the space between them, jagged with what neither dared voice. Then, as if summoned by their conversation, came the sound they’d all been dreading.
Three sharp, authoritative knocks at the door.
Her father’s shoulders slumped as he moved toward the door.
Fern stood, waiting in the sitting room. A dish her mother had been cleaning clattered in the basin, and she quickly moved to stand behind Fern, hands protectively on her shoulders.
When her father opened the door, a well-dressed Stemblood with slicked back brown hair and black, hawk-like eyes, held out his hand that wasn’t holding wax-sealed documents.
“I’m Keeper Corvus.” Her father hesitated before shaking the man’s hand. “And you are…?”
“My name is Sturgis.” Fern didn’t miss the man wiping his hand on his fine jacket. “I’m High Blackwell’s representative in all matters of elevated bloodlines. May I come in?”
Her father stepped aside and directed him toward the sitting room. Sturgis took her father’s chair while her parents took the loveseat. Fern chose to stand.
Sturgis cleared his throat. “It seems we have much to discuss and little time, so I’ll cut right to the chase.” He glanced at her before returning focus to her parents. “Ms. Grovekeeper is to come to Blackwell Keep immediately.”
“The Keep?” Her mother gasped. “But she’s to go to the second tier with the other Stembloods!”
“Mrs. Grovekeeper, surely you are not ignorant of your daughter’s circumstances, are you?”
Her father’s voice rose. “If she is sent to the Keep, we will never see her again!”
Never see them again? That’s why they’ve been so terrified—they knew this wasn’t just a typical elevation.
“Keeper Corvus,” Sturgis said quietly, “I suggest you watch your tone. This is for her protection—and education.”
“Don’t I get a say?” Fern asked. She didn’t sound nearly as confident as she wanted to.
Sturgis stared at her blankly. “No.”
Fern crossed her arms and glared at the man. Bastard.
“This is outrageous!” Her mother shrieked. “You cannot take her. I will not allow it!”
The look on Sturgis’ face turned deadly, sending a shiver down Fern’s spine.
“Might I remind you what happens to families who defy the High’s directives?
Imprisonment. Loss of position. Or worse.
As a household of faith, you should be well aware of the consequences.
” He turned to Fern. “Fifteen minutes, Ms. Grovekeeper. There is little time to waste.”
Sprout followed Fern as she ran upstairs and started throwing her things into a travel bag. Everything she owned, everything she was, reduced to nothing more than a bag and the magic coursing through her veins.
Behind her closed door, she finally cried, sinking to her knees. Sprout lapped at the tears on her cheeks and nudged her with his head.
There’s no time for this.
She sniffled and got back up, forcing herself to choose carefully what mattered most. The black dress her mother passed down to her was a must. But what really choked her up was the pressed flower she received from her father, which he had sandwiched between two panes of glass.
He’d given it to her on her fifteenth birthday.
And she couldn’t forget Sprout’s brush. After throwing a few more dresses into her bag, she took a moment to look around her room one last time.
Many cherished memories were made in that very space.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply before turning her back on all she knew.
Downstairs, her mother was a wreck. She flung her arms around Fern, whispering into her ear. “Remember who you are, no matter what they tell you.”
Her father handed her his old Book of the Mother before embracing her. She clutched it to her chest as he spoke, his voice low enough Sturgis couldn’t hear. “We love you, no matter what happens.”
Sturgis was waiting impatiently by the door, tapping his polished shoe. “Time waits for no man.”
Fern wiped her eyes and walked toward the door with Sprout on her shoulder. She turned around to look at her parents one last time. Her father held her mother as she silently broke down, threatening to cleave Fern’s chest in two.
“I love you both so much,” she choked out. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”
But Elise… will I ever see her again?
Sturgis opened the door and looked at Sprout. “You’re not bringing that thing.”
Fern gave Sturgis a death stare. “You’ll pry him from my dead hands before you take him from me.”
Sprout purred as he rubbed his head against Fern’s chin.