Chapter 7
Larkspur
“To many more birthdays,” Aunt El leaned over to say with a smile.
I blew out thirteen candles, and the smoke rose to the cerulean ceiling of the dining hall.
My mama wrapped her arms around my shoulders, over the chair back behind me. “Happy birthday, love.”
Pale-pink silk hung from the silver chandeliers and cascaded down onto the white birch table.
Mama squeezed tighter, and I groaned. The table erupted into cheerful conversation again among my loved ones.
“Mama, you’ll suffocate me,” I laughed out.
She scoffed. “I’ve earned the right.” She released me to return to her seat.
All my aunts were here—Lora, or El as I’d started calling her recently since everyone else did. Then Asterie, Amara, Cassidee, and Wyeth. Uncle Fen was teaching my cousin Hurley how to uncork a wine bottle with a simple charm.
Easy.
I could do that in my sleep. I could make a healing potion or invisibility tonic with ease, cast all the simple charms, and unlock almost any door.
The sight made me sad… or angry with Hurley.
He used to play marbles and climb trees in Aunt El’s orchard with me. Now he effortlessly assimilated into adult conversation.
Mama looked disappointed that none of the children from school had shown—even though it had been no surprise.
They could not ward their thoughts yet, and they were often not very nice. They feared my Reverist abilities would expose their cruelty.
I wished Dritan could be at the table. He would brighten my spirits, and I’d have someone closer to my age to speak with.
But it wasn’t wise to invite him. I’d agreed to hold my dear friend’s secrets close to my heart.
I dreamed that someday he would accept his fate. We would rule together and create a more peaceful realm.
Everyone still spoke to me in either a coddled or strict manner—except Aunt El. My favorite aunt covertly offered me a wineglass. “Cheers, little troublemaker!”
The childhood nickname had stuck. But she didn’t say it in the same condescending manner others might. Instead, we were accomplices in the troublemaking.
“She’s thirteen,” Papa grunted and pushed the glass out of my reach. A drip of burgundy liquid stained the silk tablecloth.
Sources. There was so much pink.
Mama thought I still liked the color. I preferred the sharper contrast of red against my tanned complexion. Roses were my favorite flower, and they suited me. I often removed their thorns and strung them into a crown.
Aunty Lora chuckled but then slid the glass to me again. “It’s just plum juice. Settle down.”
Papa rolled his eyes and sat on the opposite side of me. “You two will be the death of me.”
I took the glass, carefully sipping the sweet nectar that came from the orchards at Lamoreaux. I’d long begged Mama and Papa to let me summer there.
This year, they’d finally given in! I would stay with Aunt El for the entire season.
We planned to make plum pudding and feed the ducks in the pond, and she would teach me how to use her throwing daggers. There was so much to do.
“Oh! When we get to the estate, can we play jumping stones?” I asked my aunt.
Mama and Papa exchanged a glance and laughed.
“I hate that game—you always best me,” Aunt El answered, and I grinned.
“She bests everyone at it,” Mama said. “Remember, Aunt Asterie will be there at the beginning of next week for your lessons.”
I groaned. “The other children take a break for the summer.” I sighed and glanced between my mother and Aunt Asterie. Both offered me no sympathy. I didn’t mind learning—enjoyed it, actually—but it still felt so unfair.
Uncle Fenris rested his arms on the table and said, “Well, that is their loss, now, isn’t it? Think of all you can learn having your aunt all to yourself this summer. You’ll be turning the rest of the lot into toads by fall.” He leaned toward me with a conspiratorial raised brow.
“Fen.” Aunt Asterie shot him a warning look from across the table and frowned with disapproval. “We do not cast spells or charms on our classmates.”
“I know, I know,” I droned.
“Often,” Uncle Fen whispered and winked at me.
Van curled up at my feet, with his head in my lap, waiting hopefully for scraps.
Between lessons, Aunt Asterie let me play with the wolf-beast. Last year we’d mastered “fetch.” The year prior, he’d learned to “shake.” This year, we were still working on “rollover.” Sometimes his horns got stuck in the rugs, and then my aunt would frown and tell me we needed to get back to our studies.
Aunt Amara patted Asterie’s arm and said, “There was a time I caught you turning all of my socks into mice.” Amara’s eyes crinkled. She always seemed so kind, yet she visited the least.
“Speaking of things we can do but shouldn’t,” Aunt Asterie said, with a narrowed gaze in my direction. Uh oh. “I know that you’ve been using charms to unlock the wards on my library books on the upper shelves. There are certain curses and charms in there that you’re not ready for yet.”
Caught. “Sorry,” I droned. “But I am ready to learn more, Aunty.”
Aunt Asterie’s lips pinched up into a barely there smile. “All in time, dear.”
“I’ll come fetch you in just a couple of days, little troublemaker,” Aunt El said. She rose from the table. Aunt Wyeth grabbed her elbow before she stepped away.
“Cass and I will be by next week,” she whispered.
Aunt El’s frown was a rare sight. “Unnecessary, but thank you.” She excused herself. I knew she would go up to sit by the sleeping King’s side. For the past few years, she’d often let me read stories to him.
Whenever she visited Luz, Aunt El always ended up there; she thought no one noticed. I had. It saddened me that her best friend remained asleep.
Aunt Cassidee poured amber liquor into her glass. “Maybe if this goes well, then you can come summer with us next year.”
I shot up straight in my seat. “Yes! I’d like to learn to fly a Griffith!”
My father groaned and ran a hand down his face.
I hadn’t meant to sound so excited to leave. The world seemed so much bigger than the courts of Luz and Sahlmsara.
I wanted to see it all.
Before bed, Mama and Papa entered my room. Sitting up against my pillows, I laid my journal face down in my lap. I’d been writing a note to Dritan. He was getting good at sneaking into the gardens to retrieve them. He always left a red, shimmering rose in their place.
My stomach fluttered at the thought of slipping out of the palace to meet him before heading to Lamoreaux. I’d see him there too, where he’d taken a summer job painting.
“We came to say goodnight, love,” Papa sat down at the foot of my bed. He held a large tome in his hands.
Uh oh. This usually only happened when I’d done something wrong—had I forgotten schoolwork? I didn’t remember Aunt Asterie assigning me any reading.
“What did I do?” I blurted out.
Mama chuckled. “No, no… unless you have anything to tell us?”
I planted my hands on my journal.
“We came to talk with you,” Papa said. Mama settled down beside me over the covers and leaned a shoulder into mine. “You aren’t in trouble. We’re so proud of your progress at school—all that you’ve learned.”
Papa offered the tome to me, and I took it, despite my reluctance to let go of my journal.
“This is The Book of Isolde, the First Reverist,” Mama said. “It’s very old, so be careful with the pages. They’re brittle.”
I admired the foiled text across the rich brown vellum before opening the cover, happy my note lay safe below it, out of their awaiting stares.
She is so young. She’s not ready, Mama thought to herself.
I swallowed hard as I turned the gritty paper. “What’s it about?”
They glanced at one another, waiting for the other to speak. My heart pounded—they never appeared so unsure.
“It is Isolde’s stories of her life, of her children and their demise,” Papa answered. “It’s about the fate of us all, but most importantly, you.”