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“I have agreed to see you,” Ásví responded curtly. “It remains to be seen if I’ll do anything to help you.”
Hùisdean elbowed his aunt, smirking. “Come on now, Aunty. You’ve holed yourself up here working on breaking the same curse.”
“Hmm.” Ásví made a noncommital noise and studied Ayda, her brow furrowing as she looked her up and down. Ayda fought the urge to shiver and met Ásví’s gaze head-on. Ayda hardly breathed for a full minute before Ásví relented, turning around and waving for them to follow her inside.
“All right then. I’ve made tea. Come inside and take your fucking shoes off.” Ásví disappeared into the dark bowels of the house, muttering in another language under her breath.
Ayda let her shoulders fall and practically sagged with relief. Hùisdean chuckled and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Ayda’s waist and pulling her close.
“Your aunt is fucking terrifying,” Ayda mumbled into Hùisdean’s chest, allowing herself to accept his familiarity and comfort.
“That she is,” Hùisdean agreed, “but I think she likes you.”
Ayda pulled back from him with a start. “Are you kidding? She nearly set me on fire just by looking at me.”
“But she didn’t!” Hùisdean grinned. “You’re not dead, so she likes you.” Hùisdean released Ayda’s waist and grabbed her hand, leading her into the house. Ayda didn’t think about the implications. She appreciated the defense that Hùisdean’s closeness provided.
The house slowly revealed itself as Ayda’s eyes got used to the light. They were standing at the entrance to a long hallway, with large, gilded portraits lining the walls. The glow of a large hearth illuminated the far end, where the house presumably opened into a kitchen. Hùisdean continued leading her down the hallway, but Ayda’s eyes went to all the portraiture on the walls.
“Who are all of these people?” Ayda looked around. A pinprick of the frozen magic started tickling Ayda’s fingertips again. She stopped before one of the oldest portraits on the wall, carefully painted in oils on a thin piece of wood.
“Who is this woman?” Ayda repeated, rephrasing her question. She studied the painting. A female figure kneeled at an altar with an open bible and a heavy crown on her head while a knighted figure stood watch. Hùisdean turned around to see which portrait Ayda was referencing.
“Most of them are relatives, a few of them are—”
“Ayda Bhaduri.”
The painting cut Hùisdean off. Ayda screamed and jumped backward, crashing into Hùisdean. He scrambled to grab Ayda to keep her from falling, his eyebrows shooting up. The small face of the noblewoman was now staring straight at them. Her attention turned away from the open bible. Ayda was more startled than anything, but judging by Hùisdean’s shocked expression, he hadn’t seen Ásví’s portraits starting speaking before either.
“Ayda Bhaduri,” the woman repeated herself.
Ásví came running down the hallway, her jewelry jingling as she joined them. Her eyes were wide as she raised a slim finger and pointed at the painting, then towards Ayda.
“Well?” Ásví looked at Ayda. “Answer her!”
“Has this ever happened before?” Hùisdean looked between the portrait and his aunt.
“Ayda Bhaduri,” the woman repeated herself for the third time.
“Ayda! Answer her!” Ásví snapped, ignoring Hùisdean’s question entirely. Ayda could barely hear her voice over the sound of her heartbeat, but she nodded her head and cleared her throat.
“Yes. I’m Ayda Bhaduri.”
The woman in the portrait nodded as if this information pleased her. A harsh wind blew the front door open, sending an arctic breeze through the entire house. Thunder boomed across the sky outside, and rain echoed off the roof as the heavens split open. No one dared to move as the woman continued to speak.
“Ayda Bhaduri, your name day is upon you. Succeed where I failed. Earth mender, turn to the sky. Lie dormant no longer. Succeed where I failed. Whether through blood, breast, or womb.”
The earth shook with every word the woman spoke. Her eyes filled with tears that dripped down her cheeks, materialized, and fell to the floor. The wind howled and shook the shutters as the rain increased in intensity. Ayda couldn’t tear her gaze from the portrait, wondering if the whole house would come down around them. Hùisdean pulled her back flush to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.
“What do you want?” he shouted over the furious storm as if the painting threatened Ayda.
“Be respectful, you foolish child!” Ásví yelled, pointing a long finger in Hùisdean’s face. She turned back towards the weeping painted woman. “Forgive my nephew, ancient one!”
Ayda’s knees buckled, and she was grateful for Hùisdean’s support. She doubted her ability to stand on two legs. The woman refused to take her eyes off Ayda, repeating the exact words over and over. Her voice cracked as she shouted, echoing the storm’s din despite her small painted stature.
“Ayda Bhaduri, your name day is upon you!” She grew more frantic. “Succeed where I failed! Succeed where I failed! Earth mender, turn to the sky. Lie dormant no longer! Succeed where I failed. Whether through blood, breast, or womb!”
“What does that mean?” Ayda shouted, holding her hand out as if she could touch the woman and pull her through the painting into the house. “I don’t understand!” The storm around them started to ease up. The woman clasped her hands in prayer, returning to her original pose as depicted in the picture.
