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17
Bronywyn
Rain falls just outside the window. The storm is soothing, the thunder almost enough to cover up the sounds of mother and father fighting again downstairs. They’ve been at it longer this time, hours instead of mere minutes.
Still, it makes my stomach churn to hear the way they speak to each other. The harsh words.
“You were unfaithful!” my father shouts.
“You were never there for me. Never, not once in our entire lives, have you ever asked me what it is I needed. What I wanted for our futures or the future of our daughter.”
“She is no daughter of mine,” he roars back, and I clamp my eyes shut against the onslaught of emotion. It’s the third time he’s said it tonight.
I turn on my heel and rush out into the hall, taking the stairs quickly. I don’t know how, but this is all my fault. I did something wrong—caused trouble in some way—and my father is punishing her for it.
Heart rate as frantic as my racing feelings, I emerge into the living room, and both parents turn to me. My mother’s features soften, while my father’s narrow.
“What the hell are you doing down here, girl?”
“Don’t speak to her that way.”
“Or what? Your Astor is going to come save you? Going to come to your rescue?”
“I have not spoken to him since that night,” my mother snaps back.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to them both. “Whatever I did, please tell me., I can take the truth.”
My father narrows his gaze on me. “You can, can you?” His gaze shifts to my mother before returning to me. Eyes sparkling with unshed tears, he glares my way as if I never meant anything to him. “Your mother is a whore, Bronywyn. You are no Walsh. You are no child of mine.”
I whirl on her, expecting her to argue, but there, in her face, is the truth. Reflected plain as day in her wider than normal, pleading gaze. The tears slip down her cheeks.
“Mother?”
“I’m so sorry, Bronywyn. You must know that I—” The doors are thrown open, and my grief mutates into fear as the witch council strolls in…minus the two members already in this room. Wearing crimson cloaks, they command a presence, their harsh faces a dead giveaway as to what is to take place tonight.
My mother broke our sacred laws.
She broke The Accords.
And tonight, they will make her pay for it.
* * *
I shoot out of bed,breathing ragged, as sunlight pours in from the balcony doors I forgot to close last night. “What the hell was that?” I whisper aloud, as I attempt to control my panic. It’s been years since I dreamt of the night my mother died. Decades, even, now that I think about it.
And yet, one conversation brings it all screaming back.Perfect.
I can help you with that,the voice promises.One word, give me control, and I can make you forget.
“Shut the hell up,” I shoot back, as I toss the covers off and push to my feet. I stretch muscles still sore from the fight yesterday. But, nightmare aside, I’m feeling much better this morning.
Mainly because now I don’t feel anything holding me back.
Tarnley, Delaney, the others—they all made their stances clear, so now I get to move forward without concern to how they’re going to react.
Eventually, they will thank me.
But until then? Who gives a shit.
