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26
MIA
The afternoon is a slog. Ophelia sends for me and I accompany her out to the hillocks where she performs a ritual alone, kneeling on the ground, eyes closed, hair hanging over her shoulders. She whispers words I can’t make out.
I feel it, though, now that I know what it is.
Magic.
Kneeling a few feet away from her—does she realize she needs to keep an eye on me, I wonder—I feel it ripple through the earth, through the air. It shifts the pebbles on the ground, sends leaves dancing in small whirlwinds, lifts the fine hairs on my arms. Shifts threads and knots in my mind.
With her focus elsewhere, I find more memories with the boys emerging—laughing with them, talking, running, sitting. Hugging each other. Words whisper inside my head, their voices telling me of their fears, their worries. My stubborn princes, refusing to let the past stop them, always carrying the guilt of crimes they didn’t commit.
The memories fill me up until I bow over, my forehead almost touching the ground. I’m sobbing for breath. How dare she take these memories from me, hide them away? Memory is what makes us who we are, what defines our lives, our beliefs, our goals, our desires.
Without them, I hated these boys.
With them, my love for them returns.
What did you do? I want to scream at her. I want to grab her and throw her down the hillock. How could you?
But I’ve been there before, it seems. It won’t work. Raging and fighting blindly won’t get me anything.
The best revenge is to win. The best revenge is to save the people I love and find happiness.
So that’s the plan, and I stay still, letting out breath after breath, memory after memory until I’m surrounded by them, and I swear, my God, I swear yet again that I will end this and save my boys from her.
The enchantment grows heavier in the evening as she sits with me in her room and asks me about the boys and their strengths in magic. I don’t know enough to tell her—I’ve felt their magic, but have never seen them openly use it, not their elemental magic.
It’s subtle and yet powerful, and I know how it feels…
“You really don’t know much about them, do you?” she says at last, sounding disgusted. “You’re such a waste of my time, Maddie. A waste of space. That’s what you are. I always knew you were useless, but like a pet, you were fun to keep around. You’re not that fun anymore.”
I bite my tongue and keep my silence. Even with the weight of the enchantment pressing down on my mind, I feel like punching her in the face.
“The youngest Apollinari, with the moth mark on her shoulder. Uncle was terrified you’d grow up to be the Queen of the witches, so he locked you up and kept you far away from magic. He never feared much for me. Thought I didn’t have what it took to rise. He was so wrong. He made you soft, weak. Never let you train your magic. And now it’s too late for you.”
“A moth mark. You mean my birthmark?”
She waves a shushing hand at me. “Don’t interrupt. Ah.” She takes a deep, dramatic breath. “It smells of victory. I’m ready for tomorrow. I’ve linked to the boys’ magic over the past weeks and now I sense the elements when I close my eyes.”
And she didn’t before? That’s weird. I sense the elements… Wait, did she say that my birthmark meant I’m supposed to be a Queen Witch?
“You should go to bed.” She waves her hand again, imperiously, this time to indicate I should leave her. “Did you turn my bed down and pour me a glass of water for the night?”
“Yes,” I say obediently.
“Did you put my slippers by the bed and did you lay out my clothes for tomorrow? Can’t have wrinkles in that long witchy dress now, can we? It would spoil the moment.”
“I did.”
“And what about my jewelry? Did you polish my silver and gold?”
I shake my head.
“No? Do I have to think of everything? Imagine me performing the most important ritual of all ages, that of the Golden Moon, and my jewelry is black and dirty. How will that look?”
“Sorry,” I mutter, my fists clenching under the table.
