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“A year is adequate if you love them fiercely enough. And I will love you and them with all my might, until our last breath.”
“Okay.”
Father pulled his knife from his belt and slid the blade over his forearm. Blood dripped from his arm and onto the box. Mother extended hers, and she met the blade without flinching as she stared into his eyes with intense admiration.
“This will make this world a safer place for them.” Father slipped the knife back into his belt and set the box behind the log.
Hattie and I blinked at each other. We had been building floral crowns. Mother had been sewing and Father had returned from a long walk.
And nothing more.
* * *
The canopy above my bed lifted in the slightest breeze from my cracked windows. Urgent breaths tormented my body. It all was coming back. Everything. Every moment that I’d forgotten rushed back to me. My mother. My father. The spell that took their lives. Then images of colorful leaves and the crisp, early morning sun appeared behind my eyelids as I tried to process the onslaught of information. The box lay open, that damn box King Ganglin had, the jagged half of a large copper piece resting inside.
King Ganglin had opened the box.
I tried to slow my breathing, to focus on something other than the rising panic. I needed to talk to my sister because this thing had more to do with us than we thought. It was our job, more so, our duty to our family, to the Mother, that we keep the pieces of whatever the coin was out of the hands of someone who could use it outside of its intended purpose.
To protect our realm, our home, with the powers of that who created this universe.
The air was already warm and muggy. Bright rays of the sun crept over the horizon only to heat the day further. My legs felt sticky with sweat as I pulled the blankets off of me and slipped out of bed. Floorboards creaked quietly underfoot, the wooden planks still mildly chilled from the night. I yanked the desk chair over to the wardrobe, flinching as it squealed over the wood.
The top of the wardrobe was dusty. Stones and the varying materials of the gowns pressed against my stomach as I stretched against them. Under me, the chair creaked at my weight. A thick film of grime made my hands feel dirty as my fingers brushed over the stained wood until they met the smooth, cold surface of the crystal.
I gripped it with a sigh of relief and pulled it into view. Light thrummed through it in a glistening flash as I stared down at it. Dark magic rippled through, and it felt immensely improper. Silver, jagged rock budded in small pillars that stopped at many points. Graceson had said as much when he mentioned the idea that it was witchcraft.
All I needed to do was say Hattie’s name. Clutching the crystal, I stepped down from the chair and sat in it. I rolled the crystal over in my hand, running my fingers over the sharp points and rough edges. These odd, mystical objects were all that was left of a species some believed to have never existed at all. It had to be rare and expensive.
“Hattie Avery,” I spoke quietly. The crystal grew warm in my hand, and white light glowed around it. Squinting into the brilliance of it, the shine of the points narrowed on my bed. Flares of it danced over my covers, forming into Hattie’s figure. She sat forward, her legs crossed, and an excited smile on her lips.
“Oh, Hattie,” I nearly shrieked. “It’s so good to see you.”
“I was hoping Graceson would give you the damn thing sooner so we could talk. What kept him away?” she said, her smile falling slightly.
“It wasn’t Graceson. He gave it to me last night. Some things came up...”
“Sounds an awful lot like what's happening over here. Something isalwayscoming up.”
For once, her curls were not bound in a tight bun on top of her head. Instead, they brushed against her cheeks and twisted down over her shoulders. Her hair looked extremely long, a surprising thought. Had it been that long since I’d last seen her?
“Wait, what’s going on there?” Genuine concern filled me, accompanied by the small pang of conscience from putting off what I needed to say.
“Ottack sent some keeper with a Nymph. Normally, we just collect them, with no witnesses actually in our court. King Windre staged his whole castle just to host them. He is paying Nymphs to act as servants in the castle, too, but the issue is that he is actually trying to break this poor girl. A ruse to make sure Ottack continues to believe this whole charade. It’s wrong what they are doing to this girl.” Hattie’s voice grew strident.
“Have you said anything? Have you seen her?”
“No, King Windre refuses to let me come to his castle. We got in a huge argument over it,” she sighed, balanced her elbow on her knee, then propped her chin in her hand. “What’s causing strife in your neck of the woods?”
“Something is wrong with Daethian. Graceson is making a trip back to the Acture Court to use King Windre’s resources but…it’s like he’s possessed.” I chewed on my lip.
“By an agent of Havala?” Hattie gasped.
“We don’t know. His eyes are black, and when he gets angry, black smoke comes off of him. Absolutely terrifying.” My hand drifted up to my neck.
Hattie narrowed her eyes, her image stood from the bed and closed the space between us. Light brushed against my neck, but I couldn’t feel the touch. “Did he do that to you?”
“Yes.”
