You Are Mine (Mine, #1)(12)
“Now you're just being silly.”
She sits straighter. “You remember the time you visited Aunt Mary last year?”
“Yes. She has the most lovely peach orchards.” The trees were in full bloom and went on farther than I could see. Plus, Uncle wasn't so ready with punishments. I wish he hadn't died so I could go again.
Several moments of silence pass, full of sweet memories of wandering the groves unaccompanied and visiting with Aunt Mary before she speaks. “Father hexed me three times and beat me once while you were away. He beat Bethany twice, and I lost count of how many times he hexed her.”
I slouch against the side of her chair, not caring that it digs into my back. Getting away and avoiding Father's punishments came with a price I didn't know I was paying. “Why didn't you say anything?”
“You couldn't change it. When you came home, it was over. And you were happy. You'd never been like that before. Or since. I didn't want to make you lose that joy faster than you had to.”
“Then why tell me now?”
“Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I don't want you going to a place that prevents you from ever returning home. If you're not careful, you will.”
As if she would know. One week of me being gone didn't seem to change her behavior any. “Silly frills and finding a mate are all you ever care about. You have no idea what it's like to worry.”
“I worry more than I let on. But do you know what I do, Serena? I hide those thoughts and feelings, and move on with my life.”
The impact of her words jerk through me. If that's really the case, have her big smiles and infatuations with boys been hiding her worry all this time? She's much better at it than I am. My guilt builds, yet I can't help but wonder why she hides it. If she stood up more often, would Father see us as more than property to be sold? Ridiculous thought. Of course he wouldn't.
“I'll try harder.” I rise and head for my temporary quarters. “See you in the morning.”
Cynthia follows after me. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.”
“Don't be. Thank you for telling me, it's given me something to think on.” Even if I don't want to think about it. The weight I've always carried for my sisters seems heavier.
“I really am sorry. I just don't want you to go.”
I force the corners of my mouth to lift. “All will be well. Goodnight.”
“Night, Serena.”
I cross into my room, shutting the door behind me. After a moment, her footsteps recede. I slump against the wall and slide to the floor. My sisters. I've worked seventeen years to protect them. Apparently, I haven't been doing enough. Yet, the little I was able to do, I'll no longer be able to provide. Marriage will stop me from being with them more than she thinks. I'll never be more than I am now. Only less. Less able to help them in anyway. My ability to choose will fade. I'll take on the role of a breeder.
Or worse. I'll become like that haunted tarnished. Bald. Inked. Barren. Emotionless. Not worth the shadow I cast.
***
The week moves in an odd sort of time. Like at the house when I have to wait for Father to leave for a meeting or stand at attention while awaiting punishment. Moments with Thomas are always the slowest. Agonizingly so. When he's not dueling, he's dragging me from one box to another exclaiming over his new title and riches. Sometimes people find us, which is only an improvement because Cynthia is there.
On occasion while Thomas is dueling, Father leaves to do whatever it is he does. Warlock matters, I suppose. Whatever it is, he's usually with other old, paunchy men. During those moments Cynthia and I discuss things with less restraint, though eyes are still on us and we can't become too heedless. Several times I have found I'm being watched by various Chardonians. Other times I just feel it. The Grand Chancellor is especially unnerving. Why he finds me worth such observations, I'm unsure. But his son or another warlock usually regains his attention before it becomes too excessive.
There are eight more deaths. None of the deceased were as prestigious as Chancellor Jacob. Not even anyone who was on the Chardonian council. Most were from different countries. One benefit of having Thomas drag me around was only witnessing one of them. It was just as horrific as Chancellor Jacob's death, but easier to turn away from. Or rather, run away from, to visit the privy. At least that was the excuse I used.
Cynthia stays. She watches the duels with eager eyes. No doubt, trying to ascertain who her escape will be once she's tested. I can't agree with her line of thinking, but at least she has a plan to get away from it. Even if it's doomed to fail.
Upon my return from the privy, she explains that the winner was awarded the dead man's things as has been done with the others. Whether they are Chardonian or not, warlocks who enter agree to the terms and thus forfeit their possessions if killed. Not that a dead man cares. But one of the losers is already married, and as such, the new widow is set to become tarnished. That fact gives me more pause than any of the others she loads me with.
Tomorrow is the last day of the tournament. I'm aching for my own bed, though it's shared with my sisters. The bed here is too big and cold. Since we're staying at the tournament tents while Father and Thomas enjoy the feast, tonight's bed will be a cot next to Cynthia's. Then once the tournament is over tomorrow, we'll be back at Thomas's. Despite my words when I first saw our quarters, I haven't enjoyed having my own space. Even the cot sounds better.