Song of Blood & Stone (Earthsinger Chronicles #1)(61)

Jasminda peered into the back of the wagon and began unloading the heavy boxes. “It was my first tongue.” Her back was turned, so she could only imagine the women’s surprise.

She dropped her load and looked over. The older Sister’s brow was furrowed, but Vanesse’s expression was quite blank. Jasminda went to grab another box.

“How does that come to be?” the older Sister asked.

“My mother was Elsiran.” With a great tug, she slid a crate forward into her arms then turned to stack it with the others. Brushing off her palms, she chanced a glance at her aunt, whose face had grown ashen.

“Jasminda ul-Sarifor,” she said, holding out her hands. The older woman greeted her with a polite palm touch. Jasminda turned to Vanesse. After a moment’s hesitation, she too offered the greeting, pressing her cool hands against Jasminda’s.

“I’m going to see after that captain who promised the use of that dolly,” the older Sister said. “I can’t imagine where he’s gotten to.” She was off in a swish of blue fabric, leaving Jasminda alone with her aunt.

Vanesse stared at her mutely, recognition flaring in her eyes. Jasminda stared back. She was glad of the fine clothing Nadal had provided her with and resisted the urge to smooth out her navy-blue silk dress. Standing tall, Jasminda dared her aunt to deny her. The tension of the moment broke when Vanesse let out a gasp, almost like a sob, and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around her niece.

Jasminda was frozen in place as Vanesse squeezed tightly. “You look so much like her,” her aunt whispered into her hair.

“No, I don’t. But you do.” She found the strength to wrap her arms around her aunt and hold on as the woman continued to squeeze.

When Vanesse pulled back, tears were streaming down her face. She raised her hands to cup Jasminda’s cheeks. “No, I see her in you. Your chin, your forehead.” She stroked each part as she mentioned it, and the tears continued. Jasminda felt them welling in her own eyes, as well.

“Why did you never respond?” Jasminda spoke softly, uncertain she wanted to know the answer.

Vanesse released Jasminda and wiped at her eyes, sniffling. “Come, let’s sit.” She motioned to a log in the grass a few metres from the wagon. They settled in next to one another, and Jasminda studied the burn scars marring her aunt’s cheek and jaw.

Vanesse touched her face self-consciously and dipped her head. “Your grandmother did that.”

Jasminda’s jaw slackened as she struggled to comprehend a mother burning her own child. “Was it an accident?”

Vanesse let out a snort. “No. I was sixteen and she caught me with—” she looked over nervously at Jasminda “—someone she thought unsuitable.” After coming upon her aunt’s secret in the carriage house, Jasminda could imagine what sort of person her grandmother would find unsuitable.

“Emi had been gone for four years, sending us letter after letter. Mother would burn them, so I started going for walks to meet the postman so I could read them.” Her voice hitched. “Mother had told everyone Emi died of a fever out in the Borderlands, but Emi had written letters to her friends telling what really happened. Mother was incensed. So when it looked like I was going to end up an embarrassment, as well—” Vanesse’s gaze lengthened. She stared across the field towards the expanse of tents.

“When she came after me with the oil, I thought she wanted to kill me. She doused my bed and then lit the match before I even knew what was happening. Said she wanted to make sure no one at all would steal me away from her. No one would want me. I would never shame her the same way my sister did.” Vanesse’s hand fluttered near her face, never quite touching her scars.

Jasminda’s breathing was shallow. A tear escaped as she took in her aunt’s misery. “But the Sisterhood. How could she support you traveling the country with them to aid the settlers?”

Vanesse straightened and wiped her eyes again. “The Sisterhood is respectable. The Queen has shown us her blessing many times. Providing for the less fortunate is something that brings some honor to the family. The irony that Emi met your father while in the Sisterhood, is perhaps lost on Mother. Or maybe she just believes that I’m too ugly to be a temptation.”

She dropped her head. “I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be there for you. Mother is very . . .” She searched for a word, fear clouding her eyes.

“You’re afraid of her,” Jasminda said, growing cold as a guilty look of assent crossed her aunt’s face. She could not fault the woman. How would she feel if she’d been burned by her own mother for falling out of line? Her grandmother must have a tenuous hold on her sanity to do such a thing.

“How did you come to be here? Where are you living?” Vanesse asked, changing the subject.

Jasminda told her of the events leading her to Rosira and of her visit to her grandmother’s house. Vanesse listened to the story, her horrified expression growing with each twist and turn.

“You mustn’t ever go back to that house,” she said, desperation sharpening her features. Vanesse’s fear was a noose around her neck. Any anger Jasminda had held toward the woman dissolved into pity. The family Jasminda had known was kind and loving. She’d never once feared either of her parents and couldn’t imagine doing so.

“I don’t plan to go back.” The reassurance caused the haunted look in her aunt’s eyes to vanish.