“Kötü bir anıyı unutmanın en iyi yolu güzel bir tanesiyle değişmektir.”
The Four Sisters
“State your name,” the witch said in a sharp tone.
Almira felt her skin prickle. “Almira of House Balik and House Sikora.
First-born child of Lord Beltran and Lady Lamya.”
“State your purpose.”
She swallowed, her mouth feeling suddenly dry. She held on to her knees,
squeezing herself tightly. “To protect my daughter.”
The witch sat across from Almira. She mirrored her position, and the
Queen realized she’d made a second larger circle surrounding her. They
stared at one another.
“It came to us long ago. The whispers of the night. It told us of four
Balikian women birthed in sacred Istokian waters. One was born to rule the
world.” And the witch clapped. The clap resonated inside of Almira’s heart,
hard, like it pinched her cavity. She gasped and her hands flew to her chest.
“One was born to destroy it. One was born to save it. And the fourth… will
be taken. She may be queen, like her mother, but the end is never written.”
Almira leaned forward, and with a snarl said, “She will be queen.”
The witch’s eyes twinkled. “Two paths are before us. In one path, Furia
raises your daughter to hate you. If this happens, your daughter will conquer
you. The fates ensure that.”
“No,” Almira whispered, shaking her head. “What is the second?”
A small smile formed on the witch’s face. “You’ll have the strength to
defeat Furia. Your daughter will be within your reach, but all we can feel is
fire and cannot see the end.”
“You’re lying. Tell it to me, for it is my fate and I wish to have it.”
“It’s the truth. Lies cannot be spoken within the circles,” the witch said.
“But heed my warning, great one. Should hate consume you, either you or
your daughter will die. You cannot both live, for your hate will mark both of
your fates.”
Almira thought that was an easy enough warning. She could manage
Go get your daughter and show them who The Dragon is
Once the door closed, and she was alone, she stared at the darkness.
“I’m ready.”
The shadows delighted. Almira dressed in methodical movements, plain
gown, heavy cape, sturdy boots, drenched in black. A small blade she could
scarcely wield tucked into her waist. This time, she wouldn’t have an
escort. She would be alone should a vagrant attack her. She placed herself
in the hands of luck, something she would’ve never done before. But life
changed her.
Still, her fingers shook, and her heart thundered while her breath
trembled. “Mother, give me strength.”
Beyond the hidden door, the hallway was dim and cramped, the stairs
slanted, and she had to be mindful of her footing. After all, she didn’t have
Nadim to help her descend. Her fingers gripped the stone walls as she
meandered through the veins of Mavros, the tomb who’d seen so much
death and pain. She was deep in the soul of darkness; no light guided her
path.
Almira counted the steps just as Nadim had done.
One hundred and fifty-seven steps. Her knees cramped, and she felt she
would die, buried and forgotten. She could scarcely breathe. She
remembered how Furia would trap her in small rooms as a child. Now she
knew where the hate came from. But she had to be stronger. She had to be
more powerful than her sister. She had to be a dragon.
With a gasp of relief, she reached the end, pushing the small door wide
and breathing fresh air. Almira collapsed against the stone, clutching the
open hallway and delighting in the feel of freedom. She straightened and
turned to make it through the kitchens when she collided with a solid body
and sharp green eyes, angrily glaring.
“I cannot, under good conscience, let you leave.” Delara looked
impassive.
The startle gave Almira the fright of her life and she jumped back,
grasping the
Her Tongue
ple.
She laughed. “Have you not met me, my lord?”
He smiled. “Oh, I know you carry a tongue on you to split a man in
half. For as long as I live, I shall never forget General Hestian’s face at your
words. I’d never been more afraid for you, of you, and proud of you all at
once.”
“However,” she said and took his finished pipe to clean it against the
railing as she had done many a time.
“I’m afraid you’ve made an enemy of that man.” He placed his hand
over hers when she stuck the clean pipe into his pocket. “You must be
mindful of him. He’s old and his roots in that city are deep and worm-eaten.
Half the time I think it was he who continued this war and not the king.”
I wonder if there is a school of unlearning.
Charlie Mackesy
The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse
Charlie Mackesy
The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse