The Sisters of the Crescent Empress Page 10

  “You mentioned ‘we.’” Sibilia squints her eyes, rubs her forehead. The spell is fading, and she senses it. She can have but a question or two left to ask before she has spent all that her soul can spare. “What’s the definition of ‘we’?”

  Mother once said that each difficult decision will carve a hollow under my heart. I feel it now, the emptiness that tugs at my lowest ribs. Does my sister know? How could she? I never shared that part of my previous plan with anyone, and I don’t like being reminded of what I might have been willing to do. “All of us.”

  Sibilia shakes her head. “No, I wasn’t sure earlier, but now I am. You’re holding back information. Tell me what it is.”

  I can see from her widening pupils that she isn’t quite in control of the spell anymore. As she reaches toward me, to grab my shoulders, the compulsion hooks into the cogs and wheels of my mind. It is a feeling that . . .

  After being subject to a harmful spell before, I should be repulsed. Afraid. But instead, I am proud of my sister and what she has achieved on her own. Proud enough that if it had been my choice, I might have told her the truth without the spell’s interference. But now, it isn’t my choice. “The previous plan.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .” Sibilia kisses my forehead, tears streaming down her cheeks. My mind was tampered with not so long ago, to coerce me into actions I wouldn’t otherwise have agreed to. In my sister’s eyes, she has hurt me in the worst possible way. “I didn’t mean to really use it. I . . . I can’t take it back.”

  And I wish I could take back the words that I hear myself saying. “That day my seed came to our aid, I chose you to remain behind with me.”

  Sibilia draws away from me. She stares at me, unable to comprehend what I am talking about. No, that isn’t it. Unwilling to comprehend.

  “There was but one troika . . .” Out of control now, the spell seeks firmer hold of my mind. Images of the day my seed met his end flash past my eyes. The sun clinging to the zenith. The waiting horses tied to the wooden rail. It seemed like such an easy choice then. When I saw that my seed had brought but one troika with him, with the future of the empire at stake, I realized I could send only three of my sisters away to safety. At that instant, I had to decide who would stay behind and face the grim consequences with me. That role fell on Sibilia.

  But now that I have slept next to Sibilia, now that I have heard of her hopes and dreams, I do regret ever making that choice that in the end didn’t matter. “I would have ordered him to leave with Elise, Merile, and Alina.”

  “You were . . .” The hurt in my sister’s voice is primal. Though an empress should never be guided by her heart, my sister’s pain makes me regret what I thought back then—what I knew—as the best course of action. “You were going to leave me behind.”

  I focus my mind on one word and one word only. It took my father’s help to break through Gagargi Prataslav’s compulsion. But my sister’s spell isn’t as intricate. What I need is a breach, one word through the spell. One simple word. “No.”

  “You were going to leave me behind,” Sibilia repeats, blinking slowly as if she weren’t seeing properly anymore. She shakes her head, and her faith in me leaks out with the tears. I, her honored eldest sister . . . in her eyes, I am that no more, but a calculating empress-to-be. “You were . . .”

  “Listen to me, Sibilia, it was the only possible choice.” And even with her spell cast aside, I hide nothing more from her. I don’t want my sister thinking I wanted the events to veer to that direction. “This empire needs a future, and weak and bleeding, I chose Elise before myself. And our little sisters, dear Alina and Merile, they rely on our protection. Tell me, how would you have chosen?”

  But Sibilia doesn’t hear me anymore. She gropes for the book of scriptures, holds it against her chest, slumps against the pillows. “Abandon me . . .”

  I rush to help her onto her back, though her accusing gaze stabs me like hunter’s knives. I have seen spells invoked many times before. When not powered by a soul bead, the gagargis draw from their own souls. My sister has come upon this knowledge on her own. This might be the very first spell she has ever invoked.

  “It never came to pass,” I whisper as I tug the coverlet over her, to keep her warm. She shifts waveringly, yearns for me to leave her alone. But I sit down on the bed’s edge, next to her. “My sister, it is all right now.”

  “Is it?” she mumbles, wounded by more than the secrets uncovered. Her spell has faded and left her weak. I hope it hasn’t harmed her soul permanently. “Celestia . . .”

  I gently brush my sister’s wet cheeks, dab the tears away with my sleeve. Even though her body is that of an adult, deep inside she is still but a girl, prone to be afraid and confused. For a reason, though.

  I lean to speak softly in her ear, though I know the hurt I have caused her may not ever mend. “We will go to the south together. All together or not at all.”

  She grows too weary to say more. Her eyes keep open only barely, but the piercing gray sadness is unmistakable. As her breathing deepens, I hold her hand in mine. It is no longer plump, but delicate. She has changed. I haven’t, for I am already as I must be.

  I sit by her side, until I am certain she will not stir to the sounds I might make. I glance at the mirror. I am not yet the Crescent Empress. I don’t see into the world beyond this one. My expression is unreadable as I get up and glide to the vanity desk.

  Swiftly, I cover the mirror with my shawl. What the ghosts can’t see, they can’t tattle onward. I return to Sibilia, and I carefully pry the book of scriptures from her sleepy fingers.

  I turn the pages and read the first unsteady line. It gives me no pleasure to break the trust that my sister has placed in me. But in this house, I can’t afford to let her keep secrets from me. If we want to survive, I must know everything.

  I must know who has been talking with Irina and Olesia.

  Chapter 6: Alina

  Celestia knocks the paneled wall with her knuckles as she always does at the end of the dance practice. Rafa and Mufu trot to her, convinced this must mean treats for them, though I don’t think she’s ever given them any. She shakes her head at them, says to us, “My sisters, this suffices for today.”

  “Good.” Olesia wipes her ghostly forehead. Her kind doesn’t sweat, but it’s as if she hasn’t realized this, and I don’t really want to remind her that she’s actually dead. “She failed to stay in rhythm once more.”

  What a mean comment to make! I didn’t notice anything off with the rhythm, but I must admit, I wasn’t following the steps either. Maybe I missed a thing or two as I swirled round and round with Merile and her pretty companions.

  “What did you expect?” Irina links arms with her sister and leads her toward the window. They can’t leave the house, but I’m quite sure they dream of doing so just like we do. “You can’t trust the eldest sister.”

  Merile and I exchange looks. I keep many things secret from my sisters, but two I share with her. At some point, we might tell our sisters about both the ghosts and the witch. But not yet, I think.

  “Shall we let in fresh air?” Celestia asks. Sibilia glares at her as if the question had somehow hurt her. When Celestia says nothing in reply, our sister stomps to the fireplace, unraveled red-gold locks swaying with her steps.

  Merile nods at me. Something is definitely going on, but she doesn’t know what it is either, and neither do the ghosts. It started a bit over a week ago with Sibilia being very upset with Celestia. They won’t talk about it, not even when we’re not in the room. The ghosts say that keeping secrets like that is very typical of older sisters.

  Celestia strolls to the window, her steps so fine that she might as well be still dancing. She unlatches it, closes her eyes, and breathes deep. Usually she remains silent, but this time around, she says very softly under her breath, “At last.”

  Irina’s thin gray brows arch. “She has a plan.”

  “Younger sisters, beware.” Olesia drifts to
stand right behind our oldest sister, who doesn’t notice her at all. I don’t like the ghost speaking of Celestia like that even if she does keep quite a few secrets from us. Maybe Merile is right. Maybe the ghosts have their own ghostly agendas. Maybe we should reconsider telling Sibilia, Elise, and Celestia about them.

  Then again, Irina and Olesia say that only people who want to see ghosts will see them, and hence if we were to tell our older sisters about the ghosts, they simply wouldn’t believe us. I really don’t want to tell our sisters anything that might make them even more concerned about me—my meals might start to taste funny again!

  When Celestia leaves to help Elise with the furniture, Merile and I and Rafa and Mufu rush to the window. I look out for the magpie, and Merile does likewise. We lean against the sill, squinting at the sun. Our shadows fall against the house, unable to reach the porch’s tin roof below. They shift back and forth as the cool breeze tousles our hair.

  “Spring,” Merile mutters, no doubt upset because the magpie didn’t come and watch us dancing. “It still doesn’t feel like spring.”

  Irina leans out from between us. “The day is not as it should be.”

  I wonder if the magpie felt it, too. Though it’s five weeks since the equinox, the garden remains murky, the paths muddy, and the grass wet and brown. Only a few shy coltsfoots bloom amidst the muck. The days are now twice the length of the nights, but last night was the first that Merile and I didn’t shiver and quiver under the blankets with Rafa and Mufu. I have to ask, “But summer will come before too long, won’t it?”

  Irina and Olesia share a somehow very sad look. They don’t know that come summer all will be well at last, and once more I’m dying to tell them about the witch. She promised to help me and Merile flee, and though we haven’t seen her since, we’ve glimpsed the magpie almost every day. Once we do see her again, once she shares her plan with us, we can finally tell our older sisters and maybe even the ghosts about her without fear of being ridiculed! Hopefully that’s going to happen soon!

  “The days will grow longer until midsummer,” Olesia says, brushing her plump fingers against the window’s frame.

  I glance over my shoulder at our older sisters. Celestia and Elise are pushing the chairs and tables back to their usual places. Sibilia broods by the fireplace, the book of scriptures on her lap. They’re not paying attention to us. It’s safe for me to speak with the ghosts. “That would mean less time for darkness, wouldn’t it?”

  Though we’ve lived in this house for months now, I keep on seeing the same nightmare. I’m hoping that once the nights turn light, my dreams will do likewise. I really don’t want to be reminded of the gagargi and his machine every time I close my eyes. If it weren’t for Rafa curled at my feet and Merile snoring beside me, I wouldn’t dare to sleep at all.

  “Yes,” Irina replies. “Midsummer marks the end of night. During the nightless days, our father . . .”

  “Wait.” Merile suddenly leans farther against the sill, so far out that her feet no longer touch the floor. She kicks for balance, loses a sabot. Rafa and Mufu jump after her, nip her hem, and hang on to it.

  “Merile,” I shriek. She can’t fall! She can’t! She’s my favorite sister, and I wouldn’t know what to do without her! “Help!”

  One moment the ghosts are there, puzzled, even shocked. The next they’re gone as if they’d never been present in the drawing room at all. But Merile still teeters on the window’s edge, half in, half out.

  “Oh dear, Merile . . .” Celestia glides to us. There’s no haste in her steps, and yet I’m sure that if Merile were to slip any farther, Celestia could still catch her in time. “I do advise for a certain degree of caution when high places are concerned.”

  She grabs the back of Merile’s dress and swiftly pulls her back in. I bite my lips together. It’s a pity the ghosts disappeared like that, that they didn’t see Celestia coming to Merile’s aid. Our older sisters really aren’t as unreliable as they think. They don’t know our sisters like Merile and I do!

  “Magpie.” Merile tosses her gorgeous black hair over her left shoulder as if she hadn’t just been in danger and then been properly chastised. “I thought I glimpsed the magpie, but it was just some other bird.”

  “Now did you?” Celestia gazes into the garden as if she already knew why we’re so interested in the bird. But she can’t know. Really, she can’t.

  “Shall we close the window?” Celestia asks, already reaching out for the handle. “It is still a bit on the chilly side outside.”

  “Fine.” Merile tilts her chin and scoops Mufu up, into her arms. She shuffles to reclaim her sabot. “But since you’re older and know everything, why didn’t the magpie come and watch our practice today?”

  Celestia secures the window with a latch. She stares out for a moment, looking very thoughtful. “A bird has all the sky as its playground. As long as a soul rests behind its eyes, it is free to come and go as it pleases.”

  “Poetic.” Merile gives Mufu a wet kiss right in the middle of her black forehead. “How very poetic.”

  “Oh, Merile.” Celestia laughs and pats our sister’s hair. I happen to look at their shadows. Celestia’s is very tall and her arms feathery. Merile’s shadow retreats from her, faster than she could possibly shy away from our sister. What I see in the shadows is something I don’t tell even to Merile. “How about we play a game, then?”

  “A game,” I squeal in excitement, and forget all about the shadows. Though Elise and Sibilia sometimes play with us, Celestia never joins us. Though the ghosts keep me and Merile company, they say they’re too old for idle amusements. “What sort of game?”

  “It is called the Silent Path.” Celestia places one palm on my shoulder, the other on Merile’s. She leads us past Elise, who, ready with the furniture, has moved to braid Sibilia’s hair. Somehow it always comes loose when we dance. Maybe that’s what’s been making her so gloomy lately.

  “I’ve never heard of it before! Is it as much fun as Catch the Goose? Is it played outside? Say it’s not! It’s still so muddy there!”

  “Gah,” Merile mutters, less interested. She presses Mufu tighter against her chest. Her beautiful companion treads the air, tongue sticking out of her mouth. “We’re tired. Yes! So very tired!”

  My feet are a little sore from dancing, too. I’d rather dance barefooted than wear my sabots, but my sisters won’t hear of that. And I won’t hear more protests from Merile—if we ponder our answer for too long, Celestia might change her mind and we might miss this treat for good!

  “Come now, Merile!” I pat my knees to summon Rafa. For if she joins the game, then Mufu will want to play too, and then Merile can’t say no.

  “Yes, go,” Elise says, the words clipped. I don’t know if she meant for us to hear her or if she forgot that she’s no longer whispering with Sibilia. Either way, she looks very interested in the rules of this game we’ve never played before. I’m not sure if Sibilia’s hair would be better off without her.

  “Fine.” Merile follows us slowly and sluggishly, as if she’d turned into a snail. Wouldn’t she look funny then! Though I really hope that Papa doesn’t turn her into one. Nurse Nookes once said that a girl who doesn’t behave herself might one morning wake up changed to another creature. “But it had better be fun.”

  Celestia stares at Merile, her gaze as blue as the summer seas, calm now, but reminding us both that a wise girl doesn’t try the temper of the empress-to-be. “That, we shall find out together, shall we not?”

  And that’s exactly what we do. The game starts from the room I share with Merile. Celestia presses the door closed behind us. She leans down to whisper to us, “Now, my dear little sisters, open the door as silently as you can.”

  I reach out for the handle, but Merile is faster than me. We’ve opened this door a hundred times at least—no, I need a bigger number than that—but now I want to do it more than anything else in this world. For who knows what awaits us outside?

  It turn
s out, nothing out of the ordinary. That is, if you don’t count Elise and Sibilia staring at us. They’re whispering once more. I don’t know what possible gossip they can have left, but it might be about Celestia. Lately, Sibilia and Celestia have barely greeted each other. The ghosts say that Celestia has been sleeping curled in the armchair, though why she would do that when their bed is wide enough for two, I really can’t even begin to guess.

  “Now, memorize this path,” Celestia says, and then she drifts across the room; not the straightest path, but one that takes her first to the oval table, then right toward the mirror on the paneled wall and along that way to the side table with the dented samovar, then a step left and straight until she reaches the door that leads to the hallway and stairs beyond. She halts there and turns to look back at us. “Do you remember it?”

  “Boring.” Merile pouts her lips and squats down to pet both Rafa and Mufu. Her companions offer their paws to her. She grasps their delicate feet in turns. “This is a boring game. Isn’t it, my dear darling companions?”

  I like boring. So many strange things have happened in this house that I think I’ve just about had enough of it. When I keep my eyes open, I see both shadows and ghosts. And though Irina and Olesia are very nice old ladies, I’d like to see them only in reflections like Merile does, because seeing them whenever they’re near us feels wrong in a way I don’t know how to explain.

  “This is just the beginning.” Celestia smiles, a sight so rare I have to pinch my arm. I’m wide awake. I pinch a little harder, just to be sure. “Now, close your eyes.”

  Merile hugs Mufu. Of course I need to do likewise to Rafa. Merile nods approvingly at me. There’s nothing better than cuddles! “What if I don’t?”

  “Then you lose,” Celestia replies.

  Merile closes her eyes right at that moment. I follow her example, though whenever I close my eyes, I risk losing myself in a dream. In this house, my dreams are sharper than on the train. I often run, and it’s always away from this house. Sometimes I descend narrow stairs, into an unlit cave that smells of mold and old onions. I wander down a low corridor, until I come to a wall of stone. When I run my fingers across its length, I find scattered holes, and for some reason, this makes me very sad.