Daughter of No One

by Sam Ledel

  “With everything that is going on. I know,” Aurelia finished, wandering back over to where Roisin sat half watching their exchange, half reading.

  Her mother was about to reply when the door to the room opened. Brennus strode in, his hair bouncing with each jovial step.

  “We head out at first light!” he declared. Even the puffy sleeves of his tunic seemed unable to contain their excitement as they billowed above his shoulders.

  “Tomorrow?” Aurelia said after a moment, glancing from him to her mother, then back again.

  His smile was wide as he stood beside their mother. “Everything is ready. Baron Louarn will accompany me and Drest to the west. Once we pass through the Wood, it’s only a four-day journey to the Mountains of Ionad. After that, we return home.”

  Aurelia hardly heard Roisin wish him well; her mind was so overcome with pride but even more so, with envy. She smiled, but it was strained, and she hoped her jealousy wasn’t as evident as it felt.

  Their mother’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. “The baron knows the Wood well. He will not lead you astray.” The words sounded less like a reassurance for Brennus, and more as a reminder to herself. She reached out and cupped Brennus’s cheek. “My dear, brave boy.”

  Brennus leaned into her palm, then reached up to hold her hand. “Don’t worry, Mother. I’m in good hands.”

  The gleam in their mother’s eye allowed Aurelia to focus, and she cleared her throat. “And Brennus is more than ready for such an outing.” She gave him an encouraging nod.

  Their mother’s face shifted, and she wiped her eyes. “Darling, do tell your sister there is a time for everything…and hers will come. I fear she does not believe me.”

  After throwing Aurelia a knowing look, Brennus said, “Understood. I’ll see to it that these two return to your lesson plan.”

  Their mother gave his hand a final, grateful pat. Then she bid them good night and excused herself, closing the door behind her.

  Once she was gone, Brennus turned to them. “Another herbal lesson?”

  Roisin raised the book for him to see. “’Fraid so, Your Highness.” She gestured to Aurelia, who had returned to the open window. She could just make out the towers of haystacks lining the stable’s edge, their dark shadows piled high where Coran left them. Her mind conjured the memory of Jastyn; Aurelia wondered if the stable boy had spoken to her lately. They seemed to be good friends, as far as she could tell from her brief encounter. Perhaps she could ask him more about Jastyn—the mysterious daughter of no one.

  “Thinking of anybody in particular?”

  Aurelia turned. The nearby torchlight felt as if it was right against her face at the look Brennus gave her. She mirrored his stance, crossing her arms. Tilting her chin upward, she said, “That is none of your concern.”

  He chuckled and exchanged looks with Roisin, who pursed her lips and pretended to read. Over the past couple of weeks, Aurelia had taken to asking Roisin about their horse master and his family; only now did she realize how often those inquiries ended up back at Jastyn. Jastyn, who left Aurelia with more questions than answers—something she was unaccustomed to.

  “Anyway.” Aurelia brushed back her hair and pushed the conversation along. “I’m happy for you, Brennus. The adventures you’ll have…” She glanced outside once more, her voice wistful. “One can only imagine the things you’ll see.”

  Brennus sifted through several papers strewn across the table. “It’s only a scouting party. We’ll not have much in the way of fun.”

  Aurelia sighed. “Nonetheless. You’re getting out.” She rejoined them at the table, taking her seat. “I’ll be here, memorizing plant properties.”

  “Itching for some real-world practice, are we?” Brennus teased, glancing at his sister.

  “Dyin’ for it,” Roisin answered for her.

  Aurelia slumped her chin into her upturned palm, her left elbow planted firmly on the table. “At this rate, I’d settle for a sick calf to tend to in the stables,” she muttered.

  Brennus reached out, grabbing a letter opener. His eyes sparkled. He flipped the black onyx handle, the blade shimmering. “I may be able to help.”

  Before she could ask how, Aurelia gasped when her brother stuck out his left arm and—in one swift motion—dragged the tip of the letter opener from his bare, upturned wrist all the way to his elbow.

  “Your Highness!” Roisin leapt from her chair, as did Aurelia. Meanwhile, Brennus lifted the blade; its tip dripped blood and the slit left behind in his skin began to seep red.

  “Are you mad?” Aurelia cried, standing and shocked. Her brother, grimacing now, leaned against the table with his other hand.

  “You want real healing practice?” he asked breathlessly. “Now’s your chance.”

  Aurelia was frozen, watching the gash in her brother’s arm grow wider and pouring more blood by the second. The end of his blue tunic, just above the crook in his arm, was now a dark shade of purple where it fell into the blood.

  Brennus swayed but held Aurelia’s gaze. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  Roisin whispered, “M’lady, what do we do?”

  Aurelia, mouth agape, took a deep breath. Then she sprang forward, pressing both of her hands onto Brennus’s exposed forearm.

  “I’ve got to stop the bleeding. Roisin, please, go over to my mother’s shelves. Near the bottom, look for meadowsweet. It should be labeled. Quickly!”

  Roisin, her face awash with panic, hiked up her cloak and rushed to the far corner of the room. As she rifled through various boxes and bowls of herbs, Aurelia stared at her brother.

  “Have you completely lost your mind?”

  His eyes were growing foggy, but his voice remained strong. “Would you consider this more or less exciting than the time we accidentally set fire to Baroness Enya’s favorite dress?”

  Aurelia shook her head. “All I’ve ever known are books.” She swallowed. “You put too much faith in others. How do you know I have any idea what I’m doing?”

  Roisin was back, a fistful of tiny, white-tipped herbs in hand.

  Brennus winced when Aurelia squeezed his forearm tighter; trickles of blood ran between her fingers and down the back of her wrists.

  “The same way I know this scouting party will lead to nothing. Aurelia…you are more capable than you know. Trust yourself.”

  “Miss,” Roisin held out the herb, shaking slightly.

  “Stop thinking,” Brennus said, his voice stern. “Don’t dwell on what could be. Just act.”

  Lingering only a moment more, amazed at the wildness of her brother’s methods, Aurelia turned to Roisin. “Here, do as I have. Apply as much pressure as you can.”

  Bewildered, Roisin obliged. Aurelia gathered the herbs and quickly wrung them together, crushing the petals between her palms. Brennus groaned under Roisin’s grip.

  “Apologies, Prince Brennus,” she said.

  “Don’t bother,” Aurelia said, reaching down to the hem of her blue dress. “He doesn’t deserve it, this crazy brother of mine.”

  Brennus grinned. It looked as if Roisin’s sturdy grip had stopped the bleeding some, but his face had lost a lot of color. Aurelia grabbed a seam and tore a long stretch of cloth from her skirt.

  “M’lady, your dress!”

  Aurelia shot Roisin a look, then spread what had become a floral paste across the cloth with the heel of her palm. She rubbed both ends of the torn strip together to ensure that the herb settled into the material. The dull pink from the blood on her hands mixing with the white herb made her stomach turn.

  “All right,” she said, brushing away droplets of sweat from her hairline. “When I say, remove your hands.”

  Roisin nodded, and after a count to three, Aurelia replaced Roisin’s hands with a poultice of meadowsweet against Brennus’s arm. He cringed at the new pressure but leaned his neck back, relieved.

  Aurelia caught her breath, watching carefully as the herb worked to clot the blood. Small rivule
ts of red halted their path under the cloth beneath her hands.

  “It’s working,” she said, exhaustion replacing the brief wave of relief that washed over her.

  “I never doubted you for a minute.”

  Aurelia looked incredulously at Brennus while Roisin, letting out a bellowing sigh, collapsed into a chair.

  “Gods! The two of you will send me on my own mad journey someday, won’t you?” She wiped her flushed neck with the end of her cloak, breathing heavily.

  Eventually, Aurelia lifted the poultice. She and Brennus examined the line—no thicker than a thumbnail—running the length of his forearm. The bright red stood out so much against Brennus’s fair skin, for a second, Aurelia believed it to be drawn on, like a line of crushed berry juice.

  Still staring at the self-inflicted wound on her brother’s arm, Aurelia’s surroundings returned to focus as if she waked from a vivid dream. She could smell the sweat lingering in the air. And she could once again hear the fire crackling in its hearth behind them. The sound filled the silence.

  “There are other ways to teach me things,” she said eventually, her voice low.

  Brennus sat down so Roisin could wrap the wound, using what was left of the torn scrap from Aurelia’s dress. Brennus sighed. “I’m sorry. That was rather rash.”

  Aurelia scoffed. But Brennus continued. “I only wanted you to understand…” He leaned forward. “Mother and Father have their doubts regarding you and me. They believe they know what’s best for us by keeping us locked inside this place.” He gestured to the high ceiling, the roaring fire. “But we are capable of so much more than they can even imagine.” Aurelia hung on his words, forgetting briefly the terror that had overcome her not five minutes before. Brennus had a way of doing that. His eloquence was incomparable. And now, in his voice, she saw the future king of Venostes speaking to his people, reassuring them as he was doing for her now. “That’s why it’s up to you and me to remind one another of what we can do. Especially when it is most impossible to believe.”

  After tying the end of the cloth, Roisin excused herself and went to replace the herbs on the bookcase. Aurelia looked at her brother: her clever and patient older brother who had trudged through two decades of castle life by her side. Her brother, who taught her the magic their parents discouraged, who wallowed with her when their mother and father never let them wander beyond the castle’s walls. Brennus, who let Aurelia be completely herself even if, at times, she wasn’t sure who that self was.

  The tears surprised her, and Aurelia blinked to hide them. Brennus’s own eyes shined, and he reached toward her.

  “One day, you and I will do great things for this kingdom.”

  “You mean you will,” she corrected.

  “Nonsense. I will marry, certainly. But you will be as much a queen as she.”

  Aurelia glanced up through bleary eyes. “One day,” she echoed, as if saying it aloud might help her see this future her brother promised so eagerly. This future he could see like a rare, clear day along the shore. Yet, despite the brightness in his eyes, Aurelia only saw her own reflection, frightened at the possibilities of tomorrow.

  “It will be a grand adventure,” Brennus said, squeezing her hand once more. Gingerly, he stood to go.

  Once he was at the door, his injured arm close to his chest, Aurelia said, “I will miss you, brother.”

  Brennus looked back. His face bright with color. She felt a pang of sadness against her heart but also a swelling of joy at what was to come.

  Before closing the door behind him, Brennus waved and called out, “You won’t even know that I’m gone.”

  Chapter Ten

  “When will you go?”

  Jastyn stared at the fire that had been burning in the hearth since midday. She watched the tips of the orange flames as they flickered, emitting soot and ash that clung to the already charred rock. Her mother sat in her chair, and Jastyn sat beside her on the floor, leaning against one side.

  “I’ll leave tomorrow,” Jastyn replied, her voice low. “At sundown.”

  Her mother, who had been mending a patch in the sleeve of one of Alanna’s tunics, nodded while her hands continued to thread together a seam. Despite the near darkness of the house, her hands worked methodically on the worn material.

  “Elisedd thinks I’m going to the river for fish?”

  Her mother tugged on a blue thread, then cut it easily with her teeth. She eyed her handiwork. “Yes. I’ve already told him…we need the meat, so he didn’t think much of it.”

  Jastyn pulled one knee up to her chest. Her boot scraped along the earthen floor. Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers along the handle of the blade in its woven sheath strapped to her right ankle. It wasn’t uncommon for her mother to weave stories for Elisedd. He disapproved of her outings into the Wood, she knew that, and had for years.

  Once, when she was thirteen and just returned from spending a week with Eegit exploring an abandoned dwarf cave, Mother told Jastyn that while she was gone, Elisedd had feared for her safety. That day, her mother had spoken in a hushed voice. She explained that her stepfather once had a brother who sold crystals in the market. According to her, he had gone into the Wood—years ago, before the treaty—after learning of a creek bed said to have a coating of gold at its bottom. He went out in search of it one day, ventured deep into the Wood, and never returned.

  Upon learning this, Jastyn had felt sorry for Elisedd. She could only imagine losing a sibling, the reality of which became more of a possibility once Alanna’s fits began. But as she grew older, Jastyn felt that Elisedd feared less for her well-being and was actually more afraid of losing an easy target for his overbearing nature. If she wasn’t around, Alanna would be smothered under the weight of his need to protect her. As a result, even though she wasn’t fond of his berating her each time she left, Jastyn came to the conclusion that their icy relationship drew from the same well: their love for Alanna.

  Thus, he scolded her each time for being gone, but Jastyn always came back.

  “You’ll say good-bye to your sister.”

  It was not a question. When she explained that she was going to seek a trade with a leprechaun, her mother’s forehead had crinkled, but the concern stayed within the lines of her face. This was merely one of many desperate measures Jastyn took to make a life for them. It was not something to discuss, just something that had to be done.

  Swallowing, Jastyn said, “Yes. I’ll see her before I go.”

  The torrent of coughs that erupted from the dark doorway leading into the room she shared with Alanna sent a shiver up her back. She shifted to face the fire, extending her hands for warmth. Her mother rested her needle and thread in her lap and watched the flames, too. Then she reached out and ran a hand down Jastyn’s braid. They sat like that for a while: mother and daughter idle as they watched the last flames skipping atop crumbling logs. The door swung open behind them, creaking on its shabby hinges and blowing cold night air through the room, nearly chasing away the remaining firelight. Elisedd stomped inside, a pile of fresh logs bundled in his arms. He shook the wet air from his cloak like a dog.

  Jastyn turned when he kicked off his muddy boots and made his way across the small living space to drop the firewood next to her. Standing, he clapped his hands to rid them of dirt and tree bark splinters.

  “Thank you for collecting more,” Mother said, smiling up at him.

  He nodded, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward. Then he cleared his throat. “The fire won’t make itself.” He folded his sleeves and retired to the corner of the room where a table with several broken horseshoes waited for him.

  Silently, Jastyn added two fresh logs to the hearth. Once the fire crackled and burned with new life, she bid her mother good night and went to bed.

  That night, she dreamt of him again. The Dark Fae and his black horse. In her dream, both of their eyes glowed red like a thousand piercing suns, blinding her until she cried out.

  A dull force bumped
her shoulder, and she turned, expecting to come face-to-face with the rider and his beast.

  “Jastyn, wake up.” Her eyes flew open, and Jastyn looked into Alanna’s tired eyes. Her sister sat beside her in their bed. She looked pale—or maybe it was only the moonlight throwing itself on her through the cracks in the shudders. “You were dreaming again.”

  Jastyn propped herself on her elbows and worked to calm her breathing. Alanna tugged one of their shabby blankets over her own shoulders and laid the other on top of Jastyn, who had kicked it off in the night.

  “Thank you,” Jastyn said.

  “Were you dreaming of him?”

  Alanna knew of Jastyn’s encounter in the Wood. Of course, Jastyn had omitted a few things…like his claiming she was a gan ’athair. His accusation of her not knowing who her father was crushed her. And while not completely untrue, such a claim would only prompt more questions than Jastyn cared to have answers to. She kept the worst of her nightmares to herself. Alanna had enough to worry about.

  “It was nothing,” Jastyn said, pushing herself up so they were face-to-face. She took in her sister’s appearance: her oval face looked shallower, and her nose seemed to jut out more than it did before. Yet even the dark circles around her eyes couldn’t dull the curious spark lit within them.

  “Really,” Jastyn said. “I’m all right. Anyway, aren’t I the one who should be taking care of you?” Jastyn reached out to feel Alanna’s forehead. Her knuckles pressed gently against the warm flesh.

  Alanna glanced down, fiddling with one edge of the blanket.

  “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

  Jastyn lowered her hand. “You really are the smart one. Are you sure you aren’t a Seer?”

  Alanna giggled but shook her head. “That’s what happens when you’re stuck in one place. The tiniest details begin to stand out.” She paused. “Like the way you take to bringing me more sweets from the market right before your trips.”

  Guilty, Jastyn bowed her chin. “Nothing gets by you.”

  They sat in the still air, letting the weight of what was to come fill the quiet. After a while, Alanna took a shuddering breath.