Scribs, you might have figured this out already, but just to be clear, it’s not only the light we lost, but also our freedom, and the confinement here feels worse than it ever did on the train. I couldn’t sleep on the first three nights after the INCIDENT, and it wasn’t because Celestia returned to sleep next to me (even if I do hate-hate-hate her, under these trying circumstances, her being closer to me does make me feel better), but because the guards kept on peeking in through the door crack. This must have tired them too, for now they sleep in turns in the drawing room, way too close for comfort.
Gone are the lazy mornings when we could crawl out of bed when we so wished. These days, after we’ve dressed, we have to wait for Captain Janlav and the guards to unlock the doors and let us into the drawing room. We never meet Millie alone anymore—the breakfast of the blandest sort awaits us on the oval table. We shift the gluey porridge around in the bowls till eleven. Then we dance, because routines are all that remain of the time that (now in hindsight) seemed so easy and carefree. Scribs, remember how I used to love the practices? They’re ruined for me now, and at times I stumble on the steps simply because I’m so focused on holding back tears!
Did I already mention that our lunches are beyond awful? Cold beetroot soup, sometimes hard rye bread with pickled white fish (not sure what sort of fish and not sure I want to even find out). But when it comes down to choosing between the porridge and the soup . . . Ugh. Both options are bad, but so is wasting away, and so I eat, but only enough to chase away the worst hunger pangs. There’s no desserts—Scribs, I’m so desperate for something sugary that I’d kill even for one spoonful of kissel. At times, I dream about chancing upon just a piece or two more of the Poet’s chocolates. Though they were filled with berries, they did taste delicious.
Quarter past two Captain Janlav returns to escort us to the garden. These excursions are the only time we breathe fresh air, but even then it’s under the watchful eye of the guards and Captain Ansalov’s soldiers. The latter stare at us from the porch, rifles ready, and if we as much as glance in their direction, they aim the guns toward us in the creepiest sort of greeting.
At three, Captain Janlav herds us (or that’s how it feels) back to the drawing room and locks the door behind him. My sisters and I idle away, till the guards bring in our dinner at six and take the rats out. An hour later, they fetch away the leftovers (none of us has felt like eating lately), and then we’re locked back into our chambers. At nights, I hear Captain Ansalov’s hounds howling. I think he lets them out to patrol in the garden.
To summarize, my sisters and I are now truly and really prisoners, and it’s Merile’s fault. Oh, Scribs, I hate my sister so much that I can’t bear to even look at her! How dare she lounge on the carpet, on her back with the rats snuggling against her, as if nothing at all had happened! As if she weren’t to blame for everything!
Though I can’t bear to look at Alina either. She stands once more in the darkest corner of the room, her back turned to the fireplace, facing the empty walls. Ever since the INCIDENT, she’s been staring intently at shadows, including ours, when she thinks no one is looking at her. I don’t want to ask (I really don’t even want to know) what she sees. Even if I should.
Remember what I wrote on your pages after we’d visited the Witch at the End of the Lane? About her seeing into the world beyond this one, even though she’s the youngest . . . I mentioned this in passing to Elise, and she said it’s the illness affecting our little sister’s mind, nothing more. I don’t know which would be better, Elise being right or the impossible being possible. At this point, I’m really not sure about anything anymore.
Because even Celestia and Elise are rattled by our desolation. They sit with their backs straight on the sofa, sipping weak tea from the chipped cups we brought with us from the train. They may be able to fool Merile and Alina with their pretended calm, but not me! Elise no longer smiles. And Celestia . . . as you know, Scribs, we haven’t exactly talked with each other since the truth-spell episode. I don’t think I can ever forgive her, I really can’t. I keep on imagining what might have come to pass that day she chose to abandon me.
Standing in the knee-deep snow, my heart turning into ice.
Watching the troika get smaller and smaller. Waving Elise, Merile, and Alina good-bye, knowing I’ll never see them again.
Hearing the gagargi’s soldiers loading their rifles, the snow creaking under their approaching steps. Knowing it could have been me in the troika if only my oldest sister hadn’t decided that I’m the one that can be sacrificed for the so-called greater good.
Yet Celestia continues to insist she had no other choice. Scribs, that’s why it’s not worth saying another word to her ever again unless I absolutely must.
Bang. Bang. Ah, here we go at last. Bang. Bang. Bang. The soldiers have started nailing planks over the windows. Ugh, I really hate that sound. So raw and throbbing. Almost like a tooth pain.
Merile’s folly ruined everything. I keep on thinking about the plan Celestia told me about while under my spell. It sounded plausible and well thought-out, but it’s no longer of any use to us. The ghosts have as much as told Alina that our sister doesn’t have another one. Not even one that would include abandoning us.
But I’d better brace myself for worse. The rats will soon start barking. Even as I write this, they bounce before the windows. Any moment now . . .
Oh, yes, here goes. Yap. Yap. Yap. Oh, the Moon, help me!
Now the rats are leaping against the sewn-shut curtains, and Merile simply watches them from afar, lying limply on her side. Bang. Yap. Bang. Yap. Insufferable cacophony. All this noise will surely give me a headache. Can she just not shut them up?
In fact . . .
* * *
Scribs, you won’t believe this! It’s all so incredibly unfair.
Elise dared to chastise ME, and for no other reason than telling the rats to shut up! Well, perhaps I threatened to skin them and make muffs out of them, one for myself and one for Merile (the latter only out of pure kindness). I might have raised my voice a tad (but definitely not in a way that anyone could consider unladylike) because Merile simply doesn’t get things when explained nicely and sometimes not even then, as we both so well know.
Merile, of course, started bawling her eyes out, but at least her rats then stopped barking and rushed into her waiting arms, as if she’d indeed suffered a major shock or trauma. Perhaps I should have tried crying myself, because Elise swiftly rose up from the sofa and glided to comfort our insufferable little sister. She shot a cold look over her shoulder at me and said, “Sibilia, dear, do try to behave.”
I heard her loud and clear, because at that moment the hammering paused. My joy for that was short-lived, though. For Merile glared at me victoriously from behind Elise.
I bit my tongue, because apparently being twelve gives you certain freedoms that disappear as you near your debut (and in case you’ve missed it, Scribs, as we’re still trapped in this house, there’s no way we’ll make it back to civilization in time for mine). Being an adult, or almost so, I maturely turned to Celestia, because her being the oldest of us, her word is final, and she does owe me for intending to leave me behind.
Scribs, what sort of person is so very eager to sacrifice her own sister? Why didn’t she insist we at least try and steal horses? I’m a decent enough rider, and so is she, and I’d rather be shot in the back while attempting to flee than happily stand before a wall, waiting for the soldiers to pull the trigger!
But Celestia simply lifted her tea to her lips, though the cup had to be empty already! I stared at her in utter disbelief. Does she not understand how badly she’s hurt me, that she really should have sided with me? To me, not taking sides is just as bad as choosing the wrong one!
Wait. I know that sound. Approaching steps. The key turning in the lock.
* * *
Back again, and let me tell you, that was an awkward encounter!
I admit, making Merile cry wasn’
t perhaps my smartest move. Because of course upon hearing the racket, Captain Janlav had to come and check on us. Papa bless us that it was only him and Boy, not Captain Ansalov or one of his mongrel soldiers. Though, no doubt that day will still come.
Naturally, when Captain Janlav pulled open the door, my sisters and I faked that nothing at all had come to pass, and though we’re very good at pretending that something didn’t happen (actually just really good at pretending in general), of course we wound up looking guilty, because that’s what you do when you try and appear extremely innocent.
Celestia nodded him an imperial greeting from the sofa, her chin still somehow tilted up, her teacup held high. (I don’t know how she does it, but I sure don’t have enough time to learn that pose before my impeding debut, wherever it may take place. Also, why doesn’t she need to pee all the time?) Elise buried her fingers in Merile’s hair as if she were about to braid it. Our little sister managed to hold back her sobs, but her cheeks were vivid red still. And Alina . . . still lingering in the darkest corner, she stared back at Captain Janlav and Boy, her deep-set eyes so haunted that it scares me to think what she might have seen. I think the ghosts might have been talking with her, but I can’t know for sure, because I have to see their reflection to hear them and that hasn’t happened in a while. They avoid me, though I gave them my word that I won’t reveal their existence to Celestia and Elise, and unlike some, I keep my word, no matter what.
“Carry on,” Captain Janlav said after he became reassured that nothing more than a minor family dispute had come to pass. And then he just stood there, the heels of his once-fine boots firmly pressed together, as if we were soldiers under his command, as if he expected us to proceed with whatever meager daily activity he’d interrupted. As if all it took for us to resume being happy and content was his permission.
The silence stretched on, and I dreaded that he’d never leave. His gorgeous pine-brown eyes narrowed as they always do when he really starts thinking. I fidgeted with your spine, Scribs, for at that moment I dreaded him suspecting that my sisters and I were up to something (though we aren’t and can’t possibly be). And of course, because my hands turned instantly clammy, and him looking at me makes me clumsy, I wound up dropping you on the floor.
Boy shifted first, like a foal that doesn’t yet have control of its limbs. I do sympathize about that, though not about anything else. Well, perhaps a bit about the pimples and scars they’ve left on his high, sharp cheeks. But definitely not for the voice that seems to have gone missing in action.
Captain Janlav simply watched Boy lurch toward you, Scribs. Perhaps he thought Boy would just pick you up and hand you over to me. But I knew that in his ungainliness, he’d most likely accidentally open you and then . . . he might see my writing!
I reached out for you, Scribs, as fast as I could. But Boy was already bending down to retrieve you. He lifted his gaze (he has gray, rather large eyes) to meet mine, and our fingers met against your leather cover, in a brush of skin, so warm and sweaty.
I flinched back and, if I hadn’t been sitting already, I would have surely collapsed on the floor. He did likewise, but with a guttural, breaking yelp (no wonder he never speaks). As I cradled you against my chest, Scribs, many thoughts I shouldn’t, couldn’t think crossed my mind. With everyone, and I do mean everyone, my sisters and Captain Janlav, staring at us, I felt like dying of humiliation right then and there.
It was so embarrassing! Boy retreating back to the door, his long limbs swaying every which way as if he had no bones. Captain Janlav eyeing me from under his furrowing brows. At that moment, I was certain he thought of confiscating you! And I couldn’t let that come to pass. The Moon bless me if anyone ever reads your pages. You know way too much for your own good!
I did the only thing I could think of. I opened the pages at random. And though my scrawled lines cover the scriptures now, the holy words glowed under my gaze, and I knew I could summon forth the glyphs if I so wanted. Of course, I didn’t dare to do so, but as I had to do something, I read the words beneath in a voice that was so steady that I don’t think it actually belonged to me.
Come to me, join me under my Light.
Let me make you strong.
Let my Daughters strengthen you.
Let us be stronger together.
As a side note, I really like this part, and I can’t wait to pronounce these glyphs, even though I have no idea what they might do and though they will most likely leave me exhausted for days. But they seem VERY important.
In any case, after the last word, I pressed you shut as if I’d just finished the section I’d been reading all along. Celestia and Elise looked genuinely comforted, though if you ask me, the former really doesn’t deserve to feel good about anything. Merile dabbed her cheeks (she couldn’t possibly still be crying because I threatened her rats). Alina nodded, though whether to agree with the ghosts or for some other reason altogether, I couldn’t tell. But it was the guards’ reactions that sent shivers down my spine. Boy stared at me in wonder, pimpled cheeks blushing, and Captain Janlav . . . he shook his head slowly, as if the reality of our existence, the roles we each have to play, had just dawned on him.
It’s only starting to become clear to me now as well. But there’s too many thoughts swirling in my head for me to go down that path. I must finish telling what happened first before I can think of the accidental brush of skin against skin and that waltz I once shared in secret with K, and how under our changed circumstances I might never get a chance to kiss a boy, let alone experiment with anything else that’s still forbidden from me.
Enough! I shall finish this account first. Deal, Scribs?
Captain Janlav and Boy left without saying a word, locking the door behind them. My sisters and I listened to their fading steps. The hammering resumed before the steps could have possibly reached the stairway.
I counted to one hundred before I dared to speak. “Are they gone?”
Alina tiptoed to Merile and sat down cross-legged next to her. The brown rat crawled onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around it. “They’re walking past the library. Going out.”
I sighed in relief only then. The danger was over. And Scribs, I knew I was right. My sister is definitely talking with the ghosts, or at least the ghosts are still talking to her. Perhaps Alina can ask the questions I have in mind without alerting Celestia and Elise about the ghosts’ existence. Though I don’t trust them, they might know something useful.
I don’t trust Celestia either, but I bet she knows less than she pretends to know.
* * *
Back again. The dinner was horrid, as usual, but at least the hammering has paused. And the rats are still out with the guards. I really hope that one of Captain Ansalov’s hounds snatches them for a snack. Or perhaps not, because then Merile would bawl till she’d waste away, and though I still hate her, I . . .
I don’t want to lose her, any of my sisters, to be honest. Not even Celestia, though I may have written things contradicting with this statement in the past.
Scribs, I know I’ve mentioned the INCIDENT multiple times without sharing the details with you. Now that I can think straight (or relatively straight) again, I’m going to tell you what came to pass that night, before I forget anything or add something that really didn’t happen.
What’s behind my newfound courage?
You recall when I dropped you today, Boy reaching out for you, our fingers accidentally brushing? It made me think . . . I miss the life we once had. I miss K (may he have fled in time to avoid being fed to the Great Thinking Machine) and living in a palace and being pampered. But all the things I’ve been looking forward to for the past year—my debut, the balls to come, waltzing the nights away—there’s a real chance that none of it will come to pass. It’s very much possible that my sisters and I will never leave this house. A morbid thought, isn’t it?
I don’t want to write about the bad things and speculate of what might follow them, in case my words become
a prediction of sorts. But today I started thinking, if my sisters and I were to meet our end in this house, I want someone (that someone being you, Scribs) to know what led to our fall. I don’t want to be simply wiped out from history as happened to Irina and Olesia.
Drat, my handwriting is shaky. Can you make out the words still? I hope you can’t and yet, at the same time, I hope you can. So, do tell me if at any point my handwriting veers toward unreadable.
Here we go then.
Six days ago, at midnight, Elise heard a timid knock on her door. I know it happened for sure because I’ve talked with Elise about it on multiple occasions, and though she mightn’t always tell me everything, she doesn’t make up things like our younger sisters do, and neither does she omit important bits like Celestia does.
I mustn’t get sidetracked. I must not!
Elise, who was awake at the time for reasons she wouldn’t share with me (what is it with all my sisters keeping secrets from me these days), glided to the door. Behind it, she found Alina, and our little sister was even more agitated and incoherent than usual. She prattled about a magpie and the witch and shadows of all sorts, and Merile being gone.
Elise, the Moon bless her for being the sensible one for once, managed to coach the relevant details out of Alina. Mainly that Merile had wandered out into the garden with her rats. Upon learning this, Elise promptly proceeded to wake up Celestia and me.
I was still rubbing sleep from my eyes when we heard the commotion from downstairs. Boots pounding. Doors slammed. Shouts smothered by the walls. Without a word said, Celestia soared out of our room. Elise, Alina, and I rushed after her, into the drawing room. But we caught only a glimpse of her white negligee’s hem as she disappeared into the hallway beyond.
The Sisters of the Crescent Empress Page 14