Dryad-Born (Whispers from Mirrowen #2)
Jeff Wheeler
Another story, Phae. Please!”
“Yes, please! Please!”
The children’s eyes were so full of anticipation that Phae almost relented. She folded her arms and shook her head. “If I tell you too many, there will not be any stories left. One is enough for tonight. It was a long one. To bed…all of you.”
And they did. The trample of little feet made her smile, and then they climbed into the beds filling the loft. There were twelve who slept there, the youngest of the orphans. Little Kriss planted a wet kiss on her cheek before wriggling up the edge of the bed, too proud to ask for help. Phae rubbed her arms and stood, watching them poke and jab at each other as they fussed to get comfortable. It would take a while before they completely settled down, but they would eventually. She retreated to the ladder, waving goodnight to little Owen who smiled shyly at her and waved back.
Phae stepped down the ladder swiftly, giving a last smile before clearing the final rung. There was Brielle, curled up beneath the ladder with a book, half-hidden in the shadows.
“To bed, Brielle,” Phae said.
The little girl never spoke. Her big eyes found Phae’s and she nodded, folding the book shut and clutching it tightly.
“Can you read?” Phae asked her.
Brielle shook her head no. She had never spoken. Not once since she had come to live at the vineyard. She was seven or eight years old. No one knew anything about her except that someone had brought her to the Winemillers to care for. But then again, Phae thought wryly, most of the orphans had ended up here that way.
Clinging to the book, Brielle navigated the ladder and disappeared into the loft.
Children younger than ten stayed in the loft. The older ones shared rooms on the main floor, small cupboard-like rooms, each with a small bed and little else. Phae crossed the hall toward the kitchen, she heard Dame Winemiller’s voice as she sat gabbing with others. She was a talkative woman and rarely let you pass without engaging in a lengthy conversation.
Phae tried to slip by unnoticed, but when Rachael waved to her, it gave her away.
“Phae! Are the children down yet? Good, you are so patient with them. Just the other day, I thought little Owen was going to burn his fingers on the stove as he tried snitching some honey cakes. I think we should name him Owen Carnotha. He is always snitching treats.”
Phae stared at Dame Winemiller a moment, gazing into her eyes. She had her attention fully, eyes locked together. Phae blinked, snatching Dame Winemiller’s memory of seeing her in the kitchen. Before another word could be spoken, Phae slipped away from the kitchen and left through the rear doors of the main house, clutching the memory like a fragile leaf in her mind. She let it drift away into the twilight.
Phae possessed a strange gift. She could make people forget.
It was a form of magic, she believed, some innate ability that no one had ever explained to her. It had happened randomly at first, but eventually she caught on to the pattern and began to understand it. The first time she remembered doing it was when she was a child, perhaps five. They were playing the seeking game and she had hidden herself in a large empty wine barrel. An older boy had found her and was about to call out her name. She remembered how desperately she had wanted to remain hidden, to not let her part in the game end. She had been staring up at him, crouched in the barrel, willing him not to see her. As soon as their eyes met, a strange look came over his face. She wished he would forget he had seen her. She had blinked at him. And then he walked away. When she had asked him why he hadn’t revealed her, he scolded her for telling stories.
The gift made her special. She realized that.