Cynthia gives me a nudge of her elbow at the lie.
Mother glides into a chair, as well as any woman with a babe can glide. “You know better than to teach your sister to focus on such fanciful things. I suppose polishing is fine though. Maybe I best not stay for dinner.”
I keep a smile from my face. “Only if you think the Chancellor wouldn't mind. We were supposed to be working on it right now, but with you coming we haven't the time.”
Cynthia presses a gloved hand to her face.
“I guess we should hurry then,” mother says. “Come here, Serena.”
Mother sags, kneads her belly, and closes her eyes. Perhaps I shouldn't have made up the polishing chore. Making the journey so often in her condition must be miserable. It's hard to stop myself when the words come to mind.
I lean over to Cynthia and whisper, “Don't give us away.”
“Father would've beaten you if he found out such a tale,” she whispers back.
Her words won't affect me. I won't allow it. I stand and go to mother. At the swish of my dress, she opens her eyes.
“I brought the gown with the alternations.”
“I've found a replacement.”
The lines in her forehead multiply, cracking her face paint. “Indeed. Well then, Cynthia, you won't be needed today. I suppose you can get started on the silver. And there's a servant in the hall, tell her to enter in ten minutes. Make sure you don't say anything else. She could gossip.”
“Yes, mother.” Cynthia gives me a look of longing before leaving the room.
“Sit down, Serena.”
I pull a chair closer and slide into it.
“I know you find me silly sometimes.” I open my mouth to speak, but she stops me. “Don't deny it. I suppose I am rather silly at times.” She sucks in air and holds her belly.
“Are you all right?”
Her voice is strained. “It's nothing.” After several seconds her face relaxes. “When my Father told me it was time to enter the marriage pool, I was nineteen and enjoying life. So I refused.”
This is not my mother. My mother has never refused any order from a warlock. It's not possible she's ever acted like this, except she has no reason to lie. My hand covers my mouth.
“I went in my room and shoved the bed against the door so no one could come in. It didn't last long. My Father spelled through it easily enough. He dragged me to the testing center. After I was tested, he chained me to a wall in the basement until the engagement ceremony, rarely fed. He spelled me to have nightmares about my worst fears. The only time I saw anyone was when mother brought food and begged me to repent. She wasn't even allowed to take the chamber pot.”
Of all the punishment I've lived through, none have been that horrid. “I didn't know.”
“Of course you didn't. I went to the engagement ceremony, returned to my Father's house repentant, got married several months later, and have spent a life time trying to make up for that stupid choice.” She moves closer. “I don't want to see you go through something like that.”
I don't want to either.
She slouches in her chair. “Father asked me to give you some gifts.
“Gifts?” My mind is still on mother's reveal. It takes a moment for her words to make sense. “But those are only for warlocks.”
“A woman occasionally receives them.” A woman with black eyes and a shabby olive-green dress enters the room carrying a small parcel. “Phyllis, I was just telling Serena about you.”
She stops next to mother.
“Does she have the gift?”
“She's your gift, silly child. Father sent her. He thought being in such a grand house, you'd need a personal one. Though she will be Father's until you wed, then she will be your husband's, she's to wait on you. Chancellor Zade already approved her.”
I stare at Phyllis, who stares back. No tarnished marks or marriage tattoos. Must be a lower class. Her hair is as dark as her eyes. The dress hangs on her frame.
Mother winces, her face crumpled with pain.
“Are you well?”
She lets out a slow breath. “Fine. Just a little false labor.”
I crouch directly next to her. “Are you sure it's false?”
“I've had more than enough babes to know. Stop crowding me.”
And I've delivered enough to know. After taking a step back, I say, “I can send for the doctor to make sure.”
“You're the child, not me. Do you want your gift or not?”
The memory of the last babe coming before she thought it was time is hard to forget. The hex Father delivered for my not calling for the doctor sooner clings to me. I grip my hands together and inch back, watching for any other sign I'll be delivering another babe and punished for it.
“It's only—” I shake my head. Saying something won't do any good. “What's the other gift, mother?”
She motions to Phyllis who hands her the parcel. As she speaks, she unwraps the bundle. “This is for the engagement ceremony and after when he brands you. It will make it easier to bear.”