“Because the curse could not be broken—it could merely be waylaid, like damming a river to change its course. Instead of preying on us and those we love, Death would do the opposite and simply pass us by. Whichever sister remained behind would become undying, upon the sacrifice of one of her own daughters. No peaceful death for the remaining daughter, but also no agony. We would stay young and hale forever, and Death would have a bride.”
She reached out and with a fingertip light as a breath, traced my profile from the space between my eyes down to the crests of my lips. All the wispy hairs at the back of my neck stood on end like lightning rods. “And not just any bride, but a singular one, who could weave magic into beauty. One versed in the arts and sciences, music and games, taught to speak of anything. The most exquisite sample of her kind, the brightest candle until she burned down to the wick. Down to the quick.”
“And we all agree to do this?” I whispered hotly. Not even the lapping currents of Sorai’s home-love could still this fury, the idea that someone might wrest Malina from me. “We have to give up our daughters and our sisters, and then live with it forever? How can anything be worse than that? Why don’t we just let it die? Stop having daughters, take the curse to the grave with us?”
“Do you truly think you are the first to have attempted such active problem-solving, child?” she demanded, flat. “We cannot do this. If our line were allowed to die, the curse would simply reach out its barbs and latch onto someone else. It is nearly a living thing in its own right, mindless magic, all hunger and no reason—we thwart it by living. We keep it at bay.”
“Then why did Mama run from it?” Malina asked, and I noticed with a start that she was using a fundamental and an overtone without singing, as if in response to Sorai’s striated voice. “Why didn’t she tell us anything about this? Why did she stop teaching us to gleam?”
“It was as Lisarah says—your mother loved your aunt more than anything. The decision is made within the three, between mother and both daughters, as to which is best equipped to serve. It is a willing sacrifice for all; it must be, for the spell to work as it was wrought. But though they decided together to offer Anais, once it was done your mother could not be consoled. She chose to raise her own daughters outside of coven, alone, with the understanding that she would return you once it was time. She wanted you raised to love each other freely, without knowing that one would have to lose the other. For that, she was willing to sacrifice everything we offer. The safety of the coven, the comforts. The love.”
I thought about Mama’s furies, the alternating tides of her moods, my insides buckling with the understanding of what she had tried to do for us. She’d tried to give us the little snatch of freedom we could have, and it must have cost her beyond anything I could imagine. It might even have been worse than what she was protecting us from.
And she had known. She had known all that time that she would lose one of us, that we would lose each other. It must have hurt so much to love us as we grew older, knowing what she did. Maybe impossible in my case—always twisting away from her, squirming toward the gleam when all she wanted was to protect me while she still could. When I was so much more dangerous than Malina’s music with the glittering firework of my fractals, so much more likely to draw attention.
All of her stories had been distorted, distant, bent like the light from some far-off star. But they had always been true in part, and told from love. And I had let myself sink so far into hating her.
I thought the guilt might choke me.
“And love?” I said thickly, thinking of the story of Anais’s death—Anais who hadn’t truly died, but who had been lost to Mama all the same. “Is it true that love stokes the gleam?”
“No, little one. Faisali simply didn’t know how else to protect you in the outside world. In coven, it is safe for us to gleam as we should—not only safe, but necessary, for us to learn and bloom fully. But on the outside, we must be careful. This world is not one that can accommodate what we are. Faisali could not risk you falling in love and showing some falsely trusted mortal your true nature, for fear of what might happen to you. We can be terrifying in our beauty, outside of the safety of the coven. You could have been taken against your will, to be captured and studied and contained, perhaps even taken somewhere where we couldn’t find you once it came time. And then the curse would rage free.”
Beside me, Malina gave a hitching sigh so deep I turned to her. She’d gone pale, but her cheekbones burned high, like points of candle flame held beneath her skin. “So why . . .” Her voice caught. “Why am I stronger than Iris, then?”
“Because of Naisha, little one.” Sorai cocked her head to the side like some lovely bird of paradise. “Your Natalija, your music teacher. We wanted to respect Faisali’s wishes and let her raise you away from us, but once she stopped teaching you, we couldn’t risk not having at least one of you fully prepared for when the time came. So we sent Naisha to watch over you, to coax your gleam with her nearness, to instruct you silently with her own grace and bearing. Your gleam, Azareen, was the easier to nurture without drawing more attention to you, more prying eyes.”
“That’s why you came to check on us,” I said, realization dawning. “That time in the Arms Square, years ago.”
“Yes. We did not want to ask Faisali to return you to us any earlier than we had to, but at the same time, we could not afford to let your gleam dwindle entirely, Lisarah. I stripped the memory of our visit from you out of respect for Faisali, but allowed the yearning to remain, the desire to seek the gleam, to fan your spark. I made sure you would not forget yourself, even if she could not bring herself to teach you, knowing what it was for.”
“The flowers,” I murmured. “Is that why flowers would still fractal for me? Even if no one else could see it?”
“Yes. A flower is a natural fractal, a perfect, self-contained emblem of life and beauty—something easy for your gleam to latch onto. And then once the interloper attacked your mother and we all set out to trap her, it was time to allow you to remember fully—to let you make your way back to us. We could not guide you, could not force you. In Faisali’s absence, you had to come to us willingly, entirely of your own accord, in order for the sacrifice to function properly once it was time. Because there are only two of you, every iota of your willingness matters that much more, without your mother to form the third point of the triangle and make a binding decision together.”
“So it was Dunja,” I whispered, stomach clenching. “Why would she try to kill Mama?”
“She wants what we have,” Sorai replied bluntly, all her voices dipping low in a crashing, ominous cascade. “I can find no other reason. We tolerate our immortality; she must covet it for herself. She waited for Anais to burn out, as every sacrifice does—and then she tried to kill your mother in order to break the chain of succession, to prevent the mutual choosing that yields the next sacrifice.”