Venus City 1 (25 page)

Braya shuddered. “I hope Bellamine is all right.”

They elected to halt their conversation while in the car, in the case that their driver might overhear. The ride to Senna District was longer than usual, Braya's apprehension settling in deep and making it hard for her to compose herself. She had too many things on her mind and most of them she couldn't find a foreseeable end to. She'd resolved not to tell Aspen what Leraphone had explained the previous day in her atrium room, about Camille's history and Leraphone's connection with Mother Ophelia. The only thing she'd told him was that she'd talked to Leraphone and expected the cure very soon.

Braya hadn't seen Asher all of yesterday, and she had just slipped out of Heartland with Aspen after breakfast, so she dreaded that he would show up once she returned. They hadn't finished their de-hazing, and even though it presented her an outlet for her stress and frustrations, she found it was the last thing she wanted to do that day.

When they arrived at their house, Aspen grabbed her arm to prevent her from exiting the car.

She studied his face, her head turned over her shoulder so that she could see him properly, noticing his expression was forcefully impassive. “Braya, please stay cool while we're here. I think we should check on Bellamine and leave as soon as possible.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you acting so freaked out? What do you think could happen here?”

“Nothing. Just trust me.”

Braya groaned inwardly as she pulled free of his grip and stepped out of the car. She was really beginning to hate hearing that from him, even though last time he'd said that about Leraphone he'd been right.

Aspen followed her inside. Harmony greeted them at the door and told them they could go upstairs to see Bellamine. When they asked the Maid Bride how their sister had been, tears sprang to Harmony's eyes and she quickly wiped them away. She merely shook her head, refusing to answer them.

In unspoken agreement, Braya and Aspen went up to the third floor and into the library. They crossed through the side door and raced down the winding staircase into Bellamine's room. The morning sunlight glittered through the leaning windows in a great block of brightness, illuminating almost every inch of Bellamine's drape-covered room. Behind the staircase, however, where Bellamine lay sprawled across her lavender pillows, patches of shadow shuttered across her face in long bars where the sunlight could not reach through the stairs. For some reason, seeing that reminded Braya of the mantra that Page always muttered.
A light can never remove every spot of darkness
.

Braya knelt down beside her sister and gently shook her shoulder. She felt a sad sort of grin tug at her lips when she noticed Bellamine was still wearing the same dress and cape that she always wore.

When the girl's eyes fluttered open, a small smile stretched across her lips and she unfolded herself from sleep so that she could hug Braya.

Braya held her tightly. She inhaled her, squeezed her, and just took a moment to give Bellamine the time that she'd been denied over the past two weeks. Afterward, she moved away so that Aspen could also embrace her.

“You don't have to answer me,” Braya said in a strained voice, patting a handful of her chestnut curls. “But I just wanted to make sure you're all right. I was so worried. Do you feel any differently?”

Bellamine grasped her hand. “Don't worry, please. Anything that happens, it is meant to happen.”

Braya and Aspen looked at her in alarm. “Bellamine, be careful,” Braya said urgently, “Don't talk too much. It's all right, we understand.”

“I want you to understand more,” she said softly—fleeting as the first light of sunrise barely visible on the horizon. “Don't be sad, Braya.”

Braya felt something inside her tremble. She reached forward to hold Bellamine back as she rose to stand, but her sister gently evaded her hands.

Braya got to her feet and followed Bellamine to the middle of the room, and attempted to grab her once more. Her hand latched around the girl's slender shoulder, and she spun her around so that their gazes met. Braya caught the look of unadulterated peace in the young girl's eyes, and found herself thrown off guard, her grip loosening enough for Bellamine to wriggle free. Braya stood stoic, puzzled. What had changed in Bellamine? She'd always been so hollowed, so empty and indifferent to her situation. There had never been any hue of emotion, no stamp of awareness drawn in the lines of her young face. Braya had always assumed that she was living somewhere deep within the recesses of her own mind, in a world she created. The disease had forced isolation upon her, and Braya had thought that Bellamine had accepted that part, resulting in the gentle, barely-there presence she exuded on the outside. What did this new flare of feeling mean? Was Bellamine getting better?

Bellamine ran a finger over her piano and uncovered the keys. “You're so pretty Braya. I like your dress.”

Braya faltered. Aspen was at her side, and he led her toward the window as they normally did when Bellamine would perform for them.

“I want you to listen to me play,” Bellamine said. She was perched at her piano, her eyes drawn to the keys. “Listen to Begonia.”

Braya turned away so that she was staring out the windows. Just outside was a garden. It hadn't been tended to in a while, and all the flowers were beginning to bend in thirst, while others were already wilted beyond save. The grass was browning and weeds had cropped up everywhere. Bellamine had used to take care of the garden a couple years ago, but once Mother had decided that Bellamine had to stay in the house at all times, Harmony had taken up the garden. It seemed, though, even Harmony had too much work to take care of it these days. For a fleeting moment she wished she knew something about gardening. Ironically, Latham flashed through her mind—he would know how to take care of those flowers.

Braya softened her gaze—sometimes the enhanced vision the booster granted her was just too much—so that it no longer extended far enough to see beyond the glass as Bellamine's song washed over her with a freezing clarity. She stared at her own reflection. She wore her favorite outfit—a richly designed gold jacket, the sleeves finely cut around her wrists, and the shoulders round and bulbous like that of Bellamine's dress, with black frilled ribbons knotted below the ball of her shoulder. It clasped at her neck, and a great diamond-shaped hole covered her chest, where her black and white under dress peaked through. Black and white frills lined where the gold jacket buttoned down her middle, its tight hold flaring over her waist and elegantly resting over her slender hips, her under dress again poking through beneath it. Braya had used to play a game with Bellamine—in fact it had been the whole reason she'd grown an interest in her own fashion—where her younger sister would have to describe every little thing that Braya wore. It had motivated Braya to wear extravagant things with impossible detailing, in order to exercise Bellamine's talking abilities. Bellamine had once told her the gold jacket was also her favorite of Braya's outfits, and now Braya felt a pang of guilt. Would they ever be able to play that game again? Would Bellamine ever get better enough to wear fancy clothes of her own?

The song ended on a long note, and a heavy silence stole over the room. Braya turned away from the window and moved over to Bellamine's perch on the piano bench, and crouched to her knees so that they were at the same level, more or less.

“Braya,” Bellamine murmured. “If I can't be fixed...please promise me to fix the other kids sick like me.”

Braya's chest quivered at that, and she grabbed the girl's hands fiercely. “Don't say that Bellamine. I found a cure. It will be here in days. You will live, sweet sister.”

Bellamine's eyes widened. “And you...you will help the others...with this disease, too?”

Braya gave a broken sigh. She'd never intended to help everyone with the disease. Didn't those boys deserve to have it? Maybe it was fair enough to cure the girls. She had to keep Bellamine happy—she couldn't compromise her delicate disposition with the cure so close—so Braya nodded her consent. “I will.”

The door to Bellamine's room swayed open at that moment, much like a skirt being ruffled by a breeze. Mother stood silhouetted against the darkness of the hall behind her, and her wide upper body looked harshly out of proportion with her narrow lower body as she loomed there, her wide, dark blue eyes searching the room like a predator who'd misplaced its prey.

“Your visit is at an end,” she said in steel. “Come along.”

Braya wanted to argue, but Aspen's hand squeezed her shoulder and she relented. With goodbye hugs to Bellamine, the two of them stalked out into the hall, and for some reason Braya was overwhelmed with the feeling that they were willingly stepping into the darkness of a lion's den.

Once in the hall, all pretense was dropped and Mother harshly ordered them out of the house.

“What was the point of this visit?” Aspen asked carefully.

“A warning,” Mother hissed. “You're both banished from this family and will have no more ties to it from here forth.”

“No!” Braya cried, meaning to grab her mother's sleeve, but missing when she stepped aside. “Please, Mother. We're both sorry for what we've done to anger you, but please—” Braya felt as if this were merely a replay of all her recent encounters with their mother.

Mother held her hand up to cut off Braya's plea. “I've had enough. This is not about anger, but about honor and shame and pride. Now get out of my house.”

“Mother, I know we haven't been honest with you about the medicine, and I made a mistake with my Interview, but please. Don't make us leave. We want to come home.”

“Out of the question,” Mother replied simply. “You've done more damage than you know of, and I will not continue to have you ruin the rest of my life.”

Trembling, as if physically struck, Braya's response got lodged in her throat.

“Get out of here,” Mother ordered, her features twisted grotesquely.

Aspen forced Braya down the hall. They passed a distraught Harmony on their way out, and Braya only hoped the woman would hold up a few more days until they got the cure. They needed Harmony's help, now more than ever.

Outside, on the doorstep, Sir Channing was standing, posed to knock. When he saw Braya, he gave her a tight-lipped grin. He nodded to her in acknowledgment, but didn't say anything.

Braya gaped at him and watched as he knocked and was admitted in. What was he doing here? First her Interview, then Leraphone, and now this? She was spluttering, ready to knock down the door to ask just what business he had at their house when she remembered what her mother had just said. This wasn't their house anymore.

Braya stepped away from the door—something burning in her chest, tears welling in her eyes—though she never tore her gaze from it as they walked to the car.

Aspen let out a great sigh. “Is that how a mother should act?”

Braya glared at him, furiously wiping away the tears. She'd never imagined it to become so bad with their mother. She felt like her world was crumbling to pieces at her feet. “You're not a mother yourself, so how can you judge her? It’s gotta be all the stress of her job...” But even as she said it, she felt wrong about it. It was like she was clawing at excuses now. Braya had spent her entire life idolizing that woman, observing her, mimicking her. She’d shadowed her mother to a deep enough extent to be able to tell when she was done with something. And indeed, it seemed as if Mother had finally tired of her daughter…

“She has no business being a mother,” Aspen said with a surprising amount of disgust.

“Stop saying those things!” She uttered in a soft, strained tone.

“When she stops saying those awful things—that's when I'll stop,” Aspen said resolutely.

Braya glared at him for the rest of the ride back, and it turned out to be an almost identical replay to their last ride back to the manor.

****

Back at the manor, Braya spotted Leraphone in the front courtyard as she and Aspen were arriving. Aspen continued into the Entrance Hall—she still had no idea why he never spoke to the blue frizz in person when he'd obviously been in contact with her somehow—and Braya waved the woman down, still slightly shaken from what had happened with their mother.

Leraphone greeted her in her usual dazed manner. “Braya, child, how hapless you look today.”

“Did you get the cure yet?”

“My, gracious, what happened to common courtesies? These days, you have something someone wants and they'll treat you however they please,” she bemoaned to herself. “But my child, exercise patience. I only just gained contact with Ophelia. I should have it soon, though.”

“Are you sure?” She asked anxiously.

“It is my best guess,” Leraphone said offhandedly. “But, dear, if you do not learn to be more flexible and expect variety, you will be unprepared to receive whatever else you may get in the process.”

With that, Leraphone brushed by and Braya was left standing in her wake trying to discern what she'd meant by that. When she entered the manor, she noticed Brielle and Emma—Maydessa notably absent—strolling toward the Great Hall. Braya assumed it must be time for lunch, and jogged to catch up to them.

“Hey, did you hear?” Brielle asked, gray eyes like starlight. “The Yorks made it to the championships this weekend!”