Venus City 1 (6 page)

“And you think I can just go up to this Leraphone woman and ask for a cure?” She nearly shouted. “This cure isn't even supposed to exist. How do you expect this woman will just hand it over?”

Aspen snapped back in his chair, almost like a child who had gotten too close to the edge of a cliff. She could barely see his eyes now, staring hard into his lap, and his hair was a dark shadow outside the lamplight's reach. “You have to trust me. I just...I know. I know this is going to work. I can't tell you why...but you have to trust me.”

Something stirred in her stomach. Braya didn't know if it was distrust or her unwillingness to overlook his strange message, but she didn't like it. If Maydessa were there, she could imagine the girl jumping to her feet and calling him a criminal. Her brother wasn't supposed to have shady connections like this. Then again, could Leraphone of all people be considered shady? It was a thought worth pondering later.

She watched him for a prolonged moment. “I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I'm going to get my job changed.”

She could hear him swallow. He licked his lips, and then said, ghost-light, “And what if she can't? Or won't? Then what?”

“That won't happen—”

“
Braya
.” His voice was pleading, but it hadn't lost its softness. “Don't be foolish. You never thought in your wildest dreams you would be in this place. You are, though. So just assume anything could go wrong. What will you do to help Bellamine?”

Braya gnashed her teeth together, begrudgingly admitting to herself that he was right. He had her. She hated being talked into a corner. “Fine,” she exhaled sharply. “IF Mother doesn't change my job—unlikely—I'll ask blue frizz for help.”

“You promise?” Aspen had moved back into the ring of light cast by the lamp, and the doubt in his expression was like a mother bird not believing its baby bird when it said it could fly from the nest on its own.

“Yes.”

A moment of silence passed over them. Braya was preoccupied with horrific images of what her life would be like if she stayed as a Bride, and Aspen seemed content for her to finish it.

“Can I...see her? The way you were talking about the disease earlier, you made it sound like it's got worse...” Braya said somberly.

“Yeah. She's just talking less, but that's to be expected. Let's go see her real quick,” Aspen said, rising from his chair. Braya turned the light off and rubbed at the bright colors that sprung up in her vision. She followed her brother's white outline to the side door that led into the next room.

A spiraling staircase twisted beneath them. A large, vaulted room stretched down to the second floor, its walls completely concealed in deep purple drapes. The back wall was a full sheet of sparkling glass, offering a beautiful view of their garden, the neighboring hills, and Sandy River that glittered in the far distance—well, when it was daytime, at least. Now, the lights of the Heart District could be seen bunched together on the horizon like one strip of light.

A grand piano sat in the center of the room, and off to the side, almost directly under the staircase was a large pile of silk pillows. They were lavender in color, with blankets even paler a purple strewn nearby.

Their 12-year-old sister Bellamine was curled up among the island of pillows, her chestnut curls fanned out around her head.
 
Her eyes were closed, her pale skin glowed in the moonlight, and her small body was covered with a blanket.

“Is it smart to wake her? She should get as much sleep as possible,” Braya said uneasily.

Aspen shook his head. “Don't worry. You know how she loves you. The last time you came to talk to her was a few days ago. She's been telling me everyday how she misses you.”

Braya felt her heart thud painfully inside her chest. The last time she had seen Bellamine had been four days ago, and she'd promised the younger girl that she would become a member of the Fair Lady's Court and find her a cure. She hadn't accomplished that yet—maybe she should wait until she was done talking with their mother before they stirred the girl.

Too late. Aspen was already shaking the girl awake. Braya sighed in defeat. She just wouldn't tell Bellamine yet. The girl barely ever spoke—it was part of the disease. Not a lot was known about it, except that it slowly weakened its victims' bodies and stole away their ability to speak. Gradually the person died of it. The oldest person to have ever survived with it was age fifteen. Bellamine didn't have another three years, and they all knew it.

Bellamine's brown eyes fluttered open. It took her a moment to adjust to the moonlight, but once she had blinked a few times her eyes fixed on Braya and the slowest smile crept across her face. She gracefully pulled her blankets back and rose to her feet. Her movements reminded her of a ghost, barely there and so effortless, but those thoughts made Braya feel horrible. How could she think of her dying sister as a ghost of all things?

Braya embraced the young girl. She held her tight for a minute and ran her hands through her tight ringlet curls. Aside from Harmony and Aspen, Braya knew this was the only time anyone showed Bellamine any affection.

“I miss you,” Bellamine uttered, her voice as small as the sound of butterfly wings. Braya didn't even know if that sounded like anything, but it was the same with Bellamine's voice. It was fleeting, and hardly there.

“I missed you, too,” Braya whispered back. She stroked her hair again, and Bellamine stared at her with her big doe eyes. “I'm sorry it took me so long to come see you again. You know how Mother is. I'm just glad Aspen and Harmony take care of you everyday. Are they treating you nicely?”

Bellamine nodded, a cute smile playing across her lips. Braya never knew what she did to deserve Bellamine's infatuation, but she was determined to protect the girl for it.

“I wrote a new song. For you. It's called Begonia,” Bellamine murmured.

Braya didn't question it. Bellamine never had the spare words to explain anything beyond a sentence, so Braya had come to accept whatever Bellamine said without complaint.

Bellamine moved toward the piano. She was wearing what she always wore—she refused to wear anything new—a cream toned turtle-neck dress. The navy hem with white ruffles matched the long-backed navy sweater she wore over the top. Instead of zipping or buttoning up the front, the sweater had a large open gap where blue ribbons crisscrossed over the exposed cream dress all the way up to her collar. The shoulders were poofy, and the sleeves had cream ribbon crisscrossing up her arms. The thing Braya loved most about it was the matching navy colored cape that draped down to the back of Bellamine's knees.

Bellamine sat at the piano bench and Braya and Aspen moved over to stand in front of the window as they always did when she played for them. Braya watched her younger sister as she prepared—she brushed back her bangs, cracked her knuckles, and shot a timid smile up at them before her expression grew serious.

“Have you heard this new song yet?” Braya whispered to Aspen.

“I haven't.”

So it really was for her. Braya felt a tightening in her chest with the first dramatic note of the song. After a stretched pause the music continued, slow and haunting at first. It grew into something tragic, emotional—high notes retreating from the low notes, all the middle tones creating a melody that Braya felt tangled up in like a thicket of rose bushes.

She let out a long breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment she just listened. If there was one thing her mother had done right in regards to Bellamine, it had been providing piano lessons. Ever since the young girl was six she’d been having a private tutor visit her daily. When she was ten she had started composing her own music, and when she was eleven they had permanently dismissed the tutor, as Bellamine had surpassed the woman’s talent. Bellamine was more than a natural. She was practically a prodigy, and Braya would hate to have it wasted to the disease.

****

She had forestalled talking with her mother in hopes of calming her nerves, but she feared she'd only made it worse. Bellamine's music still swayed across her mind like shadows, and she couldn't shake the ominous feeling it had rooted inside her.

Braya had praised her sister for the song and thanked her for it. She'd left her with Aspen, realizing it was getting late, and now she was in the same dilemma as before. She couldn't bring herself to knock.

She was spared, though. The door opened before she had the chance to do anything. Her mother, Charlotte Malister, stood before her, her gaze burning a hole through Braya's skull.

“What has you wearing a hole in the floor in front of my door?”

Mother, never one to beat around the bush.

Braya swallowed hard. Why had she been dreading this? It was only Mother…

Mother, who loved her, who mentored her, who expected great things from her. Mother, who she so desperately wanted to be like. Why she'd ever had any doubt that her mother would not agree to change her career she didn't know anymore.

She forced herself to show a calm face. Braya slipped behind the comfort of the cold, stoic mask that her mother had taught her to wear at all times, and she instantly felt better, stronger.

“I'm sorry, Mother. I've been a little troubled today, but I didn't want you to be bothered,” she said, looking down at her feet. Mother didn't often like it when she looked her in the eyes.

“Come in,” she ordered briskly. Her mother's silhouette disappeared from the door frame and Braya followed her inside. She'd been in Mother's office numerous times, but she'd never seen it littered with candles, as it was now. She didn't like the eerie affect it had on the room. Faint smoke and scented wax choked the air. Distorted figures jumped across the floors and walls, shadows loomed high in the ceiling, and the windows were hooded in darkness. The rich wood floors were an angry red in the candlelight, and her large desk looked like some hulking creature hunched over and breathing heavily.

Mother sat behind her desk and steepled her fingers as she stared at Braya. On some level her mother always intimidated her—usually with her presence and position—but it was never inspired by her surroundings. This time was different, though.

Anxiously, Braya shuffled her feet. “Mother—I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Your career,” she cut in. Her voice was sharp and commanding. “I already know. You're a Bride. Did you come in here to ask me to change it? You know I can't do that, Braya.”

“But, Mother!” She nearly shouted. No, shouting would never work with her. “Mother,” she softened her tone, though the tremble in her voice was evident, “you have to change it...”

“Braya, I don't
have
to do anything. This issue is out of my hands,” Mother replied, her tone severe. “You know nothing of my position and you dream up the powers I possess within it. I have influence with every member of the Court, and influence with most of the women on the Hem Line and Handkerchief Society, but that doesn't mean I can just snap my fingers and it's done. It takes time to build up trust among the right people, get on their good sides, make ridiculous promises I don't intend to keep. It's all politics, Braya.”

“So-so I have to stay a Bride?” It almost hurt her to say it.

“Precisely. Now, leave my study.”

Short and succinct. Just like all of her encounters with Mother ever since she’d graduated from her academy two months ago in September.

****

The only thing Braya could think of as she walked into Heartland Manor the next morning was Maydessa's imminent commentary. It would be snide, and it would hurt. Braya had been obnoxious about not returning yesterday, and even she acknowledged that she deserved to be mocked for it.

She managed to avoid her Bride Sisters the entire morning and well into the early afternoon. All of the new Brides were booked with training classes on motherhood, classes that Braya loathed. She couldn't focus—she couldn't do anything that required hand-eye coordination, either. Her hands were constantly trembling, and for a fleeting moment during one of her classes she had wondered if it would ever stop. If she could ever forget what her mother had told her last night.

But she would never forget. She was
living
it. Braya had shamed her mother and now she was paying for it. Despite the heavy self-loathing that had descended deep inside her, somewhere in the back of her mind her thoughts scrambled to think of a way to win her mother back.

She was reminded of the words her mother had said as Braya walked out the door.
A dying daughter. A worthless son. Now this.

This
. Braya was
this
. She'd been aware of her mother's disdain toward her brother and sister, but hearing those words had cut a deep gash in her. She'd never thought she would earn that same disdain that she hated to see against the other two.

Her Bride Sisters caught up to her during the mid-afternoon tea party. They were told to enjoy the many different kinds of tea, because their final class of the day would be all about tea. Braya didn't know what that had to do with breeding attractive offspring, but who was she to question it?

Braya didn't pay them much attention. She didn't notice what they were wearing. She didn't notice Emma's weird hairstyle of the day. And she most pointedly didn't hear whatever Maydessa was saying about her returning. It was better that way.