Snippet from Arilinn
Neave stood in the middle of the fourth floor attic, hands on hips, and regarded her sisters. At the moment, she found it a struggle to not regard them as outsiders, interlopers in this space that had always been her personal sanctuary. Not even the maids ventured into this part of the topmost storey, amongst the broken furniture, the crates and barrels of cracked, mismatched crockery, parchments so worn they couldn’t be used again but which no one had thought to discard, and the battered chests, wood and age-hardened leather, filled with unrepairable clothing and toys and bits of metal. None of the locks worked. It was dangerous to perch on some of the chairs. Billows of dust rose up whenever she opened or moved anything. But this attic had been hers since childhood, a refuge during the difficult years after her father’s remarriage. It was also the one place no one had ever thought to look for her.
Of her three half-sisters, she felt the closest to Leora. She and Jessamy had never had a chance to become friends, let alone loving sisters, in part due to differences in temperament and in part due to Domna Graciela’s obnoxiously evident preference for her own firstborn. By the time the next babe had died at a year’s age of a lung fever and Leora had come along, Neave had become more independent and less needy of a mother’s love. There had been no reason to waste time on overtures that would either be thwarted by her stepmother or rebuffed scornfully by Jessamy herself.
Neave had been surprised and not a little pleased when she’d felt the stirrings of Leora’s laran, and how strong and wild it was. She had not been able to resist the memory-enhancement technique she’d been shown during her last visit to Alcabra Keep. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to practice it unsupervised, but she’d been unable to resist. And it had paid off, not just in terms of information, although dubiously useful information, but the delight of the intimate contact with a sympathetic mind.
As for Sharina…
Neave frowned. The question regarding Sharina came down to whether a child so mercurial in temperament could be trusted to keep anything secret, and whether the girl ought to be sent back to her own room before anything of significance was said. Right now, Sharina was projecting defiance, and Leora practically quivered with excitement and curiosity mixed with trust. As for Jessamy, her facial expression was unreadable, but her mind churned with such suspicion and jealousy that it was impossible to tell what she was thinking.
“Now, then,” Neave said. “What’s all the hubbub about?”
“The cattle raid,” Jessamy said at the same time as Leora burst out with, “Lord Carcosse’s dastardly plot!”
“What cattle raid?” Sharina asked. “What plot?”
“The one you’re not supposed to know about?” Neave said. “But that now everyone does?”
“Oh, that cattle raid,” Sharina said with an attempt at carelessness.
“It’s got to be a trap,” Leora said. “With what Jessamy says —”
“What trap?” Sharinda squeaked.
“It’s a pretext for an attack —” Jessamy said.
“What trap?” Sharinda wailed.
“Stop, all of you,” Neave said, using a touch of laran to emphasize her point without having to raise her voice. The others quieted instantly. Leora shot her a sharp look, as if she’d just been pinched. She’d clearly felt the psychic nudge.
Neave opened her mouth to set them all straight, and then thought better of it. In a short time, they’d be on their own, not that any of them had previously paid much heed to her or she to them. It wouldn’t help them to be told what to think of these particular rumors and half-truths flying about the castle. The problem wasn’t whether Lord Carcosse’s complaint about a hypothetical cattle raid was or was not a trap, it was how her sisters had been kept ignorant and insignificant, their talents not worth developing. No wonder they invented stories and became rivals for the attention of anyone who knew anything.
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