by Kiki Howell
“Looks like I chose the right color from the closet,” she whispered to herself.
Obviously, no one present cared what she had to say. They’d all resumed talking and eating as if she didn’t even stand before them.
She tried to remain as calm as she could. Her mother had taught her well over the years that calm allowed more to be accomplished. Fear and anger, as well as jumping to conclusions, only muddied the waters of communication, the fastest way to resolution. If she ever saw the woman again, she’d thank her. She’d never let herself be suspicious that each lesson of her upbringing had truly prepared her for this ordeal. She must’ve known the possibility of bad things happening given the circumstances of her adoption. Her aunt had even alluded to the fact her mother had been taught or prepared to deal with her, to keep her safe, whatever that meant.
“Sit. Eat. We have much to talk about,” her aunt cooed.
Kyna followed instructions, figuring the best way at this point to get the information they were willing to give her was to keep her mouth shut. Surely, whatever she heard would be some distorted version of the truth anyway, a ruse to put her right where they wanted her. Regardless, she figured fighting them was futile. It would only get her locked up in some actual dungeon. Surely, this castle had them. On that, she’d bet money.
Darcaryn pulled out her chair and pushed her in after she sat, reminiscent of the gentleman he’d once pretended to be.
She nodded her head his way in an automated gesture of thanks, and then casually observed all the people around the table. No one bothered to introduce him or herself. So, she waited, bit her tongue, and sat in silence.
Her body felt tensed from head to toe in her attempt to prevent the flurry of thoughts in her head from erupting from her mouth. Her day just kept getting better and better. Instead of luxuriating in Aedan’s strong arms, naked in bed, she wasted her time held hostage in a formal castle dining room, dressed in a black gown.
Darcaryn poured her tea, and then took her hand. She kept her fingers stretched out. Her whole hand remained rigid in his. She needed something, some small measure of rebellion or defense to keep up this rouse.
She started when he began to speak.
“Kyna, we have much to reveal to you. First, your aunt was neither kidnapped, nor did she sacrifice herself for information as she left you a message to believe. That was all part of an elaborate plan set in motion years ago.”
The others just sat there, observing. It freaked her out to some degree, so she feared they’d provided for her the amount of calm she had in her possession. It made sense for a fleeting second. Her mind stumbled with puzzle pieces that didn’t fit together. Many were even missing. Yet, she sat docile, kept foolishly trying to gather the facts she could grasp in a meticulous fashion. Unsure why the idea of being spelled hadn’t dawned on her before, she realized they’d wanted it that way. She couldn’t keep up with her thoughts or feelings. The way she acted or reacted, she couldn’t take complete ownership of.
“Kyna, you are not my niece, but my daughter,” her aunt stated. “Please pardon the lie, but we felt it best. We feared the drama of me being your birth mother would only take away from your training, you being groomed into this society. You wanting to get to know me wasn’t as important.”
“My mother? My training? This society? What?” Not one word her aunt said made sense, despite the woman’s matter of fact tone and ease of speaking.
“I don’t get what you’re confused about, dear. It’s a simple matter. I am your birth mother. I didn’t tell you before because your training and your joining this society were more vital. Any lies were told for the greater good.”
“The greater good? What the hell...sorry.”
She paused a second, tried to calm her voice, make it not reflect the pounding of her heart or the swirling thoughts in her head. While she did relax, she knew it not her doing. She clung to that one truth.
“I don’t understand how telling me you were my aunt rather than my mother changed anything. I still wanted to know about her,” she got out.
“Yes, you did. You’ve proven more headstrong than we’d hoped. Your constant questions were the reason I disappeared so soon after your arrival. You denied me the right to get to know my daughter,” her aunt, or mother, chastised her.
“I denied you? Okay,” Kyna stuttered.
“I forgive you,” the woman said in a flat tone. “But, you have to understand, I live to serve. I’m that important here. We are more than mere witches, dear. We share the mark of great power. The appearance of the mark on your hip at your birth told me of the great power you would possess, same as my own. And, your role in this society will soon be essential as well. They’ve waited a long time for you to be brought back to Ireland, as have I. My bastard father hid you well. I paid the man back dearly for that sin, I can tell you that.”
“You did, I’m sure. Does this society have a name?” Kyna interrupted, then bit her lip for not following her own plan of silence.
Her thoughts circled around her birthmark. Rather than a mere eyesore all her life, it had marked her and made her a target.
The audacity shrouded in insanity of this woman, god forbid, her mother, stunned her. Her words, so twisted in meaning, painted a clear picture of the insurmountable odds stacked against Kyna at this moment. She focused hard on every trick she had in her to appear the team player her demented mother wanted, to process this new and stupid information.. Right now, it seemed like her only logical plan for survival. That is, until a real plan of escape presented itself.
She formed a mantra to keep her vigilant, and to keep her from vomiting into her food. Then, a forced calm doused her like a wet blanket, dripped over her thoughts, and saturated them into a murky mass of confusion.
“Not really. It’s not imperative for you to know anyway. It goes by many names, for many people, depending upon what it needs from them. Names aren’t important. Membership is, as well as your role in the organization. I’ve paved the way for you, made sure you had the privilege of being a part of all of this. Regardless, your mark would make you desirable all on its own. Enough about that. Let me explain further, as you’ve proven yourself the curious type. I suppose you deserve a little time to gain some answers.
“So, in a nutshell, my father was an ambitious man, rich and power hungry. He tried to join this group for political gain. Interested in his powers and what he could bring to the table, they agreed to let him in. The story takes a turn, though, when I found myself pregnant at a young age. My father had you taken from me the minute I gave birth. Not good for his image, you see. Anyway, I got one brief glance at you, and then I got to hear you cry on your way out. Hating him, I lurked, I learned, and I found out Darcaryn worked for both sides. I went to the society then. I convinced them to ruin my father, no matter what the price. In return, I offered them my powers, whatever they wanted, along with my undying gratitude. I signed you up as well. That way I was guaranteed their desire to search by telling them of the mark you wear. It shows bloodline, a powerful bloodline.”
“I see.” The words fell from Kyna’s mouth.
The sound riled her enough to stop any more from following. With a lunatic of this measure, one needed to guard their words with great care. She needed to appear as if she agreed, even when unsure what she was agreeing too, until enough information had been gathered to make a wise decision. She’d learned this technique in parent teacher conferences over the years. When the parent’s ideas seemed detrimental to the child’s well being, she’d let the enemy talk, the surest way to gather enough information to be used against them.
“Do you?” her mother continued.
Although the details thrown at her so rapidly hadn’t yet fully connected in her brain, the method of delivery seemed rehearsed. Her mother, obviously nothing more than a pawn in this society’s game, appeared to think herself much more valuable.
“I think I’m getting the gist of things. I don’t understand, though, why
you waited so long to bring me here.”
“You don’t have to. All the plans aren’t important. What you need to learn, now, is your place here. You will work with Darcaryn. Once you are married, your power will ascend to new levels, ones you can’t even imagine. And, with the addition of my power, the connection of our bloodline, the three of us shall become a powerful asset to these men, to the society as a whole. I can’t explain what an honor you have been given to be included in such plans.”
“So you’ve said,” Kyna managed.
The one piece of bread she’d put in her mouth, as a show of playing along, remained half-swallowed. The crumbs lodged in her dry throat, choking her. She took a large gulp of the tea beside her, hoping she could keep it down. The butterflies in her stomach had gone on a rampage, pushing her over the edge from nervous, to angry to flu-like symptoms.
“I just found out the whole plan last night,” Darcaryn added with a dark excitement lacing his voice.
Could he really be thrilled to have been lied to? Both he and her mother had truly been brainwashed. She took comfort in the knowledge Aedan would be moving heaven and earth to find her right now.
“They led me to believe this society was after your family. A brilliant plan to destroy your grandfather—he died a very broken man, his ambitions dashed—but I see the great cause in it all now. He wanted too much. He thought he deserved too much. I consider myself privileged the society kept me in their plans all these years, and changed my roles as their needs changed. I couldn’t be more thrilled that we are to be married tomorrow. Your mother and you will have today to prepare, to get to know each other. Once we are married, the three of us will become a powerful team, as she said. I’m told we’ll be one of the most powerful teams this society has seen in a long time. While I didn’t get much time to train you, thanks to that damn SEAL, we will continue the work here, in our own private wing of the castle, ,” Darcaryn went on.
“Tomorrow,” her voice trailed off as she tried to keep up with her own erratic thoughts, the ones she could hold onto.
“I know it’s a lot to absorb all at once, my love,” Darcaryn comforted in his own selfish way.
He squeezed her hand, and she forced her fingers to curl around the back of his hand. This was not for show, though, but a means to hold on to something, anything. She tried hard not to faint at the sickening thought of marrying such a man. A feverish sweat glistened on her skin as she tried to keep her breathing under control.
“No need to grasp all this information right now. You have the rest of the day with me to sort things out,” her mother encouraged. “The history is long and complicated, tales changed, people changed, needs changed. The group becomes what they want to be to whoever can serve them best. It’s an honor to become a part, whatever element they allow you into. You will see.”
The woman provided such amazing motherly advice. This loon of a woman had given birth to her, then sold her out to some wealthy and powerful men who seemed to think they owned the world, that it was theirs to run and manipulate. She wanted Aedan, and she wanted her real mother, the woman who’d raised her, regardless of her part in all of this. At least her, she figured, had lied to protect her as she always had. She wanted her version of calm, not theirs.
“Strange question, Darcaryn,” Kyna ventured. “How did you get past Aedan’s friends, David and James, I think it was, to get me out of that house?”
“That’s what you want to know right now?”
“I’m processing, and the thought occurred to me. The rest is a bit overwhelming to decipher right now.”
She re-pasted the fake smile back onto her face, as pained as it had to look.
“Okay. Well, they’re fine. Nothing the same sleeping spell couldn’t help with,” Darcaryn smiled.
Aedan had to be out of his mind with worry by now, furious and searching for her. She needed him to help her through all this, all the lies and these absurd versions of the truth she’d just received. If it were true, any of it, what a sick and twisted woman she’d been born to. For all she knew the woman could be her aunt. Maybe her biological mother had been killed because somehow she’d veered from the plan. It was possible. Now her aunt faked being her mother. She believed nothing. She couldn’t even keep the lies straight to go with the demented flow for the moment. What else could she do other than lose her mind and have a meltdown that would get her killed at best? With each moment of clarity, they provided a measure of calm. Each time her heartbeat rose, minutes later, it slowed back down again. With each beat, her thoughts blurred.
“What about the curse, the witch bottle, was that all a story, too, then?” Kyna asked, the curiosity killing her.
She had to let some questions out. That one had seemed safe enough. Nothing in the asking of it would rile anyone, she hoped.
“A good story there. Brilliant really, the crafting of it. We needed to keep you frightened enough to be ready and willing to learn. No real harm done. Not like we actually created a bottle or curse. Suggestions sometimes can be spells enough anyway,” Darcaryn offered with a slim smile full of pride on his lips now.
“I can assume, then, the hauntings in the house were to the same end?” Kyna asked. “Very effective, I might add.”
She faked praise, figured it what they wanted to hear.
“Another push in the right direction, yes,” Darcaryn added. “These people are brilliant. Masterful. It’s an honor to be spelled as much as it is to get to create for them.”
Of course, Kyna mused. I mean, why wouldn’t it be?
Rage, violent in its attack on her already trembling limbs, came and fled even as she put her efforts into holding onto some semblance of it.
Darcaryn nodded to her aunt.
Her aunt took another slow sip of tea and cleared her throat. Then an odd smile lit up her face.
Maybe they’d drugged her tea, too, all of their teas. An awareness of losing more and more control shot through Kyna's brain. The physical repercussion was a lightning strike through her body.
All she seemed to do was nod her head. Obey. And, she just got better and better at it, at accepting the ludicrous, the place they’d created for her as the day went on.
Even sitting in another room, having a pleasant chat with her mother later, she found her complacent and accepting mood out of sync. Yet, she remained unable to think otherwise. How could she be slightly aware something was off, know in the pit of her stomach she should react another way, and yet still not have the emotions to do so? This freaked her out, although the panic wouldn’t come. She felt a slightly stupid witness to her own possession.
Similar to the sex spells they’d used on her and Darcaryn, this power of possession had to be the way this society also kept Saoirse and Darcaryn. They’d acted strange enough. Possessed. Maybe all three of them were victims. It didn’t give her a mind to trust either of them, but it sure as hell explained a lot.
Her magic worked, but she had no desire to use it to try to undo her situation. Much longer, maybe she’d just truly go mad, or become someone else. That had to be their plan. Some spell, maybe permanent, would change who she was, make her want to be part of this group, and even love Darcaryn.
Every time Aedan came to her mind it felt like someone erased him out. She had to scramble to keep the faintest image of him clear in her mind for more than a few seconds. He was her only hope now. She knew that, and then she didn’t.
The wedding dress itself stirred something in her, the faintest thoughts of being beautiful but inappropriate. All black, the bodice covered in silver and jewels leading into a sash. Similar in pattern to a spider web, the sash flowed a few inches down over the waist. Shiny, it gave a heavy contrast to the black silk. A memory came, unbidden, of Saoirse explaining spells, ones that curse, in an analogy to spider webs. Coincidence? She doubted it.
She fingered the gown, layers of silk and lace to the ground, bunched up in a patternless, but sleek way. The veil, the same though more sheer, would drag the
ground behind her, maybe do damage to her neck with the tiara-like crown of sparkly gems that would hold it to her head.
“You’re going to look absolutely beautiful, powerful, in this dress,” her mother cooed as she ran her hands over the material, her fingers lightly touching the sparkly parts.
Kyna held up her hand, seizing the moment of semi-clarity, and concentrated. The task proved near impossible, but she fought her body and her mind. Heat built slower than it should have in her core, so she had a harder time getting it to flow to her fingers. After long moments of concentrating so hard she’d begun to sweat, a faint light formed in the palm of her hand.
“No need for that now. At first, until your body gets used to the magic here, you should conserve your energy. There will be more than enough time to play with magic once you’re wed to Darcaryn. We’ll all conjure together. I’m sure you’re as anxious to get started, as am I. But, soon enough. I look forward to finally getting to work with you myself, my powerful daughter.” Saoirse added with no true excitement evident in her voice.
She wanted...she wanted something else. Yet, she found herself too confused, too tired. A false peace clouded over what she truly wanted.
Chapter Fourteen
BY NIGHTFALL, A storm had blown in. The windows shook and the wind howled as Darcaryn talked and talked. He rambled on about the magical, in many senses of the word, life she would have with no expenses spared, obviously.
“This ritual tomorrow, it’s elaborate and will change our lives, intertwine the ribbons of our fate. It is of grave importance we both go through the ceremony of our own free will,” Darcaryn went on and on, oddly like a kid in a candy store.
Out of character for him, but then who the hell knew what his true character was.
The words rang out in her mind. She wanted the wedding, though that just didn’t feel right. She guessed that could be it. She searched her feelings. Love should be part of it. She wondered if she felt love or if it was merely lust. The stirring in her stomach and the dizzying ache in her head seemed hard to define. Yet, the thoughts floated away just as quickly as they came. Her mind refocused without her permission. Drugged. Spelled. Possessed. What difference did it make when thoughts to save herself were fleeting at best?
