Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
If he refused to help?
“Please, darling,” Momma beseeched. “Never hurt so bad.”
Tremors starting up again, Viori pressed clammy palms against her belly. What use was her gift if she couldn’t help the people she adored? “V-very well. I will try.”
She trudged to the foot of the bed and drew a deep breath in, out. Like Kaysar, her glamara strengthened when she sang. Unwilling to hesitate, she closed her eyes and released the first note.
A soft melody floated over the chamber. Her parents went quiet. She freed the second note and peeked through a slit in her lashes. Peace fell over the pair, their thrashing easing.
I’m doing it? Relief poured through her. She increased her volume, commanding the couple to feel no pain.
Neither moved, yet ripples disturbed the bedsheet. Odd, but not jarring. With the animals, she’d felt a wind that wasn’t there.
Viori sang even louder, utilizing the full power of her glamara. And oh, wow. Black dots wove through her vision. Threads of weakness invaded her limbs, nearly toppling her. But she refused to stop until the last vestiges of the sickness faded from her parents.
Had the pair healed at all? She focused on their expressions—and gasped, stumbling back as horror torched her relief. Momma screamed in silent agony, blood leaking from her eyes, nose and ears. Papa gritted crimson-smeared teeth. The sheet had somehow risen, taken the shape of a fae and sat with crossed legs between them. The creature had a hand wrapped around the throat of each patient.
Viori smashed her lips together, ending her song.
What is...? How can...? Impossible! And yet, she felt a connection to the sheet, as if it were somehow a member of her family. Her child, like Drendall. She even knew its name—Fifibelle.
“What are you doing?” she cried. Bit by bit, life drained from Momma’s and Papa’s eyes. “Stop that!”
The sheet held on, seemingly proud of a task well done.
“S-stop this, Fifibelle. Please.”
Too late. One parent expelled a final breath within seconds of the other, both peering into an afterworld Viori couldn’t see.
Weakness intensifying, she tumbled to her backside. At the same time, Fifibelle lost substance and whooshed into a puddle, reverting to a simple mound of cotton.
Trapped sobs escaped. Momma and Papa were...dead? She’d killed them?
Must know. Legs quaking, she lumbered to her feet and approached the bed. Slowly, she stretched out her arm to flatten a palm against her mother’s chest. The spot Viori loved to rest her head when they told bedtime stories to Drendall. No heartbeat. Ice-cold skin.
The moisture in her mouth dried. Vision blurring, she stumbled over to check her father for signs of life. Finding none.
Realization heralded shock. Yes, they were dead. And it was her fault. She’d killed her parents with a song. Had viciously murdered the pair.
“I’m so sorry. So sorry. So—” Another sob cut her off. Tears rained freely, scalding her cheeks. Over and over Kaysar’s warning replayed in her head. Like Fifibelle, Viori had refused to listen. Now she must suffer the consequences.
And so must her brother.
He would hate her now. If he didn’t, he should. Her voice wasn’t a gift, but a curse.
Overcome by grief, she snatched Drendall from the nightstand and sank to the floor. With her friend clutched tight to her chest, she curled into a ball and rocked back and forth. Why had she done this? Why, why, why?
What if she did it again? She buried her face in Drendall’s soft hair. Was Kaysar to be her next victim? What if Viori harmed him when she tried to explain? What if Fifibelle awoke? What if she created something worse?
Panic collided with desperation, both exploding inside her. Can’t harm Kaysar. Not him. Anyone but him.
But what if she did it? Soon, he would return to the cottage...
She squeezed Drendall tighter. Must be quiet. Mustn’t say anything else.
Ever.
Eight months later
“WHY DON’T I sing to you, hmm?” Kaysar led Viori through the Forest of Many Names. He kept a firm hold on her hand, as if he feared she might dash away.
Viori clung to Drendall, refusing to speak. Won’t harm my brother. Not now, not ever.
Morning sunlight filtered through a canopy of gemstone-colored leaves. A narrow brook rushed over moss-covered rocks. Wind blustered, whirling specks of dirt into tiny funnels.
“I’ll sing anything you wish,” he added with a twinge of regret. “Something about a princess and her prince, perhaps? Or what if I sing to Drendall instead? Would she like a song all her own, do you think?”
Insides compressing, she looked anywhere but in his direction. His ragged condition would only wither the pieces of her broken heart. Thanks to Viori, he had no family or home. No job. No way to earn money. He was forced to shuffle her from village to village, stealing food and clothing whenever possible, bunking in any halfway stable shelter.