Page 2 of Of Shadows and Death

I finish making fruit pancakes, her favorite, when she walks down the stairs. Her fire-red hair is pulled back into a severe bun, not a stray wisp in sight, although I notice more gray than the last time. She’s wearing a simple green dress that falls to her feet and covers her wrists.

She sits down at our round wooden table and stares out the window. “I reinforced the magical barrier. They shouldn’t even be able to touch the windows.”

I sigh in relief and set a plate in front of her. “Thank the crown.”

“Thank me. I’m the one who did it.”

“Of course, of course, Mother. Thank you.”

She digs into her food while I make another for me. I sit down at the table across from her, adjusting myself on the wooden seats. I wanted to paint them, but Mother prefers them plain.

When I finish chewing, I put down my fork and glance at her. “How was this trip?”

She exhales audibly. “So difficult. I honestly don’t know what the king would do without me at this point. I had to put out a fire covering five buildings.”

My mouth drops open. “Buildings right next to each other?”

She flashes me an expression of disbelief. “Obviously, right next to each other. Anyway, I put them all out at once.”

“So you’re home for longer now?”

She makes a sound in her throat, a cross between a grunt and a cough. “No. The king only wants more work from me.” She rolls her eyes. “I work so hard for him, and not even a thank you. How ungrateful.”

I nod sympathetically to the tune I’ve heard so often before. “What will you do now?”

She methodically scrapes her fork tines against the metal plate, the sound piercing my ears. I wince once before tamping my reaction. The sound continues until Mother abruptly stops, flinging the utensil onto the plate. It crashes with a clatter and bounces to the ground. She makes no move to pick it up, so I reach down and grab it, placing it gently on the table.

“He wants me to use my earth magic to seal a crack in the land.” She folds her arms and stares out the window. “Down south, in Ixtla.”

I gasp. “That’s at least a week’s journey.”

Mother grumbles. “Thanks to the idiot who broke the portal there. I swear, sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who knows what they’re doing.”

My heart jumps into my throat as I ask the question burning on my tongue. “Can I come?”

Mother raises both eyebrows, and my heart continues to race. I take slow, deep breaths, making sure not to show my excitement. Otherwise it’ll be a sure no. “You want to go to the desert with me? The desert with monsters no one can identify? Because you get too close and they destroy you?”

I look down at my hands, and in an instant realize it’s a mistake. I should be bold, strong. Face Mother. But I can’t bring myself to. “I’m twenty now, Mother. I’d like to see more than the trees out my window.”

I glance up through my lashes. Mother’s eyes light with rage and the rest of the words die on my lips. Fire surrounds her hands while her bun unravels, hair floating into the air, as if moving in an unseen breeze. “I’ve told you before, again and again. You will not leave this tower.”

I watch her hair move, and the fight leaves me. My shoulders slump. “But why?” I whisper.

“You know why. It’s dangerous. You would be eaten alive.”

“But if you—"

"—Enough. End of discussion.”

Abruptly, Mother stands up, shoving the chair back from the table so hard it topples over. Her hair gathers itself into the severe bun. She walks steadily up the stairs to her tower floors, head held high, leaving me to clean up.

I take a deep breath and rub the back of my neck. It aches sometimes from the weight of my hair, especially the day after Mother climbs the coils.

I really hoped that today would have been different, notably since my birthday was last month. It’s been four weeks since then, and still, I am in the tower. Mother prefers not to have calendars, claiming they rush her. One of the books she had brought me, however, had a special calendar showing which dates aligned with which stars in the sky. It was intricate and intense, but I studied for months until I could pinpoint the date of each day based on the stars.

My birthday is the last day of Month 8. The twelve months used to have names, according to another book I read, but no one remembers what they are. All written records have either been destroyed or lost, human memories unreliable over centuries.

My shoulders slump in defeat as I stand and clean the breakfast mess. I twirl around the kitchen with practiced movements, putting away dirty dishes. Even though the castle is crumbling, our kitchen is spectacular. Mother spelled an oven to work using a special magical fire which could be increased or decreased with a small dial. She also constructed a special cold box as tall as me, from which I take out a variety of vegetables. It keeps food chilled for days at a time. Since ice magic isn’t her specialty, Mother has to redo the spell every three months. It’s handy since I cannot leave the tower to get food from the garden.

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