Page 25 of Night of Death and Flowers

We reach the door, and the moment we are in the foyer, my mother’s grip tightens, her fingertips sure to leave behind slight bruises. “When will you learn, Calista?”

“They’ll be fine,” I say, sighing. “You still have plenty of time to indoctrinate them.”

“You little brat,” she spits. “I am not just talking about them. You snuck back out last night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say calmly, then shove my mother’s hand away.

She walks out of the foyer, and I begrudgingly follow. With a glance around to check for any lingering staff, she lowers her voice to a whisper. “Everist knows it was you and Drake.”

I purse my lips. “Funny, I don’t recall my name being mentioned in Father’s speech.”

I follow her past bundles of lavender piled under the stairs, carefully bundled by the maids, then emerge into the great chamber room. Breathing in the rich smell of wood and polish, I scrunch my nose.

My mother turns back to face me, her violet gaze narrowing. “No, fortunately for you, they are going to find another to place your crimes on.”

My mouth dries instantly. “They can’t do that…”

She bares her teeth, tears swimming in her eyes. But I know better than to think they are for me. “Do you know what would happen if anyone discovered what you are?”

I blink twice, then reorientate myself. “What do you mean, what I am?”

Her bottom lip trembles as she turns away, as if my magic might seep into her if she looks at me too long. “Nothing but that kind of disgusting power could have killed a Phovus.”

“Decay magic?” I say aloud for the first time, an unexpected freedom ringing in my tone.

She winces, and I smile. “Keep your voice down,” she whisper-shouts. “Unless you want people to hear you. Do you know what they will do if they find out?”

“Kill me?”

My mom’s brows shoot halfway up her forehead, wrinkled by time. “Worse. Do you want your sisters to never find suitors? To be shunned by society.”

I shake my head, as if to agree with her. “That would be a tragedy.”

She points at the large window overlooking the gardens. “They will think we’re all like you. I don’t know how you came from me and can possess such… repulsive magic.”

Her words shouldn’t affect me. Yet, tears sting the corner of my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I will never cry for her. “I didn’t ask for it,” I say, my voice coming out far meeker than I’d have liked.

She sighs. “You were such a lovely girl when you were little. This is what happens when you abandon your worship of the gods. I warned you.”

“I won’t let Drake and an innocent die for my crimes. I killed the Phovi. It was my idea to destroy the statue,” I insist.

“And the gods will see you are punished for it, but, for now, you will keep quiet and let your father take care of things.”

“No!” I shout. “To the Darklands with him and the gods.”

I gasp when my mother’s hand lands on the side of my face. Pain shoots through my cheek and jaw, radiating into my temple. My ears ring as I touch the hot, pulsing mark branded on my skin.

My mom scowls, spitting her next words through clenched teeth. “Keep speaking like that, and it will be you who goes to the Darklands.” She places her trembling hands on her hips. “You will burden us for the rest of our lives. You will never find a husband acting the way you do, and you will doom your sisters to the same fate. Your disobedience will cost this family everything.” She sighs, then casts her eyes to the ceiling, painted with scenes of the gods. “You don’t care about us at all.”

My lips part, but I hold back the hundreds of things I want to spit back in response—about how she consistently treated me as an outsider, and blames me for every bad thing that happens in this family.

“You know what? Fuck you.”

Her mouth turns in disgust, but I turn around and storm through the foyer, hurrying up the grand staircase.

Beneath my fingers, the familiar sting of decay magic pulses. Since using it the other night, it craves more death. With every step, it sparks to life, and a small part of me desires to use it on my mother.

I push away the thought, uncomfortable with how easily the idea of murder comes to mind. No. I don’t want my mother dead, no matter how much pain she’s caused over the years. My sisters need her, because without her, my father will send them away to academies where things are even worse than what they are here.

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