Page 4 of Sunder

“All of it,” the girl chided, apologetic yet firm. “Your mother says.”

And she hadn’t listened very well today, had she? Didn’t want to make it worse when she came back, probably with Father as well. Then she would be subject to both their disappointments, and she didn’t think she could bear them being cross with her. Not now.

Bigger swallows were better than small ones. It was warm rather than hot, and although she had to take a careful breath to finish the last to ensure she didn’t sick up what she’d just struggled down, she managed it.

Her throat didn’t hurt any longer, but it didn’t seem to help the ache in her chest very much.

The girl helped ease her back into the plush chair, mindful of the delicate bones in her wings. “Better?” she asked, taking the cup and standing back to her full height.

“Yes,” Orma croaked. No.

But they’d want her to feel better, so surely the lie was all right?

She’d caused enough trouble today.

The girl left, and Orma was alone again. Which was all right because her eyes felt heavy. Perhaps it was all her tears. Perhaps it was the warm drink.

Or maybe it was the bond that robbed her of her energy.

She opened her cocoon of blanket and looked down at herself. Unsatisfied, she plucked at the laces at the front of her dress, baring her skin.

There it was. A corded tangle tight against her skin. It didn’t look how she imagined—but then, fashions rarely allowed for necklines to dip so low she might see the source of the colours. Hers twisted and curved, pulling tight and pushing at her from the inside out. Wriggling and roiling, a living thing that was unhappy.

It frightened her.

It shouldn’t. Wasn’t supposed to.

But suddenly, it did.

She pulled at her laces, tucked the blanket back around herself, and pushed her fists back atop the rest of it.

Was it because she was carrying it for the both of them? As if it was too big for her chest, because half of it was meant for him.

She wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath. It would be all right, wouldn’t it? Mama would come, and her father too, and maybe they’d bring one of those men that certainly seemed to believe they had an answer for every question.

First there was the latch. Then there was the pull of the door.

And she hadn’t slept, although whatever tonic she’d drunk played insistently at her eyelids. Her parents came, grim-faced and doing little to comfort her—at least until Mama came and sat beside her, tugging one of her hands free so she could hold it for herself.

“Orma,” she murmured, while Father paced about the room and cast an occasional glance her way. “This is dangerous. I don’t say that to frighten you, only to prepare you.”

She sniffled, eyes wet and sticky with old and new tears. “Why?”

Mama went to her knees beside her, which wasn’t like her at all. She smoothed away the dark hairs that had stuck to her cheeks, her own eyes watery, too. “Because you’re so young, dearest. A girl your age isn’t meant for this. Not for a long while, yet.” She swallowed, and Orma was afraid, because it must be a terrible thing for her mother to look at her that way.

Orma didn’t dare pull her other hand back and peek inside her dress again. To look at the tangle of knotted threads as they burrowed into her skin, aching and worrying. “I didn’t mean to,” she added mournfully, this time offered to her father.

Who paused.

Turned in his pacing so he might look at her properly. “We should have kept you closer,” he answered. Not an absolution, but a confession of error. Rare, from him. “We were warned this might happen.” His eyes drifted toward her mother, and there had been an argument there, she could tell. “And there would be consequences for our neglect.”

Her mother’s head turned, and while she did not hiss out an answer, her hold on Orma’s hand tightened to the point of pain.

“Mama,” she murmured, and she turned, loosening her grip immediately.

“Sorry,” she answered, petting and soothing again. “We are not angry with you,” she promised, because she knew that mattered to Orma.

“No,” Father agreed. “Not with you.”

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