Page 89 of Reckless
I feel her spine straighten against my fingers. “Ava?” She laughs humorlessly. “Let me guess, one of your many lovers? Perhaps one you actually liked?”
I’m silent for a long moment, swallowing back the emotion climbing up my throat. “Yes, I liked her. Loved her, even.”
“Great to hear.”
“She was…” I blow out a breath. “She was life itself. Every bit of good I lacked.”
She glances over her shoulder, but I push her face back toward the wall. “Why are you telling me all this? To make me jealous?”
I smile. “There is no reason to be jealous—”
She cuts through my words. “Really? Because it sounds like—”
“Of my sister,” I finish, talking over her.
I think I hear her jaw snap shut.
“I…,” she stutters, searching for words. “I didn’t…”
“Didn’t know I had a sister?” I say simply. “Of course you didn’t. You and the rest of the kingdom weren’t supposed to know.”
Her hair slips from my hands as she turns to face me. “What do you mean?”
My fingers catch her chin, turning her gently back toward the alley wall so I can gather her hair between my fingers once again. “She was born eleven years ago—her birthday was nearly three weeks ago. For her health, my mother wasn’t supposed to have any more children. But Ava was unexpected. Unplanned.” I take a quiet breath. “The birth was… difficult. We almost lost the queen because of it. I remember sitting by the side of her bed, holding my mother’s hand while the Healers did the best they could.”
The braid is halfway down her back now, her hair slick in my hands. “Ava wasn’t supposed to survive the birth, but she was a miracle despite all the odds.”
“What…,” Paedyn starts hesitantly, “what happened?”
“She was sick. The Healers said she didn’t have long to live. And because of that, Father ordered her to be kept a secret from the kingdom. He didn’t want news of a frail queen and her sick child to spread. Apparently, ill royals are an embarrassment. A sign of a weak king and kingdom.” I roll my shoulders, feeling the tension and angerbuilding there. “So Ava was hidden, was a secret kept by the entire staff. Still is.”
“And now?” Paedyn asks softly.
“She was four when the sickness took her away from me.” I swallow. “I learned how to braid because of her. She was weak, and doing her own hair was something she struggled with. So I learned to do it for her. I used any excuse to spend time together. I’d endure every bit of training the king put me through because I knew she was waiting for me on the other side of it.” I tie off Paedyn’s braid with shaky fingers. “She had this beautiful thick, black hair. Big, gray eyes like my mother. Everyone joked that she was the prettier version of me. And when I looked at her, I saw the best parts of myself.”
“Kai…,” Paedyn starts. “I didn’t know.”
“She wasn’t supposed to ever step foot outside the castle that caged her in,” I continue.
“Wasn’t supposed to?” she asks quietly. “That sounds like she did.”
A soft smile lifts my lips at the memory. “Oh, she did. I made sure of it. When it was clear that the sickness would take her at any moment, I snuck her out into the gardens one night. She splashed me with the freezing fountain water, picked as many flowers as she could.” I pause. “And she laughed. Plagues, despite it all, she always laughed. Her very essence was contagious.”
Silence stretches between us as Paedyn slowly turns to face me. “You never talk about her.”
I look away, shrugging as if the sadness of it all isn’t swallowing me whole. “It hurts too much. Kitt never brings her up either. He knows not to. But everyone loved her. Everyone knows not to talk too much about her when I’m around.” I run a hand through my hair. “Even in death, she still feels like a secret. And I want to talk abouther—I do. It’s selfish, really. But every time I look at myself, I see a mangled version of her.”
“I’m so sorry,” Paedyn whispers, her fingers hesitantly brushing across the top of my hand. “I had no idea.”
“Most people never will,” I say bitterly. “Even after she died, the king—Ava’sfather—refused to tell the kingdom about her. She’s buried beneath that willow in the gardens. The one you found me under that night during the Trials.” I watch the realization widen her eyes. “I visit her as often as I can.”
“That’s why you were there,” she murmurs.
I shake my head at the uneven cobblestones beneath my feet. “I wanted to tell you. But I never thought I actually would.”
Her palm finds my arm, gentle and unsure. “Thank you for telling me.” She sounds shy. “And I’m so sorry about Ava.”
I smile slightly, desperate to lighten the mood and think of anything but my dead sister. “So, I’ve never braided the hair of a lover. And I hardly think my four-year-old sister is anyone to be jealous of.”
