Page 17 of The Cursed and the Broken
That’s if the elders listened to me. The táltos said Farkas had told them of the rumours, which meant he’d either been lying, or the elders were keeping secrets. But that couldn’t be right. Mama was an elder and she’d never keep this from Eszter and me. Not if it compromised our safety.
But … tomorrow. I would tackle confronting the council tomorrow. For now, I had a mother to console and a sister to confide in. And dinner. Bad news was not as hard to swallow if paired with a hot meal.
“Mama, I’m okay,” I said. My eyes welled with emotion, betraying the lie. Today had been long and fleeting all at once, and I still had to break the news to my family—to Hanna’s mother. My heart sank. The thought of that made me want to crumple into a ball and burrow under my covers. How did you tell someone the light of their life was gone? How could I tell her there was no body to lay to rest? No soul to honour and guide to the afterlife?
There hadn’t been enough left of Hanna to bring home, even if Arló hadn’t bolted.
Sorrow climbed my chest until I sobbed, too, nestling into my mother’s shoulder as she gently cooed and stroked my hair. Skinny arms soon wrapped around my middle as Eszter joined us and the world disappeared as I melted into our bubble. I was so thankful to have such a loving family. I was lucky to be alive.
Others weren’t, and it was that realisation which hit me deep in the stomach. I pulled away from my family’s embrace, searching my mother’s eyes. She smiled weakly, fear dulling the light of her brown eyes. Somehow, she knew Hanna was dead. I was sure of it.
“Come inside, girls, let’s get some food in your bellies,” she said. With a glance towards the stables, she shot me a stern look. “Your horse was tended, as well as the other animals, thanks to your sister. There was much complaining about it too, I’ll have you know. And I swear by the gods, Kitarni, if you drag her into your schemes again, I’ll—”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I cut in, shoulders sagging. “I didn’t mean to make you worry, and I would never lie to you, but this was different. Someone needed our help and I … I just …”
She laid a hand on my shoulder. “I know. You’re a Bárány. We don’t know when to quit.”
I snorted at the truth in that statement. She was right. All three of us were stubborn creatures, and when we set ourselves a goal or made up our minds about something, we would stop at nothing to see it done.
“Especially when it’s at the cost of others,” she added. “You are fierce and brave, Kitarni, and it’s one of the things I love most about you.” She kissed my forehead and smiled tenderly. “I’m still locking you in this house, though. Don’t even think about sneaking off again.”
Chuckling, I stepped over the threshold as she trotted to the kitchen. “I figured you’d say that.”
“Good. Your chores are doubled too. That ought to keep you from getting into trouble.”
From her perch at the dinner table, Eszter gave me a pointed look that saidI doubt it. I agreed. Her eyes burned the back of my skull as I pottered around the kitchen and I knew she would grill me for answers once our mother had gone to bed. But, for now, all I could think of was food, and the steady rhythm of chopping and stirring helped calm the tension roiling in my stomach. We were having goulash tonight and my stomach grumbled eagerly as the pot bubbled away and the scent of stew climbed my nose.
I realised again how lucky we were. We weren’t nobles, nor did many in our coven have much wealth to speak of, but our life was bountiful in many other ways.
With the magic flowing through our veins, the witches grew vegetables, fruit, wheat, herbs—all in abundant supply. The witches knew how to spin a bargain, peddling our wares at competitive prices at market. The elders forbade witches from using magic to coerce the humans, but they did anyway. Perhaps a spell or two to make jewellery shinier, fabrics softer, or steel of better make.
Our hunters were skilled, perhaps with a little magic guiding their arrows, and we were fortunate to eat meat more than most peasants could afford. Even in winter, ample stores kept us well fed. Our bellies were full, our hearths were warm, and our beds kept us cosy at night. There was wonder in our days, for witches had the world at their disposal. Powers children would dream of or read about in stories, and gifts humans would see as devilry and destruction.
Our home didn’t have the finery of nobles—expensive dresses, jewels, furniture and the like, but that’s not to say our wares weren’t worthy of new homes in their base forms. Our coven was a diverse one in terms of professions. Jewellers, seamstresses, bakers, blacksmiths and herbalists. The witches even made the furniture in our homes from their earth magic, carving beds, chairs, tables and the like out of tree trunks. We all had a part to play in keeping our community fed, comfortable, and happy.
Happy. My family certainly seemed to be, but could I say the same?
“Kitarni, would you set the table please?” Mama said, pulling me from my thoughts.
I set the crockery down on our wooden table, smiling at the hand-painted flowers in reds, yellows and blues adorning the white bowls. Mama’s and Eszter’s were perfect, of course, whereas my lines were less precise, more like wobbly splotches. Still, they were happy and bright, something that represented our little family. Usually.
Chewing on my lip, I served the meal, ladling out the goulash and slicing crusty bread that Gisella, the village baker, made fresh every morning. She was one of my favourite witches in town, always red-cheeked and smiling, flour or icing always dusting her frocks. As a child, Gisella would always gift me treats when I raced through her bakery. Nothing had changed.
We ate in silence, the sounds of spoons scraping bowls clanging through the tension. I devoured the stew, even helping myself to seconds, mopping every morsel up with my bread until the white of my bowl was squeaky clean. I slurped at my water noisily, the warmth in my belly pulling my eyelids down. But the night was still young, and I couldn’t bear the sidelong glances from my family any longer.
Mama knew it, too.
“Kitarni.” Her tone was soft, but firm as she stared at me, her voice commanding the room. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”
My body stilled. They would have known the truth when I came back alone. But hearing her say it … it seemed so abrupt. So real. Swallowing, I nodded my head slowly. “I found her deep in the Sötét Erdo. By the look of her body, she’d been dead a few days.”
Mama inhaled a sharp breath and my sister merely stared at me in shock, her eyes wide as saucers. Silence swallowed my statement as they chewed over the knowledge and I prayed no one would ask me what had become of her. How she had died.
“What happened?” Eszter asked, her voice barely audible. I glanced at her, not wanting my little sister to hear the truth. But I couldn’t shield her, not from this. The more the village knew about this monstrosity, the better equipped we’d all be to deal with it. Eszter would be safer knowing—even if Mama kept her locked up in this cottage for all eternity after hearing of it.
Steeling my spine, I looked at Mama. “Hanna didn’t die from the cold or even the creatures of the forest. Someone murdered her.”
Eszter gasped, her dainty hand flying to her mouth. Mama’s eyes only hardened and, in that moment, I didn’t recognise the woman before me. Her lips tightened, her eyes burning with the fierce resolve of a soldier. No, a queen.
