Page 6 of The Cursed and the Broken
TWO
There was silence at thekitchen table. Only the sounds of spoons scraping against bowls broke the quiet. I peeked at Mama from beneath my lashes. The food had brought colour back to her face, steadiness to her hands. I couldn’t stay mad at her. She’d made chicken paprikash. My favourite.
I devoured it, drinking down the juices and inhaling the aroma of paprika. It was a frostbitten night, but the fire was crackling and my belly was full of the warmth only Mama’s cooking could provide. It would do for now. Poor chicken; Robi would not be pleased.
Which made me wonder. Mama usually only made this dish on special occasions. We kept most of our farm animals until old age took them, opting instead to eat venison or small birds?if eating meat at all. Our village wasn’t exactly wealthy. As peasants, we had no estates or castles to speak of, though our magic was richer than any gift that money could buy.
I narrowed my eyes as I set my spoon down. “Thank you for the lovely meal. It’s rare we are lucky enough to eat dishes such as this,” I said, eyeing my mother, searching for a hint of what she was up to.
“We have been fortunate this year,” Mama said matter-of-factly. “Earth magic runs strong in our young witches’ veins. This year’s harvest was bountiful and the vegetables plentiful.”
A pang of jealousy surged through me. Mama didn’t say it to hurt me, but it reminded me of my magic’s uselessness, that my contribution to our livelihood was small. My sister squeezed my hand, as if she sensed where my thoughts had gone. I offered her a small smile, grateful for her kindness. My family loved me dearly and I knew Mama had never judged me ill.
She said it was a gift, but I knew better of my curse.
I was her daughter and that had always been enough for her. “You are special, little cub,” I remember her telling me after I’d come home sobbing my heart out. My new dress had been torn, my face and hair splattered in mud after a group of girls had bullied me. Laughed at me.
Mama had only knelt before me, lifted my chin with steady hands and peered into my eyes, her own gaze blazing with a mother’s need to protect their child. “Being different is not a sin, nor does it make you lesser than others. Straighten your shoulders, lift that chin. Your magic will remake our world one day, Kitarni. Never forget it.”
And I hadn’t. I held on to that kernel of wisdom, remembering it when the days grew dark or my world grew lonely. I would repeat it to myself while I wandered the woods in solace. While the other ladies laughed over their teacups or needles, or helped mothers do family business, I dared to dream of a bigger world, played with blades, read books about epic quests and burning romances.
It had been enough for a time. But I wanted more. To see the world for myself and write my story. The village grew smaller by the day, those dreams a little blurrier.
Still, I smiled at my mother. At the little things in life.
“With Eszter’s help,” she continued, “our embroidery has been an enormous success with the nearby human towns. The women can’t get enough of her perfect stitching and patterns.”
Eszter beamed with pride. “If we’re fortunate to find quality materials the next time witches go to market for trade, imagine the money we could bring in, Mama!”
Nudging her feet under the table, I crooned, “I’m sure the men will line up too, just to speak to such a beautiful maiden.”
She shoved me in the arm, a pink flush gracing her face, but she glanced at Mama slyly, waiting. Mama said nothing to that, of course. Eszter had been begging to join the groups who regularly frequented the markets, but Nora Bárány was having none of it.“It’s too dangerous,”she would say.“Men will see your beauty and fall in love, and the women will say you’ve put them under a spell.”
I rolled my eyes at the thought. Humans would give any reason to blame us for their misfortunes. Bad weather? Low yielding crops? A spot on a pretty girl’s nose? Witches!
Eszter slumped, disappointed by the pointed silence, but Mama was smiling … a little too widely for my taste. “Girls, I have some good news to share.”
Rarely did I agree with that statement. I clenched my fists in my skirts as she pulled an envelope from the folds of her homespun dress. It bore the seal of a black wolf atop crossed blades—the symbol of the Wolfblood Clan settled on the other side of the woods.
My sister practically bounced out of her seat in excitement, her rosy cheeks glowing in the firelight, the reflection catching in her brown eyes. I might have smiled too were it not for wariness raising its hackles. Nausea roiled in my stomach and I bit my lip in anticipation.
Inch by painful inch, Mama sliced the envelope open, plucking a crisp letter smelling of the beechwood trees out. And she read, one horrifying line at a time:
Dearest Nora,
We send our warmest wishes during winter and hope this letter finds you well. As the spring equinox approaches, it is my fondest desire to see our families united. My son will soon take his place as lord of Mistvellen, and your daughter, by his side. The wolf awaits an heir.
I eagerly await your reply.
Best,
Lord Farkas Sándor.
“Arranged marriage? What the hell were you thinking?” My nostrils flared and my seat shot back with a clatter as I erupted from the table.
Mama remained calm, but she flashed me a stern look. “Mind yourself, Kitarni, you will calm down so we can discuss this rationally.”
I wasn’t having any of it. “How could you do that to Eszter? She should have the freedom to choose her own suitor, to live her life before being tethered. Why marry her off, anyway? We’re witches. We don’t DO marriage.”
