Bonded: Three Dark Fairy Tales

By Michelle D. Argyle

A collection of three fairy tale inspired novellas. Darker in nature, these tales feel more like the original Grimm fairy tales.

THIRDS ~ A retelling of the Grimm’s fairy tale, One-Eye, Two-Eyes, Three-Eyes. Issina is surrounded by magic, yet none of it belongs to her. Despised and abused by her mother and sisters, she finds comfort when she meets the beautiful elves living in the nearby woods. The elves want to help her discover her own magic, but it’s not the kind of power she hoped for, and she learns there is more to magic than getting what you want.

CINDERS ~ A Cinderella sequel. Money can’t buy love, but magic isn’t a sure bet either. Cinderella, now officially a princess, finds royal life is not what she once dreamed. When a mysterious elf from her past stirs up long-suppressed passion, Cinderella begins to wonder if there really is love beneath the spell that captured her husband’s heart. But undoing magic can be harder than casting the initial spell, and the results are even less predictable.

SCALES ~ A Sleeping Beauty prequel. The sun never sets in the realm of the fairies. When the young fairy Serina looks into her sister’s eyes, she sees darkness for the first time. After her mother is murdered, Serina defies fairy law to follow her sister to the human realm. There she discovers the strength of a bond, the weight of a promise, and the darkness in her own heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle D. Argyle
• Release date: Oct 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301567249

Michelle D. Argyle

Michelle lives and writes in Utah, surrounded by the Rocky Mountains. She finds every excuse possible to go hiking and be outdoors. Michelle mainly writes contemporary fiction, but occasionally branches into other genres.

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Also By Michelle D. Argyle

The Breakaway

Pieces (The Breakaway #2)

Unbroken (The Breakaway #3)

Out of Tune

If I Forget You

Streets of Glass

Monarch

Catch

True Colors & Other Short Stories

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Bonded/ Third Edition

Copyright © 2018 Michelle D. Argyle

First edition © 2010 and 2012

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, printing, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Summary: "A collection of three fairy tale inspired novellas: Thirds (One-Eye, Two-Eyes, Three-Eyes), Cinders (Cinderella), and Scales (Sleeping Beauty)."

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Edited by Diane Dalton

Cover Design and Interior Typesetting by Melissa Williams Cover Design

One-Eye, Two-Eyes, Three-Eyes quote http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/authors/grimms/130onetwothreeyes.html

Cinderella quote http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/authors/grimms/21cinderella.html

Sleeping Beauty quote http://surlalunefairytales.com/authors/grimms/50briarrose.html

Author Note

Dear Reader,

Many readers have asked me how my fairy tale interpretations compare to the widely known Disney versions, and whether or not I was inspired by the Disney versions. It has been different for each novella in the Bonded collection, so I’ll start with Thirds first, which was not inspired by any Disney versions, since Disney has yet to tell this unique fairy tale.

Thirds is a tale I grew up reading as a child. My parents owned a large collection of Grimm’s fairy tales, and somewhere in the middle of that thick volume was a story titled, One-Eye, Two-Eyes, Three-Eyes. Fascinated with the idea of a sister ridiculed because she has two eyes instead of one or three, I decided to retell the story years later. Thirds carries similar tones and themes of the Cinderella tale, but one of the reasons it resonates so much with me is because of its ending. Without giving too much away, I will reveal that, for me, forgiveness has always been at the heart of the story—instead of one person taking victory over another and gaining a prize.

Disney’s version of Cinderella did, in a way, inspire me to write Cinders. I was inspired when I watched a trailer for Cinderella III: A Twist in Time. I thought to myself, what sort of story would I tell after Cinderella married her prince? The question was planted, and it took off.

I must caution readers who dive into Cinders expecting talking mice and a sweet, innocent Cinderella. Cinders contains its title for a specific reason, as the word cinders implies the end of something that was once bright and alive. Christina’s journey is that of discovering a new way to view and live in her very real world. I hope you as the reader can discover with her the gritty intricacies and impact of love, friendship, and difficult decisions we make in our lives—sometimes not for the best outcomes. As we all know, glorious fire is capable of rising out of the ashes.

For Scales, a prequel to Sleeping Beauty, I was fascinated with Disney’s rendition of the evil sorceress turning into a dragon. I kept thinking, why does she turn into a dragon? Why is she so angry with the king and queen? In the Disney version, the only explanation is that she’s evil to her core and wasn’t invited to the celebration, but why was she evil to begin with? I wanted to know more of her story, so I decided to explore her point of view in Scales, but stayed within the world I had already built in Cinders and Thirds.

A large difference in my versions of each fairy tale is that I keep to a darker, grittier view instead of focusing on happy endings. If you love fairy tales, I hope this piques your interest in the collection as a whole. There is happiness in each tale, but as reality proves time and time again, happiness always come with a cost.

THIRDS

Next morning, when they all awoke, and went to the house-door, there stood a strangely magnificent tree with leaves of silver, and fruit of gold hanging among them, so that in all the wide world there was nothing more beautiful or precious.

One-Eye, Two-Eyes, Three-Eyes as told by The Brothers Grimm

To Melissa, with love

A sister is a best friend

1

Hunger

Issina’s fingers were always stained purple or red, depending on which berries she found. She picked them carefully, her heart racing when she found a new one she didn’t recognize. She hoped it wasn’t poisonous. Picking a handful, she wrapped them loosely in a worn handkerchief. Her mother and sisters couldn’t know about them. She would eat them in the forest if she had time, or in the dark corners of her bedroom after her sisters fell asleep. She liked the taste of them no matter what kind they were. She liked sinking her teeth into the tender flesh as her stomach twisted, anticipating nourishment. Did her sisters honestly think she could survive on the crumbs they left her after their meals?

She carefully tucked the berries in the right pocket of her dress. Her stomach growled when she stopped along the path leading back to her home. She groaned from the deep pain between her ribs. She didn’t want to know what death felt like if the berries were poisonous. It might get her away from her mother and sisters, but she hated to think of the pain it would cause before the end.

Reaching into her pocket, she plucked a berry from the handkerchief. It tasted spicy on her tongue, and she waited a moment before continuing along the path with the afternoon sun hot on her cheeks.

* * *

Issina carried two buckets of fresh water from the well down a path in the forest. Her two older sisters, Edryn and Sybil, came outside as she approached the house.

It’s about time, Edryn said, flashing her one large eye in Issina’s direction. The eye was in the middle of Edryn’s forehead, a gorgeous jewel with spindly lashes and an iris the color of a blue jay’s wings. There was only smooth skin where two normal eyes would be if she had been like Issina. Mother told you to bring three buckets from now on, not two.

I’m unable to carry three, Issina said, lowering her two eyes as the buckets strained her arms. She had eaten half the berries earlier, and the rest were in her pocket. She imagined smell their spicy sweetness.

Of course you’re able to carry three! Sybil snapped as she tore one of the buckets from Issina’s hands. Water sloshed over the rim to the dry dirt. Sybil had two normal eyes and one eye in the middle of her forehead. As she glared at Issina, the trio of eyes formed a pyramid of scorn above her dainty nose and mouth. They were even more beautiful than Edryn’s one eye—three perfect points of light like amber suns. Between her reddish hair and eyes, she constantly reminded Issina of a fiery sunset, beautiful, but oddly terrible.

Issina looked away. I’ll carry three next time.

Yes, you will. Sybil puffed out her chest and turned toward the house. Edryn grabbed the other bucket and followed her sisters toward the house. Issina looked up at the sky before she stepped through the doorway. Her two eyes seemed to work just fine, but she wondered how it would be to see the same magical things her sisters were able to see with their unique vision. They often mentioned things like different textures and colors and even what they called corra—a hazy cloud of images and thoughts surrounding other people.

Issina knew they saw this cloud surrounding her, and she knew they tried to interpret what they saw, but her corra was too obscure for them to read, it seemed. She suspected it had something to do with what she saw in her own eyes whenever she looked into a mirror.

* * *

Meals were always difficult and agonizing for Issina to endure—meat over the fire, its succulent juices bursting into smoke as it hit the coals. She glanced at the cooking rabbit as she dumped a bowl of sliced vegetables into a boiling pot over the stove’s fire, her stomach growling as she looked into the bowl at one carrot slice stuck to the rim. She moved her fingers forward. She had eaten the rest of her berries earlier. She needed more food.

As soon as she slipped the carrot between her lips, she pushed it to the roof of her mouth and held it there with her tongue. She moved it between her teeth and bit down, savoring the fibrous texture.

That’s enough!

Her eyes flew open and she stepped away from the pot as her mother marched across the kitchen, wiping her flour-dusted hands across her apron. She was one-eyed like Edryn. The eye blinked as she grabbed a fistful of Issina’s hair and yanked her head back.

Open up! Let me see what you’ve stolen.

Issina opened her mouth wide so Odele could peer in at the chewed bits of carrot. Odele gasped in disgust and yanked Issina’s hair even harder. You’ve been warned. You must be punished.

Mother, Issina spluttered through the food in her mouth, it’s only a slice of carrot, not an entire meal.

Odele kept hold of Issina’s hair and dragged her out of the kitchen, down the back steps, and into the chicken yard where Issina’s two slender, white geese, Gilbert and Gissy, honked as soon as they saw her. Odele kicked them away and forced Issina’s head down to her knees. Now spit it out. All of it.

She did as she was told. Strands of hair clung to her cheeks as she spit the carrot into the dirt. She straightened to face Odele, whose one eye was like fresh spring grasses—different textures and shades of green interwoven and sparkling. Issina’s heart tore itself in two every time she looked upon the beauty of her mother and sisters. She loved them, if only for their beauty, and this made her turn away.

Look at me, Issina.

She forced her attention to her mother. Yes?

Why do you eat when I forbid it? Why must you always disobey me? She folded her arms as an angry red bloomed across her cheeks.

Issina blinked. I’m hungry . . . I suppose I can’t help it. Sybil and Edryn leave me hardly any scraps after meals, and my stomach . . . She leaned forward as Gilbert and Gissy brushed against her skirts and honked for attention. Tears filled her eyes. My stomach gets tied into knots and I feel weak.

Weak? Odele laughed. You’re as strong as a horse! You don’t need to eat as much as your sisters. Their abilities require much more energy and focus than anything you’ll ever do. Besides, we have little to spare, and you make it just fine on the scraps. She glared down at the geese and kicked at them again. She was like a chicken bouncing around the yard, her arms as wild as flapping wings as she shooed the geese away.

When they scuttled off, she faced Issina again. Your father warned me you might make excuses for what you are—the last baby, the curse of our lives. She raised a finger and pointed. You killed him. You and your two-eyed, ordinary ways. Now we’re stuck in this run-down house with no money, no servants, and no way out except for your sisters. They’ll turn things around despite what you’ve done. I will rise back to the top.

Odele lowered her hand and pulled a small willow switch from a pocket in her skirts. Hold out your palms.

Issina swallowed and backed away. Please, Mother, I won’t do it again.

That’s right, you won’t. Raise your hands, child.

She held out her hands and flexed her purple-stained fingers so her palms lay flat. Odele glared at the stains, her expression twisting with rage as she raised the switch and brought it down with a stinging slap.

Only scraps, she hissed between whippings. You will eat only scraps from now on.

Gilbert and Gissy honked so loudly they made the crows scream.

* * *

Darkness cradled Issina into sleep. Her dreams were rarely pleasant, but she sometimes dreamed about a different life, one where she was surrounded by tall, thin trees and golden sunlight.

Music drifted through the trees. She guessed it was music from the yearly festival given in honor of the magical beings in her kingdom, a festival at the beginning of autumn when the last of the apples were picked and stewed into thick pies and pastries and the air turned white with burning leaves. This was the festival where three special people were chosen to keep everything growing and alive and beautiful for the coming year. In such a storm-ridden land, crops could not flourish. Life could not exist without these Growers. They were often considered royalty for the rest of their lives. Issina imagined what it must be like to observe the festival, or better yet, perform in it. The thought made her want to dance like her sisters danced, light as air.

When she woke, the darkness still cradled her. She reached for her handkerchief of berries, but remembered she had already eaten all of them. Her palms stung from Odele’s punishment. The sound of her sisters’ heavy breathing floated across the room. They always slept soundly.

Sitting up, Issina ran her fingers across the fresh wounds in her hands. It would hurt to carry water tomorrow. The last time Odele had struck her was months ago. The floor was cold through the thin blanket she called a bed, and since she was no longer sleepy, she stood and made her way to the window.

The bedroom was at the top of the house. The window allowed a glimpse of the sprawling forest, which made up most of the land. Other houses sat nestled in small clearings, and eventually the forest cleared to make way for rolling hills, farms and pastures, and then the village and the palace. Issina could see its spires sparkling in the distance, the white stone glowing brilliantly in the moonlight.

Unlike every other rainy evening, the night was clear with not a speck of storm clouds. Not yet, anyway.

Issina pushed the window open and breathed in the fresh air. It filled her with energy. As she stared at the palace, she thought of the magical people honored enough to live there. Edryn and Sybil would live there someday, and their status and wealth would make Odele happy and secure. Any day now, a courier would stop by to collect names of the coming year’s entrants for the festival performance.

Raising her hands, Issina looked at her long cuts in the pale light. She thought of the searing pain, but most of all how she might convince Odele to let her put her name in for the performance. She was finally old enough, having reached her sixteenth birthday only a few months earlier. Although Sybil and Edryn had not been chosen for the past two years, she knew she had a chance if she could enter. She closed her eyes and touched her two eyelids, the skin warm and velvety. She ached to know if magic flowed in her veins. If only she could learn the right spells, maybe she could unlock powers to fix everything that had gone wrong.

Thunder growled in the distance, and Issina looked up to see storm clouds rolling in. The forest grew darker in the diminishing light, a black blanket dotted here and there with a soft white glow emanating from its depths. She had seen this glow before wherever the trees grew taller, and figured it was only the moonlight playing tricks on her eyes. Tonight she wasn’t so sure. She wanted to stare longer, but the air turned frigid as the first raindrops fell. She should have known a clear night couldn’t last. Closing the window, she walked back to her blanket. She lowered herself to the floor and listened to the pelting rain as a thin, watery frost coated the window.

* * *

Every morning before breakfast, Issina had to fetch water. It was a chore she enjoyed and loathed, but this particular morning she knew it would be more difficult than usual. Edryn, rubbing her one eye with a tight fist, sat up in bed. Her black hair had turned frizzy during the night, and it cast shadows on her face. Issina wondered how long it would take to get a brush through it before she could leave to fetch the water.

He’s coming today, Edryn said excitedly as she lowered her fist and blinked. She jumped out of bed and sat at her vanity.

Issina stood and found a brush among the piles of clutter in front of her. You mean the courier? she asked.

Yes, you dolt. This year will be different. They’ll choose me and Sybil, you’ll see. She cringed as Issina tugged at her hair with the brush.

I didn’t say they wouldn’t, Issina said, convinced Edryn was right.

I see it in your eyes. You don’t want us chosen. Edryn reached up and grabbed Issina’s wrist. I saw your corra shift just now. What are you thinking?

Issina tried not to laugh. She enjoyed it when her sisters wanted to know her thoughts and couldn’t see them like they could see everyone else’s. A surge of energy rushed through her. I’m not thinking anything . . . only that I might enter my name as well.

What! Edryn dropped her wrist and laughed. Sybil stirred in her bed, but remained asleep. You? You have no magic. You’re not capable of anything but everyday chores. The festival council will already know this—or they will once they examine your blood.

Things can change. Issina lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew in order to submit her name for approval she had to sign her name in blood on the form. The blood was then inspected by the council and deemed worthy or unworthy of submittal, after which names were approved or disapproved for performance and judging.

At the moment, it did seem impossible that she would be accepted.

She caught a glimpse of the cut on her left hand as she smoothed Edryn’s hair after each brush stroke. Perhaps she only wanted to submit her name to see if she was chosen—to see if magic did flow in her veins and had simply been suppressed so long that it had gone into hibernation. She wanted to touch a plant and help it grow like her sisters could. She wanted to dance with air as light as feathers against her skin and create music to make others weep with joy at its beauty.

Edryn smiled. You’re so brainless. She giggled as she peered at her reflection and batted her eye. Things like magic don’t change. You either have it or you don’t.

Issina stopped brushing. That’s not true. She thought of Odele, who had no magic whatsoever, but claimed she had wielded it before Issina was born.

Ah, I see what you’re thinking, Edryn said as she pulled the brush from Issina’s hand.

I thought you said that was impossible.

Sometimes anyone can see your thoughts. Your face gives it all away. Edryn yawned and covered her mouth with her dainty hand. I need some breakfast. Bacon and eggs sound good. There is nothing like bacon, don’t you think? She licked her fingers loudly. Greasy and salty and so filling, and you always cook it perfectly. You’d better go fetch the water before Mother wakes.

Issina’s stomach gurgled and she studied Edryn’s smattering of light freckles across her cheeks, her perfectly pink lips that formed a heart when she pressed them together. Issina touched her own cheeks and lips with trembling fingers. If you’re so clever, what was I thinking just now?

Edryn turned and looked up. Her skin was delicately pale in the sun shining through the window. You were thinking about how you destroyed Mother’s life, how you took everything away from her and made us move here from our home and the only other people like us. The least we can do is make sure you’re miserable because of it.

Issina kept her mouth shut. Although her sisters sometimes referred to something terrible she had done in the past—something she couldn’t remember—she never asked for clarification. The one time she had asked, she had received a slap for an answer.

* * *

The forest smelled of frost and rain as Issina made her way back to the house. The rain always stopped before sunrise, and it was only in the winter that it turned to snow. In the summer it remained fluid, sometimes freezing into icicles just before morning, the forest a shivering grove of refracted light.

The garden next to the house was just as vulnerable to the cold. It often sparkled more brilliantly than the forest, every budding flower and leaf a delicate frozen masterpiece.

As Issina approached the garden, she caught sight of Edryn and Sybil crossing the chicken yard to enter their green wonderland. The garden was their paradise, and it was off limits to Issina. Still, she stepped up to trellises and peered through a break in the heavy foliage.

Edryn and Sybil, dressed in only their white chemises and fur-lined cloaks, twirled happily along the trails. They raised their arms and chanted rich, beautiful phrases. Ice shattered, frozen edges disappeared, stems lengthened at a rapid pace.

Although their work was enchanting, Issina knew it was only a small portion of what the Growers did every morning as they visited expansive fields and gardens and sang the frost away. By the end of summer, the crops were healthy and abundant—more so than if the sun had been left to do the growing on its own. The only areas untouched by the Growers were the forests, and they didn’t look as beautiful or as healthy. Issina knew this from the berries she picked along the path. They were significantly smaller, some of them burned with the cold and not as sweet as those grown in the garden at home.

The Growers’ work seemed to require large amounts of energy. After a few minutes, Sybil and Edryn sat on the ground, gasping. There was a reason they had to be chosen by the council and could not become full Growers on their own. They needed training to increase their stamina, and only one person could provide them with it.

Gilbert and Gissy honked at Issina’s heels, startling her from her reverie. The silly geese had followed her out when she had opened the gate, staying with her the entire trip. Sometimes her goat, Cassia, followed her, but she seemed low lately, sleeping past sunrise in her corner of the chicken yard, her peppery-gray hair more dull than usual.

Issina picked up her water buckets and entered the chicken yard. Cassia greeted her, bleating at the top of her lungs. Issina smiled at seeing her friend so full of energy. You must be feeling better, old girl. She knelt in the powdery dirt and scratched between the animal’s ears.

Maaaa, was all the goat said, but Issina liked to believe she said, Yes, thank you.

Issina tried to ignore how skinny the animal felt. Her ribs were clearly visible.

Maaaa to you too, Issina said with a frown, and pecked a kiss on Cassia’s nose. She stood up to finish carrying the water inside.

Odele was in the kitchen dropping biscuit dough onto a baking stone. Her graying hair was swept into an intricate knot, revealing her slender neck, which always reminded Issina of a swan gliding through the water.

It’s about time, she snapped as she glanced at Issina. Your sisters are starving.

I’ll bet they are.

What did you say? She spun around as Issina set the water buckets on the floor near the oven. Nobody had stoked the fire yet, meaning breakfast would be even later.

Nothing, Issina muttered. She grabbed a basket and a knife before heading to the root cellar where they kept vegetables and meat. Sometimes she stole food from the cellar, but Odele could almost always tell when Issina had eaten something, which was why she tried to be careful with the berries and eat them only at night or in the woods.

She made her way down the stairs. The room stayed very cool, even during the hot summer days, and was situated well beneath the house. The hard-packed dirt walls were webbed with spindly roots and the air smelled sweet, like cold plants.

Issina headed for the cured ham hanging from a rope secured to the ceiling. It was nearly gone, but what was left looked so tempting that she licked her fingers after she had cut a few slices and put them in her basket. She glanced at the mostly empty shelves around her. It was the middle of August, and winter would come sooner rather than later. Normally the cellar would have been more stocked by this point, but Odele had been forced to sell food in the market during the past months to pay debts. Issina hated to think of the meager scraps of food she would get once the snow began to fall and her mother and sisters hoarded more for themselves. There would be no berries then.

She looked at the roots snaking out of the walls. Last winter she had sliced some and eaten them at night in her room. Bitter. Oddly enough, she had enjoyed the taste as it burned down her throat. Like a balm, the roots had calmed her growling stomach. Now, looking at them before she turned to head back up the stairs, she wondered if she should cut some more. She touched a knotted mass of them near a shelf. They were cool against her skin and made her think of the music in her dreams, of tall trees and sparkling light.

* * *

After breakfast, Issina entered the sitting room to dust the furniture before the courier arrived. Sybil stood at the window watching for him. Her three eyes blinked dreamily as the late morning sun wrapped around her curvy form. Issina noticed she had dressed in one of her lovelier gowns—a deep purple taffeta skirt and tightly fitted bodice that revealed the tops of her pale breasts, squeezed together by the corset. She was eighteen years old now, the peak age for finding a husband.

He likes this dress, Sybil said when she turned to see Issina watching her. Last time he came to deliver a message, I was wearing this dress. He couldn’t keep his thoughts off me. I read his corra like an open book.

Why do you wish to please the courier? Issina asked, confused. He had no bearing on the council’s decisions, but she did have to admit she remembered his handsome face. Sybil might have been attracted to him.

Sybil laughed and stepped closer to the window. Heavier than Edryn, her plump but dainty face was framed in reddish-brown ringlets cascading to her waist. I want to please almost everyone. Getting anywhere is about connections. It has been slow going, but I know we’ll improve our situation if we make enough of those connections. She smiled and touched a potted plant on the sill. The flowers were the same purple as her dress, and Issina could have sworn they grew a deeper purple when Sybil touched them.

I understand, Issina said, and pulled a feather duster from her threadbare pocket.

Do you really understand? Sybil turned and frowned. Issina promptly looked away. Edryn told me about your desire to enter your name, she said gently. I don’t see how we can stop you—unless Mother puts her foot down. She may wish to see you embarrassed by publicly showing your lack of magic. You don’t seem to understand anything about our world.

Your world? Issina stopped dusting the bookshelf in front of her. She clenched her jaw and stared at the floor. I’ve lived with you my entire life, she said with shaky breaths. We are of the same blood. I must share at least a small portion of what you possess.

Is that so?

Issina looked up as Sybil put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. You . . . dusting our furniture, eating our scraps, upsetting Mother nearly every hour of the day . . . you share what we possess? Sybil stepped nearer and pushed her face close to Issina’s. If I were you, I’d be more careful about where you place your hopes. You’re forgetting where you belong, Issina. Edryn and I have plans, and if you upset them in the slightest, we’ll put an end to you quicker than you can blink with those two ugly eyes of yours.

Whenever Sybil looked at her so intently with her three amber eyes, Issina felt as if a flame was focused on her forehead, burning her skin. She knew Sybil was trying to read her corra.

I’m not trying to upset your plans, she said, looking at the floor again. I only want to know.

Know what?

A spot on the rug consumed Issina’s attention. She stared at the black mark. I only want to know if I can be like you.

Sybil huffed. Not in a million years. She spun around in a whirl of taffeta and marched back to the window. Finally, she said in sweet voice. He’s here.

* * *

The courier was handsome and young, just as Issina remembered from months earlier when he had delivered a package of specially ordered seeds for the garden. His clothes were pressed and clean and he smelled slightly of his horse, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He stood in the center of the sitting room, facing Odele, Sybil, and Edryn. Issina stood in a dark corner with her feather duster dangling from one hand. She had not been present the last time her sisters entered their names.

Madame Grenefeld, the courier said with a short bow to Odele. Your two lovely daughters wish to submit their names again this year?

Of course. Odele flourished her hand in Sybil’s direction. Sybil is my eldest. She will go first.

Very well. He flashed Sybil a smile as his focus drifted down to her chest and back up again. He blushed. As I recall, you two were very close to being chosen last year, but there was an unusually large number of contestants.

We’re determined to be chosen this year, Sybil said with a giggle as she tossed her ringlets over her shoulder. We’ve been practicing and we’re much stronger in our talents.

I can only imagine. He pulled a sheaf of papers from his bag as well as a long silver pin. It was large enough for Issina to see from across the room. He walked to a writing desk near her. She froze when he stopped and looked into her eyes. I didn’t see you there, he said with a smile and nod.

I tend to blend in.

He chuckled and set his papers on the desk. Miss Grenefeld, come here, if you will.

Sybil floated across the room on her soft-slippered feet and extended her slender fingers to the courier. Issina saw her hold her breath as the courier lifted the pin and dug it into the tip of her smallest finger. There was a short gasp from Odele and the courier lifted the pin and pulled a quill from his bag. After dabbing the tip into Sybil’s blood, he placed a cloth against her finger and handed her the quill. He motioned to the top paper on the desk.

Sign quickly, Miss.

She did as she was told. Her blood seemed to sparkle against the parchment. Edryn followed suit, and as the courier packed up his things, Issina squeezed the handle of her feather duster and fumbled with the words in her mouth. She stepped forward like a shadow peeling itself from the wall.

Courier, sir, I was hoping I could . . . I’d like to enter my name into the festival.

His eyes widened. He turned to Odele. She is your daughter, Madame?

Yes, but not a drop of magic in her.

He bowed briskly then glanced at Issina, smiling. Sometimes gifts are not visible. I pride myself on finding worthy entrants. I would hate to miss one.

Well, I would know if she has any gifts, Odele said with a huff. And she does not.

As you say, Madame, but do you directly forbid her to enter?

Everyone turned to Odele, who stood tall and straight, her one eye blinking rapidly as she looked upon Issina shrinking back against the wall.

I forbid her to enter, she finally said. She is barely of age and I don’t like the idea of her making a fool out of all of us—entering her name without a spot of magic. We’ll be laughed at for years if word gets out. She stepped forward, fluttering a thin fan in front of her face as she lowered her voice to the courier. You know as well as I do that if I allow her to enter and she has no magic whatsoever it will taint my daughters’ names and possibly even affect their chances of being chosen. I cannot have that.

Issina tried to swallow, but something hard was lodged in her throat. Odele’s words were clearly nonsense. She wanted to step forward and demand Odele let her enter, but she curled her hands into loose fists instead and concentrated on the wounds still stinging her palms. She thought of falling at the courier’s feet and begging him to let her enter anyway, but before she could gather the courage, the courier bid everyone goodbye and left.

When the door closed and she was once again alone, Issina turned to an oval mirror on the wall. She saw her hollowed cheeks, the tattered sleeves of her dress. She tried to see a cloudy haze like Edryn and Sybil had described so many times before, but there was none. Only a dim light shone in her eyes, sparkling and swirling like a distant galaxy in the milky heavens.

* * *

The customary time before entrants were chosen was one week. Issina sulked around the house, upset with herself for not making a stronger effort to get her name entered. She watched her sisters flutter back and forth from the garden to the house with soiled fingers as they planted seeds and bulbs and chanted warm, flowing words to help the plants grow faster. No matter how much she enjoyed watching them work with the plants, it hurt to know how much they despised her for her lack of talent.

Get your hands out of the water and come in to listen, Sybil said as Issina stood scrubbing the dishes in the kitchen.

Issina kept her hands in the water. Sybil and Edryn often wanted her as an audience for their singing since Odele retired to bed early. Issina preferred to listen to her sisters from afar. Sitting too close to them as such exquisite sounds poured from their mouths was almost painful. It often gave her a headache despite how much she enjoyed the music. I can hear you from in here, she said.

We don’t want you in the kitchen. Sybil stomped her foot. Stop washing and come into the sitting room at once.

Issina pulled her hands from the water and dried them on a cloth she carried with her to the sitting room. She took her customary place in the corner on a pink-and-white striped chair and poised herself to listen.

Edryn sang first. She wore an everyday dress. Tattered blue strings from the hem brushed the floor and Issina stared at them and thought about how she would need to cut them next time she washed the dress. If one looked closely enough, everything inside the house showed signs of wear. Issina guessed it would be a matter of a few short years before things fell apart and the family truly looked like the paupers they were.

Edryn’s voice rang through her mind, clear and glassy. Issina’s sisters sang beautiful words, but she didn’t understand them. To her they were tree branches filled with rounded syllables in the shapes of pears and apples, then long and flayed like leafy branches. They floated above the air and threaded through her thoughts. She swayed back and forth with the gentle rhythms Edryn created. The room seemed to shrink and she thought of swirling trees and stars and roots. She thought of the crumbs she had eaten from Edryn’s plate and how wonderful and awful it was that she had devoured them. She tried to push thoughts of food from her mind, but it was difficult. Finally, as Edryn’s voice consumed her, the food disappeared and she saw stars once again. She saw a man’s face she didn’t recognize. He was tall and thin like the trees surrounding him. He beckoned to her from a sea of green leaves.

Her corra has changed, Sybil whispered. It’s working.

Edryn’s voice faded to silence and Issina opened her eyes. What did you say?

Edryn and Sybil looked at her with blank expressions. Nothing, Sybil finally said with a flit of her hands. Only that Edryn has improved since last time. Her voice obviously affects you.

What do you mean? Of course it affects me. Your singing is lovely.

It’s more than that. Edryn leaned down. Her freckles looked brighter today. Lately, whenever I sing, I see your thoughts.

2

Gifts

Issina couldn’t sleep that night. Instead, she stood across the room with her arms wrapped around herself and looked at Sybil and Edryn as they slept soundly in their beds. Sybil’s red hair and Edryn’s black hair seemed to light the darkness like fire and shadow. She remembered the thoughts she had allowed in her mind when Edryn sang, the man’s face she didn’t recognize. She had never been attracted to a man before, but as Sybil and Edryn had grown into beautiful women over the past few years, she had allowed herself to realize that her own body was changing as well. Her arms were graceful, her hips as round as petals, her waist like the slender trunk of a new sapling. Even her hair had changed into thick curls. But she rarely had time to keep it clean. Any man would laugh at her, especially one as calm and gallant as the one in her thoughts.

She touched her forehead. She wanted to pull every thought out like ribbons and toss them to the floor in a pile.