A sacrificed childhood was a small penance for how Evie had failed her family, her mother, Gideon. She wondered if that was why she could be so impulsive, so headstrong. Every childish part of her should’ve had the chance to change and grow. But instead, it was stifled, like a flower cut right as it was about to bloom.
Her father’s eyes suddenly widened, and he attempted to stand on shaky legs. “Is Lyssa still here? I don’t want to frighten her. She’s been so happy seeing me so well.”
“She’s off to school already,” Evie assured him. She moved his arm over her shoulder and walked him back to his bedroom. “Papa, you need to take better care of yourself. If not for your own sake, then for Lyssa’s.”
Evie helped him gently onto the bed, pulling the covers up under his chin, then reached into the drawer of his dresser. Quickly finding the small vial of medicine, she measured out a few drops. “Open,” she commanded.
After the medicine had a few minutes to make its way through his system, her father’s eyes began to close. “Why aren’t you at work today, dear one?”
Evie pulled the knitted blanket off the cushioned armchair beside her father’s bed and draped it around her waist as she sat down.
“I had a fight with my boss,” she said, pleased to be able to share at least an ounce of honesty with her father.
His mouth pinched. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it wasn’t all that bad.” Smiling at her, he continued. “Perhaps you might go and apologize.”
Evie tried to ignore the sting that her father assumed it was she who did something wrong. “I don’t think that would help the situation very much, unfortunately.”
He gave her a dubious look, his eyes beginning to droop again. “If you want an old man’s advice, be honest.” Clearing his throat once more and placing a hand on his chest, her father got a faraway look in his eyes. “There is so much that can be fixed by honesty, if you’re brave enough to use it. It’s something I wish I had been more with your mother.”
The mention of Nura surprised Evie. “I— You never talk about Mama.”
Her father smiled sadly at her, causing a dull ache to build in her chest. “It is painful even now, to think of what your mother did to your brother. What she could’ve done to you and Lyssa.”
“I don’t think she meant to hurt us that day, Papa.” After her mother had given birth to Lyssa, their mother’s magic awoke in a flurry of divine light. Nura Sage had been blessed by the gods with the power of starlight. A magic so pure and rare, when the magical specialist came to assess her, he’d brought tidings of joy from King Benedict himself. But what was supposed to be a divine blessing became their family’s very downfall.
The months that followed Lyssa’s birth were filled with unending sadness. Their mother’s magic seemed to drain every ounce of life from her; even the color in Nura Sage’s cheeks had disappeared. Evie’s father had urged her to distract her mother, lighten her load. Gideon had needed to focus on his schoolwork—something Evie would’ve liked to do as well, but Gideon hadn’t known that. He was the sort of brother who would give you his toy if he saw you wanted to play with it. Evie knew he’d give up too much for her if she asked, so she never did.
And then everything got worse.
“I hate even thinking of that day.” Her father’s face twisted into a bitter expression before relaxing. “I was working when your mother dragged you three to the dandelion fields, and I regret going in early that morning every day of my life.”
Evie’s mother had Lyssa in a sling around her neck the day she finally got out of bed. Her eyes had been crazed, but she’d looked alive. It was why Evie and Gideon had agreed to go on a morning stroll with her to what had been their favorite spot before Lyssa was born. Her mother had looked so beautiful. Her bronzed skin glistened against the rising sun, her eyes lined with kohl and lips rouged with red.
“She wanted to play with her magic. That was all,” Evie said so quietly, it was practically a whisper.
Their mother had made the dandelions glow, had made the light move like the plants moved with it. She’d held a ball of starlight in her hand and begged Gideon to go catch it.
Evie had watched her brother run past the field, seeing too late that the small ball of light was getting larger and larger. Nobody knew what was happening until Gideon’s screams enveloped the field and scorched ground took his place.
“She murdered your brother, Evie,” her father said with a ferocity that made her want to cower.