“You all have better things to be doing than going to a festival,” Agnes said. The looks she got from seven girls almost knocked her chair back, but she continued, “It’s only a month until All Sister’s Day. Half of you here haven’t decided what you’re going to do. No one will be going to the festival until I have an answer from everyone whether you’ll be pledging or petitioning for High Sistership. Those who have a bad track record—” Her eyes shot to me, “—better not even waste the time petitioning. Because you won’t be accepted.”
I frowned, pulling off a piece of bread and chewing.
“There’s going to be a menagerie!” Sarai exclaimed, sitting on my left with her feet up on her chair, reading a gossip rag against her legs.
Agnes’ brows knitted. “Did you girls hear anything I just said?”
“And dinghy races, five different dramas, and a lantern light show!” Sarai continued.
“What are the dramas?” Carmella asked her younger sister. “Please tell me it’s that Queen Sephil’s execution! I’ve wanted to see that one.”
“Any music events?” Marlena said.
“Sarai, just give it to me,” her sister said, holding her hand out across the table.
The sixteen-year-old frowned. “No.”
“Well, it’s not even yours. Mother gave it to me, so give it back.” When Carmella reached for it, Sarai spun out of her chair and headed out of the room. Everyone else hopped from their chairs—disregarding Agnes’ protests—and followed to find out what events were taking place during the weeklong festival.
I sat there in the silence, with only my mother and Agnes. Chewing my lip, I said, “This is a great sup—”
Agnes shot me a little glare.
I sighed, putting a spoonful of soup in
my mouth.
Agnes rubbed her temples, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, “Hate my life,” before pushing her chair back and heading out of the room.
Without a glance in my mother’s direction, I got up from my chair and left the dining room.
“Calamity, wait.”
I sighed, reluctantly stopping on the stairs.
I crossed my arms as my mother met me on the staircase. Her emerald-green dress was sleeveless, with a roundly cut bodice, and a thin leather girdle resting on her hips. Similar to mine, although I had a penchant for white; seemed to give me an advantage in my profession. The skirts were still ankle length, but compared to Alger, Symbia had a more liberal way of dressing. Not exactly Sylvian-liberal, but generous enough.
There was a strangeness about looking similar to someone you hardly knew. Other than my mother’s eyes golden like ale, while mine were as dark as those costly coffee beans you could buy in Northie, our likeness was uncanny. She might have had a slightly more square and mature face, while mine was heart-shaped, but there was an undeniable blood tie between us, and I hadn’t quite figured out what I thought about it.
She thrust a letter toward me, and I only glanced at it with a frown before crossing my arms. “I don’t want it. In fact, I remember quite clearly telling you not to give them to me anymore. Not unless Grandmother decided to visit me or disclose her location.”
“Well, she won’t do that. Because you’ll try to leave and come to her. And she isn’t ready to return yet. She’s visiting Aunt Deidre. Don’t you think that’s acceptable after living like a recluse in that nowhere town for twenty years?”
“She’s had six months! If she wants to speak to me, then she can come do it in person. No more letters.” I was not budging on this. It felt like I’d been dumped off with my mother and I didn’t like the feeling one bit.
She sighed. “Is this about that incident at Mother’s?”
Ha. That incident.
This was why I often times avoided my mother when she visited. She either wanted to pass messages off from Grandmother or her pledged. And I never wanted to hear what he had to say.
The first letter I’d gotten from Grandmother was handed to me by my mother before I’d even arrived at this brothel. The words in it changed my perception on everything I’d known in the past year.
My mother was never a prostitute.
My Grandmother had written that Reina was slightly freer with her favors than she would have preferred, but she never accepted coin for said services. I thought after getting to know my mother, that might have been an understatement and decided Grandmother was in blatant denial.
My mother was also never sick from the Pox.