She’d pissed off the wrong witch, which after getting to know her, made perfect sense.
So, what was my mother?
A really good performer. I’d told her she could join one of those traveling dramas, but she’d only responded that she’d rather die than work for her own coin.
“Are you ever going to forgive me for that night?” she asked.
“Mm, probably not.”
Honesty is the best policy, right?
“It wasn’t only my fault, you know. Mother made me go along with it.”
I let out an exasperated breath. “Grandmother might have done just that, but she gets more leniency when it comes to these sorts of things for raising me.”
There were some important parts to this story I’d learned in the last few months:
1. I was a Sister. Not a sister as in familial. A witch. Funnily enough, one Untouchable Prince had asked me close to a year ago, and at the moment I denied it, I would have laughed if told otherwise.
2. My grandmother convinced my mother to go along with the destitute-prostituting-mother-who-would-steal-from-her-own-child story all to cover up who we were and the real reason Reina would rip a silver cuff off my wrist.
3. Sisters were not allowed to share their identity with anyone and had to magically swear when being avowed into the Sisterhood on All Sister’s Day.
There was a childhood phrase real prominent in my memory. It went like this:
If you hear a witch’s cry, stab her through the left eye, burn her to a crisp and let her ashes fly.
In fact, after mass, the girls held hands, spin in a circle and chant that adorable phrase. I might have participated. And now Grandmother’s disapproving—more disapproving than usual—stare made more sense than ever. But the fear surrounding witches did make sense of why the Sisterhood kept it a secret.
4. Being a Sister came with its up and downs. Silver being one of the downs. The aforementioned Untouchable Prince had told me silver was the witches’ metal. Now, that wasn’t because we liked to boil it down and cook children in it; it was because it sparkled just right, its texture so smooth. It was a curse after a woman arrived from Elian long ago and decided to extract more magic than the land would grant her by burning it, creating the first Sister. One cannot take without taking a burden as well, I’d learned. It was the reason my covetous mother took my cuff off for a better look and ruining my life as I knew it.
5. And lastly, minus some small details, my grandmother—and possibly mother—were lying.
See, there was a problem with their story. I was Fated to open the seal when I was six, so why had I worn the cuffs beforehand?
I twisted the one silver cuff I had left on my wrist absently in thought. The other was probably on the bottom of the ocean somewhere. I wasn’t sure of the consequences of having it off, but nothing untoward had come of it yet.
I hadn’t put my questions before my mother; because one, I was sure that she wouldn’t answer them, and two, I didn’t trust her. Not at all.
“Just take it, Cal.”
“No.”
She shook her head. “You must have gotten that sensitivity from your grandmother.”
“It was clearly not from you,” I said with a sweet smile.
“Fine, don’t take it. But drop by the house if you change your mind. Clinton is curious how your schooling is coming along.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I won’t be stopping by, and I won’t be talking to your pledged about my training, considering the tiny fact that he wants to sell me off to his son. You know, my brother.”
My mother rolled her eyes. “Stepbrother. You aren’t related by blood. You’re only trying to find an excuse to dislike him.”
I laughed. “Oh, please. I’ve plenty reasons to dislike him.”
“What?”
I faltered, hesitating. “Well . . . first off he has a girl’s name. I simply do not like light-haired men. And he’s slightly annoying.”