A Curse of Roses by Diana Pinguicha

Author:Diana Pinguicha [Pinguicha, Diana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2020-12-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Paranoia

The days started to blend together in an interminable haze of failure and frustration.

She woke up next to Faty, and they changed out of their nightclothes. Denis came in the morning, and while Yzabel ate, Faty would leave to store more wood by the fireplace, empty the chamber pot. Refill the room’s jug of water. Every time, she’d return with wearier eyes and leave with unease scrunching her shoulders. The men kept bothering her, and although Faty brushed it away, the discomfort was evident in her grimaces. After some insistence on Yzabel’s part, Fatyan began to take Lucas with her, initial fear offset by how effective a deterrent the dog was.

Four or so outings later, and Faty no longer referred to Lucas as a wolf-bear-thing. From time to time, Yzabel would catch the Moura petting Lucas with a distracted hand while she scowled at the mirror as she tried to access her own powers. To see her precious dog and her precious friend finally accepting each other filled Yzabel’s heart with so much warmth she almost forgot her current predicament.

Almost.

Once he’d deemed Yzabel had eaten enough, Denis would leave. Fatyan would break fast then, and Yzabel would take whatever was left, turn it into flowers, and try to change it back to whatever food it’d been. But she was still too overcome with grief and anger, and the sheer despair of it all burned every flower to a crisp.

The scene would repeat itself at lunch, then at dinner. By the end of the first week, Yzabel had attuned herself to Denis’s comings and goings. Thrice a day he came to her, each visit more miserable and strained than the last. Yzabel could’ve cut him down had she been able to take the tension and fashion it as a weapon; she seriously considered sticking him with the letter opener, at least.

Every time, he told her, “If you want out, you know what must be done.”

Every time, she replied with, “I refuse to let you coerce me into borrowing Fatyan so she can spy for you.”

And once Denis left, Fatyan would always say, “I can do it, Yza.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me. You shouldn’t even have to stay anymore.” Her voice wavered, and bewilderment pinched her brow as she looked out the window. “I’m in control of the gift. You’re not bound to me anymore.”

“But I am.” Fatyan’s approach shimmered through Yzabel like summer sunshine casting away cold shadows, wrapping warmth around her waist, laying the weight of her head on the back of her neck. “Our bargain won’t be met until you turn roses into bread and prove mastery of the sahar.”

Another reminder of her failures. Bitterness rose to her tongue, disappointment sunk her stomach. She kept expecting Fatyan to say something different, to hear her say she was staying with her because she wanted to, not because she had to.

On Second-Fair, while the kettle warmed in the fireplace and Faty had left to grab broas from the kitchens, a gentle rapping nudged Yzabel from her place at the table.

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