Sisters Three (Completed)

9. Morna (1/2)

A porcelain pitcher filled with water sat on a small table by the wall, forgotten by most in favor of the fine wine. Only Morna hovered by its side, staring over the lip at the liquid inside. Clear and dark, rippling each time someone walked by. Each ripple and wave in the surface of the water plucked at Morna's heartstrings, creating a silent melody inside her. She weaved slightly, offbeat with the quartet but perfectly in line with the whispers of the water.

It had been a long time since she'd stumbled upon the pitcher of water, though Morna couldn't tell exactly how long. She was aware of the time passing, but was unable to get a sense of how many minutes had piled up and how many hours had slipped by. The guests skirted by her and she only realized they were there when their clothes brushed her.

Vaguely, she remembered she could not give in to this feeling. It had been years since she'd let it go this far, and she regretted it as she belatedly fought against the pull. It was as if she tried to wake from a dead sleep or walk through a bog. Not only was her mind more fixated on the water in the pitcher than on the party around her, but her body physically felt heavy as she tried to shift her position to break eye contact.

Thankfully, a moment later and the warm and rough touch of Brenna snapped Morna back into the present, breaking the water spell and releasing her to the roaring noise of a ballroom in the middle of a waltz. The dancers seemed put on double-time after the sluggish way she'd been seeing them. The dizzying speed caused Morna to slightly stagger to one side, forcing her to grip Brenna's arm for support.

Brenna, for her part, barely seemed to notice. "Couldn't you see me waving at you?" she asked sharply. Her eyes scanned the room and settled on some group on the other side. Morna barely caught sight of a group of what looked like foreign men before Brenna yanked her through the crush and toward the bandstand. "The aunts and I need to talk to you."

A flush of panic colored Morna's cheeks. Did they notice her and the pitcher? She'd been so good about the water for years, but one slip up could be enough to turn her aunts and sister against her. Who wanted a girl controlled by something other than herself? Morna struggled against the wave of dizziness that increased as they pushed through swirling waltzers.

Aunt Nora and Aunt Perta stood a few feet away from Great Uncle Roma, and Morna immediately recognized their posture for the one that meant they were scheming. She'd seen it in full swing during the planning months for the spring bazaar last year, and now it was suddenly apparent in a party they'd planned themselves. Morna thought about darting out from Brenna's grasp and hiding in the house until they forgot about her incident with the water pitcher, but she knew better than to think it would actually work. So she stayed put and let her sister pull her right up to their aunts.

"So glad to see you've finally deigned to join us," Aunt Nora said with a sniff.

"I'm sorry," Morna began, but they didn't give her the chance to finish her apology.

Brenna bounced on her toes, her neck straining to see over heads toward the same corner she'd been looking at just before. "Do you think they'll stay the whole weekend? I don't think I'd be able to pull it off if I only had one day."

"They'll stay," Aunt Perta said firmly, "even if I have to lame their horses myself."

"Who are we talking about?" Morna asked, a small hope beginning to bloom when she realized they might not be concerned with her at all.

"The Glenfarrows," Brenna replied, jerking her chin toward the group of foreign men.

At the sound of the name of one of those families vying for the Anjeluund throne, Morna's eyes immediately whipped around to inspect them. Her excitement now matched Brenna's and she barely contained her own bounce. They'd all heard of Anjeluund. It was impossible not to have, and the Glenfarrows were spoken about in every tavern and inn along the highway in Ittal. It was like suddenly seeing a character from some myth or legend appear in the ballroom of their crumbling home. It just didn't seem possible.