The Merchant's Daughters

Chapter Four

  The silver tea set clattered noisily in Renee's hand as she carried it to the dinner table. She bit at her lip until she tasted blood, but even the pain could not rid her of her fear, for each time she dared a glance at the stranger and he smiled that awful smile, it was renewed. She couldn't understand how Cecile could stay so calm. At least she could see fear in Helene's eyes, though she hid it well with her anger. Helene stood by the fireplace, an antique sword from their father's collection in hand. She pointed it at the ugly, cloaked creature, spitting threats. Cecile, on the other hand, sat quietly right across from the monster, her hands folded in front of her, staring directly into his face. Either she was being incredibly brave for their sakes or she had yet to accept that this nightmare was real.

Helene stormed up to the monster's side and brandished the sword, holding the point of it at his throat. "Speak, Devil. What have you done with our father?" She asked, glowering down the blade at him.

"I find it hard to talk with a blade at my neck, Elder Miss Bissette." The monster smirked up at her, seemingly unconcerned about his wellbeing.

"Helene, sit down. You aren't helping." Cecile ordered. Her voice was gentle but firm. Her eyes never broke away from their visitor, who was looking around at them with great interest. She glanced at Renee. She saw her trembling by the table, the tea set still shaking in her grasp as she stared at the monster's smile and all the sharp teeth it revealed. "You too, Renee," Cecile said softly, coaxing her to her chair.

For a brief moment, Renee saw a flicker of panic in Cecile's eyes and she understood. Shutting down and building up walls was what Cecile did to cover her insecurities and fears. It was what she had always done. It didn't mean that she didn't feel those emotions, it was quite the contrary, but she knew that showing how she truly felt would cause the others even greater distress. This was just like when their mother had died. Renee, Helene and their father could do nothing but cry. They would have drowned in their grief if not for their sturdy, resilient Cecile, who put aside her own heartbreak to look after them all. Renee slumped into her chair, beside Cecile. Her sister slid her hand into hers and she held onto it for dear life, hoping that her strength would somehow rub off on her.

Helene was not quite so obedient. She did lower her sword, but she couldn't bring herself to sit at the table with that thing. Her heart felt like it had fallen into her feet. They were so heavy she could not move them. "Talk," She barked at the stranger, silently hoping that he would not notice how unsteady the sword was in her grip.

Armel was so happy to be among mortal women again. He felt like dancing on the moon! Human women were far better company than Fairies...and more interesting. He was doubly delighted that they were all relatively of marriageable age. The little one was a bit too young, for Armel's liking, but not overly so. She would grow and Armel did have some patience...at least when it came to women. Truth be told, when the merchant had mentioned having three daughters, Armel had pictured three mirror images of the same girl. He was pleasantly surprised at how very different they all were. The Elder was fiery and bold, with the restless soul of a child. The Younger was nothing like that. He imagined that she was a rather timid young girl, even when she wasn't being scared out of her wits by monstrous visitors. There were several bookshelves around the fireplace, filled with books that were far too advanced for young women. The merchant didn't look like a scholar to him, nor did the two elder girls; certainly not the one with the sword. The younger, however, bore ink stains on her fingers and the way she stared at him made him feel like a specimen, an oddity that she couldn't rationally explain. No wonder she was so upset, his existence disregarded all her scientific knowledge. It was the middle sister that most concerned him. He couldn't tell an awful lot about her. She was too stone faced. But there was one thing that he knew with absolute certainty. She was a mother hen. The other girls kept glancing at her, pleadingly, as if she could save them and he had little doubt that she would do just that if it came down to it. The Elder had the sword, but it was the Middle that was armed.