Songbird

Chapter Eight - Sister

Wren was in her room trying to lift the book with her magic when there was a knock at the door. She sighed, concentration broken. It had been the same as ever, anyway—the book sat stubbornly on the desk.

"Come in."

A man entered the room, still wearing his overcoat. Wren's eyes widened at the sight of his salt-and-pepper hair and beard.

"Father!"

His smile was always fleeting, but warm. "Hello, Wren."

She felt guilty to admit it, but Father was her favorite. Even if he had given up on trying to stand up for her, he at least showed more affection than her mother.

"I didn't know you were getting back today," she said.

He took off his coat, draping it over an arm. "I wasn't supposed to," he said. "Most of my contacts were unavailable, so my business was settled earlier than I expected."

"And how were the Isles?"

Her father came from a family of wealthy merchants, and he still plied their trade, his business often taking him to far-off lands. The Middle Isles were one such destination, home to a seafaring people known for their exotic wares such as rare fruit, intricate jewelry of beads, pearls, and crystals, as well as spices and sugar.

"Beautiful as ever," he said. "I brought you something."

He reached into a pocket and withdrew a strand of multicolored beads, all shades of brilliant sapphire, emerald, and ruby, tied together on a braided string. A charm hung from the band, pewter in the shape of a bird in flight.

"Do you like it?"

"It's pretty!" She accepted it from him and undid the clasp.

"Oh, it's, ah—it's actually an anklet," he said. "That's the fashion in the Isles. Soon everyone will be wearing them here, as well, I'm sure of it."

She sat on the bed to fasten it around her ankle. "Thank you, Father."

He frowned at the scar on her cheek. "What happened to your face, Wren?"

"Just an accident, Father. A vase broke, and a piece of it cut me."

"One of your flares, as your tutor calls them?"

"Yes, Father."

He sighed. "Sometimes I wonder what we pay that woman for...but the rest of your studies are going well?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good. You're a smart girl, I never worry about that, at least. What of your suitors? Are any of them to your liking?"

"...No, Father. But perhaps, if I could meet someone on my own terms, then—"

But he was already shaking his head. "That isn't how things work, Wren. I'm sorry. But you have plenty of time, despite what your mother might say." He lowered his voice as if she might overhear. "So try to enjoy it, learn what parts of people you like and don't like. You will come to love someone, and if he has any sense, he'll love you too."

A face flashed through her mind, but it was not any of her suitors. "I'll try, Father."

He nodded. "Where is your sister? I haven't seen her."

Wren shrugged. "Still in Sunsea with her friends."

"That girl...she loves to party, doesn't she?" He sighed. "Well, I suppose she gets it from me."

She tilted her head. "Does she?"

"I was rather like her when I was her age," her father said. His eyes twinkled. "You didn't think she got it from her mother, did you?"