Conquering The Unbroken

Chapter 8

Sitting on the edge of the river bank, my knees tucked against my chest, I tip my head back and relish in the summer sun breaking through the thick trees overhead. Surrounding me is a dense forest of luscious green grass, thick brush, tall trees, and sparkling blue water clearer than any set of pale eyes.

I wiggle my bare toes in the shallow water. No training today, no power exertion, no planning or meetings between rebels or arguments I have to listen to between Renit and Bren. If only they'd get along or at least leave me out of their constant bickering. If I didn't know any better, I'd think them to be brothers rather than strangers that share one common entity. Me.

Today, the only thing I have to worry about is whether or not the fish will bite. I've constructed a pole from a stick, a piece of thin rope, and bait at the metal hook. After watching that bait sink to the floor of the river, I've sat down and waited—stripped myself down to a sleeveless top to warm my skin and removed my boots so I can relish in the chill of the river.

The only sounds are birds chirping, the water lapping against the surface, the faint rustle of the highest branches in a breeze. I haven't been out here in years, the last time being with my mother when we were brave enough to venture out on my birthday. I wanted to swim in the river; it was the only gift my mother could offer me, so we ventured away from Arego and spent hours silently swimming in the dark waters.

Silently, so no passing merchants or wagons heard us. Even back then, we still had to be careful. The general population kept our secrets, but we couldn't trust them beyond that. My mother said as such; the only witches or humans we could trust were those that chose Arego to be their home. When they embraced something as reckless and dangerous as the village we called home, they were family. The passerby residents of this kingdom were not nearly on the same standard.

Every time I look right, I spot the dark whorls of ink traveling up and down my arm. This is the first time I've allowed my skin to bask in the sunlight—I've tried to keep these markings hidden from myself and everyone else around me, but long-sleeved tunics do not bode well for the summer months. I've sweated myself out of every piece of clothing I've pulled from the armoire in my old room shared with Celestine. The only thing left is her hand-woven dresses that I can't bring myself to touch. My mother's handiwork will live on when my sister sports those works, but not me.

I can't allow myself to sink farther into this lost state. Wearing clothes crafted by my mother's hands would do that.

I glance down the river bank to the cluster of berry bushes. Their branches shake, their leaves twitching in response to motion, and I roll my eyes. "You can't pick every berry off the bush," I shout.

Celestine's head pops up from behind the leaves and she frowns. I haven't seen my sister this carefree in months. The castle ripped that element from her, painted by Arego's safety and distance from such a cruel king, but now that she's back home, her true home, that carefree look has returned.

Her auburn hair is braided back and the handwoven dress she took from our old armoire hugs her petite figure perfectly. The skirts sway around her knees and when she comes around the bush, careful not to catch on any long branches, she tucks them against her body. The cloth bodice tightens her already small waist and, like me, her feet are bare through the thick, green grass growing on the river bank.

I've grown so used to the sight of her without shoes over the years that it's hard for me to remember that she's not a witch of the gardens anymore. She still carries the tendencies with her after so many years of mastering that power, but underneath her skin, everything has changed. Celestine is still herself within her heart and mind. The witch has changed and the magic, unsettlingly strong, has taken over everything else.