child, and before my father had taken my brother, sister, and me back to Goshawk’s Hollow.
I hardly saw her after that, only an occasional visit here and there, which, rather than sating me, only made me hungry for more. Two years ago, my father had taken me to Trianon to see her perform. I couldn’t remember the name of the opera, or even what it had been about, but I could picture my mother standing on the stage, her crimson ringlets spilling over her elaborately costumed shoulders clear as day. The opera house had been full to the brim, or at least it had seemed so to me, and yet the audience had been utterly silent and still, captivated by the sound of her voice. I’d never seen anything like it before or since. When the performance had ended, every single person stood, clapping, cheering, and tossing roses onto the stage, and I had never wanted anything as badly as to be her. Every night since I had dreamed of singing on that stage and curtseying at the end to the roaring accolades of the crowd.
The letter tore away from my fingertips, and my eyes snapped open in time to see my sister run out of the barn door, the paper clutched in her fist.
“Josette!” I shrieked and tore after her.
We sprinted through the yard, boots splattering mud up against our skirts. I was older, but Joss was taller, and not even the anger flooding my veins was enough fuel to catch her. “Give it back!”
She only laughed, the sound filling me with a twisted combination of fury and fear. I needed that let-ter. I had to get it back. Illogical or not, I felt that if I lost the paper where her promise was so carefully inked, that the promise would cease to exist at all.
The dogs ran after us, their barks adding to the cacophony. My father shouted from the distance, but whatever he said was drowned out by all the noise. Josette’s fist was crumpling my letter into a tighter ball with each step she took. At best, she’d hide it from me, at worst… My eyes burned with a frustration I could scarcely explain, my anxiety building like steam in a kettle until it exploded out of my throat. “Joss, stop!” The wind rose, catching the two words and rushing them through the yard. Everything went still.
The animals fell silent. The dogs stopped chasing. My sister’s legs ceased moving midstride, and she top-pled onto the ground.
I stopped running, my chest heaving in and out as I stared at her still form. “Joss?” What had happened?
Very slowly, she turned her face to look at me, tears streaking her cheeks. “She isn’t coming, Cecile.” She scrambled to her feet and ran into the house.
Her words made my stomach clench, but I went after her, barely managing to cut her off before she made it to the stairs. Forced into the kitchen, she scurried over to the far side of the table.
“What do you girls think you’re doing?” Gran demanded, slamming down the bread dough she was kneading. “You’re tracking mud all over my clean floor, and both of you have chores to do.”
“Joss took my letter!” I shouted.
Gran hefted a wooden spoon. “Josette de Troyes, give your sister back her letter.”
Joss shook her head rapidly, her cheeks flushed red. Why was she doing this? She was going to ruin everything.
“Give it to me!” I demanded, holding out one hand. It was no wonder our mother never came to see us, why she never invited us into the city. Why would she want to? Why would she waste her time on two muddy squabbling farm girls in the middle of nowhere when she could be dining nightly with Trianon’s finest? And why wouldn’t my idiot sister understand that if we ever wanted to see her, we had to be better.
“I won’t” The vehemence of Joss’ voice startled me out of my silent rant. “Not until you promise to stop watching for her. To quit waiting for her. To quit wanting her in our lives!”
Silence hung in the room as we stared each other down, it dawning on me for the first time that maybe my sister didn’t feel
I hardly saw her after that, only an occasional visit here and there, which, rather than sating me, only made me hungry for more. Two years ago, my father had taken me to Trianon to see her perform. I couldn’t remember the name of the opera, or even what it had been about, but I could picture my mother standing on the stage, her crimson ringlets spilling over her elaborately costumed shoulders clear as day. The opera house had been full to the brim, or at least it had seemed so to me, and yet the audience had been utterly silent and still, captivated by the sound of her voice. I’d never seen anything like it before or since. When the performance had ended, every single person stood, clapping, cheering, and tossing roses onto the stage, and I had never wanted anything as badly as to be her. Every night since I had dreamed of singing on that stage and curtseying at the end to the roaring accolades of the crowd.
The letter tore away from my fingertips, and my eyes snapped open in time to see my sister run out of the barn door, the paper clutched in her fist.
“Josette!” I shrieked and tore after her.
We sprinted through the yard, boots splattering mud up against our skirts. I was older, but Joss was taller, and not even the anger flooding my veins was enough fuel to catch her. “Give it back!”
She only laughed, the sound filling me with a twisted combination of fury and fear. I needed that let-ter. I had to get it back. Illogical or not, I felt that if I lost the paper where her promise was so carefully inked, that the promise would cease to exist at all.
The dogs ran after us, their barks adding to the cacophony. My father shouted from the distance, but whatever he said was drowned out by all the noise. Josette’s fist was crumpling my letter into a tighter ball with each step she took. At best, she’d hide it from me, at worst… My eyes burned with a frustration I could scarcely explain, my anxiety building like steam in a kettle until it exploded out of my throat. “Joss, stop!” The wind rose, catching the two words and rushing them through the yard. Everything went still.
The animals fell silent. The dogs stopped chasing. My sister’s legs ceased moving midstride, and she top-pled onto the ground.
I stopped running, my chest heaving in and out as I stared at her still form. “Joss?” What had happened?
Very slowly, she turned her face to look at me, tears streaking her cheeks. “She isn’t coming, Cecile.” She scrambled to her feet and ran into the house.
Her words made my stomach clench, but I went after her, barely managing to cut her off before she made it to the stairs. Forced into the kitchen, she scurried over to the far side of the table.
“What do you girls think you’re doing?” Gran demanded, slamming down the bread dough she was kneading. “You’re tracking mud all over my clean floor, and both of you have chores to do.”
“Joss took my letter!” I shouted.
Gran hefted a wooden spoon. “Josette de Troyes, give your sister back her letter.”
Joss shook her head rapidly, her cheeks flushed red. Why was she doing this? She was going to ruin everything.
“Give it to me!” I demanded, holding out one hand. It was no wonder our mother never came to see us, why she never invited us into the city. Why would she want to? Why would she waste her time on two muddy squabbling farm girls in the middle of nowhere when she could be dining nightly with Trianon’s finest? And why wouldn’t my idiot sister understand that if we ever wanted to see her, we had to be better.
“I won’t” The vehemence of Joss’ voice startled me out of my silent rant. “Not until you promise to stop watching for her. To quit waiting for her. To quit wanting her in our lives!”
Silence hung in the room as we stared each other down, it dawning on me for the first time that maybe my sister didn’t feel
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