It isn’t only this that contributes to my increasing disquiet. I don’t know if Alina really saw a shadow the day that we heard music. She claims that an ape came to warn her about the gagargi’s arrival, but that it was so faded by the distance traveled that it couldn’t tell her more before vanishing altogether. Two weeks and six days have passed since then with no further news. But it would be pure madness not to prepare for the imminent encounter by whatever means available to us.
The thread tightens. A frayed part has caught on the edge of a blooming midsummer rose. I will my fingers nimbler, the movements more precise. Each day, the unraveling becomes a task trickier, the secrets weigh heavier on my heart. Even so, my sisters must not learn what Sibilia and I are contriving. Elise has become unreliable. She thinks me selfish, that I should abandon our younger sisters and just return to the gagargi, that this simple act would end the bloodshed. Merile and Alina are too young to benefit from the hope that may yet turn false. For even with Sibilia’s help…
I am done with the unraveling. The curtains part slightly, and a thin sliver of night winds its way in. I inhale exaggeratedly slowly. My swan-self says the air tastes different, too moist and cold. I am tempted to believe her. The maples have turned bloodred, too early considering that it is still summer here. Perhaps it is because lately it has rained almost constantly. The house’s pale orange paint flakes, revealing the gray plaster beneath. The posters glued on the garden walls disintegrate in the moisture. The gagargi’s face is bubbling as if he were covered with warts.
He is not diseased, but a disease of which I must cleanse my empire.
“Please let it not rain.” Porcelain scratches against the floor as Sibilia pushes the chamber pot under our bed. She is concerned that we might not be met with our father’s gaze tonight, that instead she might need to guide me through the spell once more.
Though I have already smelled the air and know what awaits us, I press my ear against the curtains that wait to be parted. Some secrets are mine to keep, more dangerous than others. I think of the flooding lake, the ever-swelling puddles before the garden wall, the path that is fully submerged, the swans that nest by the lake, that can now swim all the way to the iron gate. They observe my sisters and me through the elaborate bars. As they sing throaty tunes, my swan-self yearns to sing back at them. But this I can’t tell to my sisters any more than I dare to reveal that I might not be able to bear children.
I say, “It doesn’t rain now.”
“Great.” Sibilia tiptoes to me as I slowly pull the curtains apart. I don’t know how many more times we can do so without fraying them too much. Perhaps once. Perhaps two times. No more than that, I think. “You won’t believe how glad I am that we’re not practicing the spell. I’m so worried about you accidentally saying it aloud and wasting all of our father’s power! Remember that once you do start pronouncing it, you can’t say another word before you unleash it. And every word you say after that will drain more and more of your strength.”
She has told me all that a dozen times before, but I smile at her as I reply, “I will remember that.”
The black pane is cracked, and beyond it lies the gap between the planks. I broke the glass the first time we parted the curtains, to perform the sacred rites of the midsummer night. The crack has remained the same since, but the gap grows wider every day. Soon, no doubt, the soldiers will grow suspicious of the magpie that seems so intent on nesting behind the planks. I am not wary of the bird, but curious. While I am tempted to believe that the witch and the magpie might be connected—perhaps the bird is her companion like the two dogs are Merile’s—that perhaps the Moon has chastised her for asking such a heavy fee from me, I have no proof one way or another. I haven’t met the witch since we visited her cottage. She hasn’t shown herself to me, and how could she with the guards shadowing my every step?
I can but rely on things I know are real. “I am ready.”
“Me too,” Sibilia replies.
Beyond the crack and the gap, the night is pale, just an imitation of the true darkness, but we know our father is still present. I nod at Sibilia, and she opens the book of scriptures. She hasn’t marked the page, but as she knows each section by heart, it doesn’t take her long to locate the right passage. She breathes rapidly as she prepares to read the holy words. She parts her lips, but no words come out. Instead, she pronounces a silent shape, powerful and arcane.
A ray of light slants in through the gap between the planks, the cracked black glass, and the parted curtains. It pierces the dimness of the room, paints a perfect circle on the floor, before my bare feet. I am pristine and white once more, even if only for a moment.
“Father,” I sing softly under my breath as Sibilia has instructed. “Make me stronger.”
The Moon’s light grows denser, thicker. And then I feel my father’s embrace, his thousand hands on my shoulders, caressing my cheeks, my hair. This is more than I deserve, and there are those who would be more deserving of his love. But it is I who must put an end to the gagargi’s twisted rule. I who has to face him. I who must be able to persuade him to let me bring my sisters with me.
For I will not leave them here, no matter what Elise may think the best course of action. As much as it is my duty to protect my people, I must also keep my sisters safe. And now that my father has blessed me with his presence, I know that I am right.
I close my eyes. I let my father see into my mind, into my heart. He is gentle and caring. He knows I am earnest, that my reasoning isn’t affected by selfish ambitions or lust for power. I hold only the best interest of my people and my sisters close to my heart. He will make me stronger. He will…
His presence feels different. Hurried and imperfect. Pale things, like sheets drying in wind, flicker before my eyes. They are like… Can they be? Yes, they are images, glimpsed from too far away, for too short a while.
“Father…” A ragged breath escapes my composure. I am not married to the Moon. What he yearns to show me, I can’t yet fully see.
My father withdraws, the images disappearing, but his touch doesn’t leave me vulnerable and lacking. Not like the one that hurt me so much.
“Celestia.” Sibilia’s voice brings me back.
I blink, but the images are gone. How long was I under my sister’s spell? For a minute or for an hour? I always lose track of time when connected to my father.
“How do you feel?” Sibilia asks, curious of her own powers and our father’s, too.
The circle at my feet has broken. The light trickling in is duller. The short night is over.
That day I first read my sister’s diary, I resolved to never lie to her again. But speaking half-truths isn’t the same thing. I reply, “Stronger.”
But as I once more sew the curtains together, I don’t know if I will ever be able to defy the gagargi. For it seems that even my father’s powers have a limit.
At first, I mistake the approaching, rumbling sounds for thunder. It has rained for weeks, after all. But then the clamor travels through the house, from the library to the hallway and up the two stairways. From that I know that the moment I have dreaded for so long has finally arrived.
Elise stirs on the sofa where she dozes these days when she isn’t playing her feeble games with the guards. She doesn’t seem to realize that regardless of how fond the guards grow of us, in the end they will have no choice but to obey their orders.
Sibilia lowers the book of scriptures on her lap. She squints past the smoke at the flickering flames. She tosses one more log in, though she knows it won’t make any difference.