Ella, by Jessica E. Kaiser, 6/9
The dried witchweed was disappearing.
Usually, Mother stripped the plants of perhaps half their leaves to dry and sell. More than that, and they might not survive to the next year. Fewer, and the abundance of greenery on one plant would choke the life from those near it. While the leaves dried, it was my duty, mine and Gerthe's, to check on them every so often. If they hung too long without being bundled, they tended to crumble, which Durren said made it difficult to transport large amounts. I had checked on the full racks of drying witchweed the week before.
Now I stood staring at racks containing perhaps a quarter of the witchweed that should have been there. Leaving the drying room, I went to speak with Durren. Maybe he had taken it early to fill an order. He was not in his office, where he spent most of his time. After a great deal of searching, I found him.
He was with Ella in the small sitting room. She stood in front of the fire, the flames nearly licking at her dress. Staring blankly in her direction, Durren sat on one of the chairs nearest the hearth. The room had an odd smell, one I could not identify but which turned my stomach. When I stepped into the room, Ella looked away from Durren's face in surprise and said, "What do you want, peasant?"
I looked down quickly, not wanting to meet her eyes. I feared Ella nearly as much as I hated her. "I need to speak with Durren."
"I have him," she said, and turned her attention back to her father.
Concerned about the missing witchweed, especially now that I had a suspicion of who might want it, I tried one more time. "Durren?"
His gaze did not waver from Ella. As best I could tell, he not only failed to hear me, he was completely unaware of my presence in the room. With a dismissive wave, Ella said, "Get out. I'm busy."
#
I tried to talk to Mother about the vanishing witchweed, but Mother had taken to her bed. She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, and said nothing. My words became pleas and the pleas became begging, and still she did not respond. Finally, angry and terrified, I shook her violently.
She said nothing, and when I let go of her, she fell back upon the bed, limp.
The witchweed in the garden was dying without her care. I tried to tend it myself, but it withered into brown, lifeless sticks, no matter what I did.
Since the time I had gone searching for Durren and found him in the drawing room with Ella, the glazed vacancy that I'd seen then upon his face had remained. I told him about Mother, that I thought she was dying. He stared through me and said nothing.
Gerthe and I wept, and clung to each other in our fear.
Ella's white skin became more vibrant as Mother's became duller.
So the weeks before the ball passed.
[previous] . 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . [next]