Chapter Text
2 Nisan, Year of Roses
The dates on the crumbling black granite had always ignited young Serenity’s curiosity, though she often wondered if it was wrong to be so fascinated by something like headstones. The births recorded on them were almost exactly two years apart, all in the warm, rain-soaked month of Mejju, the death dates all the same—25 Iúil, Year of Honeysuckle. The bodies had been interred beneath the long, wavering grass over fifty years before. An eerie chill leaked into her blood every time she looked at the final tombstone, when she saw that the youngest had only been six.
The same age she had been when she had started seeing them.
Serenity herself was a cross-born, her mother a fairy from an old, high-ranking Felidae family, her father an elf from a distant branch of the current Xidora dynasty. The large island her family had called home for three generations sat in the Torrid Sea, just off the northernmost point of Majaan, the dragoran homeland. The three nations were separated by vast chains of cloud-cloaked mountains, the few roads joining them fiercely guarded to ensure the safety of travelers.
She swallowed hard, fear fluttering at her ribs like a caged bird as she ripped her gaze from those faded, neatly chiseled dates, forcing herself to focus on the flowers growing around the short row of graves, windblown bunches of pink and white lavender she had never seen anywhere else.
The small dip between hills was nestled along the southern shore, a place she had discovered by chance on one of her many days spent exploring. It was oddly peaceful in the dappled, garden-scented shade, so long as she didn’t dwell on the fact that four young girls had perished there.
The names carved so carefully into the weathered stone were lovely—the eldest, Lazuli, then Penina, and lastly, Soraya and Ula, a pair of twins. Serenity rose to her knees in the overgrown grass, brushing away the dried leaves that had settled on the grave markers, tracing the numbers and words that had been carved so long ago.
If only the quiet that reigned in that tiny valley were present on the rest of the island.
They were never more than flashes. The glimpse of a neatly plaited braid tied with ribbon disappearing past a corner in the dark. The vaguest hint of an unclear reflection hovering over her shoulder if she dared to glance in a window or mirror after sunset. The faint echo of a child’s laughter or sobs as she drifted off to sleep.
Wisps of a familiar scent would often slip beneath her bedroom door during storms, the ghost of the lavender surrounding her now. It brought some comfort against the pounding rain and crashing thunder, the screaming wind, the feeling contrasting sharply with the fear that an uninvited presence had taken up residence in her family’s home.
“Serenity!”
She leapt to her feet, the short, blocky heels of her sensible shoes catching on the hem of her long skirt in her rush to turn. A large, steady pair of hands caught her neatly beneath her arms, and she looked up into glinting amber eyes. Her own blue-violet ones narrowed at the neat fringe of deep blue hair, the teasing smile on thin, pale lips—her eldest brother, Sebastian.
He made sure she had regained her footing before he let go, still grinning as he stepped back and watched her put herself to rights. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his worn slacks, blowing a lock of hair out of his face.
“Mother’s been searching for you all over the place,” he said. “You shouldn’t run off without telling anybody.”
His air of mischief faded as he glanced over the graves, his lips pressing into a firm line.
“You’ve come out here every day for over a fortnight now,” he went on. “What could be so special about these?”
Serenity crossed her arms, pouting up at him.
“Soraya, Ula and I share the same birth, Seba,” she returned sharply. “And they never make fun of me!”
Sebastian gazed at her, then shook her head, sweeping her up into his arms like she didn’t weigh a thing.
“You really are an odd girl, Serenity,” he said, brushing a spray of tawny curls from her forehead. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, it just means your idea of ‘normal’ is different from most people’s.”
He started up the ill-tended stone path that had led her to the graves on that first day, slipping on loose gravel as he crested the hill. He paused there, both of them breathing the warm air deeply as they stared out across the open, unkempt field. The old manor house in the distance was one of the only buildings on the island, the other a carriage house that had been turned into a beautiful little cottage. They and their siblings had often played there as young children, creating stories about the people who had lived on Gabbro before them, and who might live there once they were gone.
He didn’t put her down until they reached the main drive, paved with cross-shaped bricks in white and pale gray. She loved how they sparkled in sunlight and glimmered in moonlight, and used to imagine it was the path to an ancient kingdom soaked in magic. The road curved with the landscape, passing through a massive wrought-iron gate, curled over with the same fragrant wisteria vines that twisted across the rest of the stately fence.
She remembered when she’d been frightened by those tall black spears, set in a light red brick wall that reached her chest. Now she saw them as an army standing guard before a magnificent palace, keeping constant watch over the princes and princesses that made their home within.
Sunlight glinted off two dozen spotless windows, and she shielded her eyes from the glare as she craned her neck to look into the eaves. She hoped to spot the baby birds she had heard while slipping out of their eldest sister’s birthday party earlier that afternoon.
“Who lived here before us, Seba?”
The question had spun through her mind ever since she had found the graves, and she was sure it would never leave her be until she knew. He pushed a hand through his shoulder-length hair, then rubbed the back of his neck.
“All I know for sure is they sold the island after a flood, or some other disaster,” he began. He shrugged, letting his arm fall to his side. “I guess they thought the estate wasn’t worth rebuilding, with all the damage it sustained.”
He headed inside, leaving the door open for her. She had hardly stepped on the threshold when bitterly cold lightning shot up her leg, her other foot rooted to the woven mat just outside. Her darting gaze was forced onto the shimmer of a shadow, caught in a stream of sunlight dancing with dust motes. The faintest outline of a round little face, near colorless eyes burning straight into the depths of her soul.
“Father is getting the car repaired tomorrow.”
Sebastian turned back to her, his voice breaking whatever spell had taken hold of her. The face she thought she had seen in the shifting rays of golden light had vanished.
“Mother is taking us to see Aunt Giada in the city the day after,” he went on, as though nothing were amiss. “I’ll ask if she can drop us off at the big library downtown, it’s bound to have something.”
Serenity nodded absently, her mind trapped in the moment that spectral face had faded from view, an icy shiver snaking through her veins as the feeling was forced back into her legs. She followed him to the kitchen and sat down at the table, still piled with their sister’s gifts, but she paid it no mind. All she could do was wonder which of those long dead girls that spirit might have been, and why she had chosen now to make herself known.