Chapter 1 - The Start of Things

Emilia was cooking in her cauldron, trying very hard not to think about what was weighing on her mind. If she concentrated on what she was doing, it simply lurked, but a troubled mind can make for troubled food, and this was her favourite thing to make for her family. She simply loved making things for them, especially when she was feeling down like this.

Moving out had been a big leap. It had taken a lot of persuading Darrel, which she still didn’t feel right about, but living with Minerva had been too taxing while she was pregnant. It was all rules and regulations about how she should raise her children, in the Charm way, and while she understood that preserving tradition was important for the family, it had been too much. Not that it stopped much once they did move out.

“We can have our own space?” she whispered. “Yeah, right.”

Because this house was not just any house, oh no. This was a house that belonged to the Charm family, with four rooms. The third was a guest bedroom, Minerva had told her, without a hint of smugness. She’d just been very practical.

“We might have sold it anyway, but Darrel says that you are looking to move. A wise decision.” She gave her a shrewd look. “We wouldn’t want any magical mishaps around the family home, but it’s close by. I will be on hand.”

And wasn’t she just. Even now, when Maranda was just a toddler, she would come by and almost inspect her, narrowing her eyes.

“She doesn’t much take after her father, does she?” she’d remarked. “Not like the twins.”

“She’s a little Emilia,” Darrel had said, lovingly. His mother hadn’t responded, but she’d stroked Maranda’s head absent-mindedly, as if performing some task. Emilia had cried, later on. But the message was clear. The twins were her priority. Maranda was, to her, not as important as Rhea and Marcus, both of whom she urged to study and learn the arts. Rhea was keen, but she and Marcus both adored Voidcritters too, which their grandmother highly disapproved of. Emilia had found herself defiantly buying as much as she could manage for their hobby.

She poured pepper into the cauldron, trying not to think too much. Just cook. Cook and forget.

Unaware of all the troubles on their mother’s mind, the twins were happy to dive in to the meal. The two of them had had an excellent day at school, something they were happy to chatter about between themselves.

“Me and Chanel had a battle today!” Rhea said, proudly. “You should’ve seen, I was really good. Why didn’t you come to the club?”

“Because I was busy,” Marcus said, grinning. “They just got the new Greywall book in at the library, and I had to check it out before stupid Ciara got her hands on it.”

“Ciara isn’t stupid!” Rhea waved her fork around. “You know it’s awesome not being the only twins in our year.”

“As if. Ciara’s super stupid.” Marcus stuck his tongue out. “She always acts weird at gatherings, too. Like she’s a big deal or something.”

“She likes the same things as you do,” his sister pointed out, only to have him blow a raspberry at her before continuing to eat.

It was true that Ciara always acted a bit snobby at magical gatherings, but she was alright at school. At gatherings, she and her father, who was the Sage of Untamed Magic, would be quite apart. It did sometimes feel like she was ignoring you, but Rhea had spoken with Grandmother about it.

Grandmother Minerva had told her in no uncertain terms that Ciara was acting just as she should during gatherings. As the daughter of the Sage, she had to adhere to tradition and ceremony, according to Grandmother. Rhea stuck her fork into her macaroni.

“Anyway, Chanel’s been training up her Yorier. She wants to enter the tournament at school. What do you think?”

This caught her brother’s interest. It might be a school tournament, but it was still a tournament.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t sound so bad. And if Chanel’s gonna be there, it might be okay.” He grinned. “Yeah, sure. Are you going to enter?”

“I want to!” Rhea smiled. “Besides, I can always beat you.”

“You wish!”

And so, the bickering continued as they ate. 

Rhea couldn’t help but think on what her brother had said. It did bug her when she couldn’t speak to Ciara, and even though Ciara and Chanel were twins, Chanel would never have ignored her at a gathering. But then, that was the issue. Chanel wasn’t a spellcaster. Chanel was, like her mother, unmagical by nature, and even though she smiled and said that she didn’t really mind, she sometimes talked about it at sleepovers with Rhea. It bothered her that she couldn’t go to the Realm with her father. She wanted to know what it was like, and even though she could be taught, it made her feel like Ciara was better than her.

Rhea had tried to tell her friend about it – the big cauldrons, the large bookcases, the places she’d only see when her parents took her there for official business. She even tried to tell her that children weren’t really encouraged there because of the nature of magic, and it was really only for certain ceremonies that you were allowed to go. But she knew Chanel still felt upset.

It was, really, much easier to talk about Voidcritters than about magic. The same could be said for her brother. He might have magic, but sometimes he preferred talking about Greywall and Voidcritters than talking about the gatherings or even the Realm.

After dinner, Rhea headed back to her room. Maybe she was just imagining it, but the macaroni had seemed a little more peppery than usual, and something about that had made her uneasy.

Was Ciara not nice? Rhea and she hung out all the time, usually because Rhea liked Chanel. They played games together, and sometimes Ciara would come to sleepovers with Chanel, and they made bracelets with each other. Sure, Ciara didn’t like video games, and would prefer to read rather than play Voidcritters, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t nice. She’d join in when theywere doing things together, and she wasn’t ever really mean, even if she could be bossy sometimes. No, Marcus was just being Marcus, Rhea decided. Ciara was just...Ciara, and Marcus was Marcus. That was all there was to it. 

In the nursery, Maranda was settling down to sleep, while her mother bent over her. At least here, in this room, that weight seemed to leave Emilia’s shoulders. Her daughter’s eyes were closed, and that wrongness she had felt seemed far removed.

“Sleep well, darling,” she whispered. “Sweet dreams.”