Delial’s first spell made her skin itch and tingle but she held it as long as she could beneath her mother’s approving smile. Cupped in her hands was a spark of flame no brighter than a match yet it lit up Lyra’s face like a sun.
Her father was not quite as pleased.
“Learnin’ tricks, are ya?â€
Delial smiled. She was young and these simple things amused her.
“Th’ matron says yer face is scarce as of late.†Garren had been reclining on an old chair in the sitting room with one of his books in hand, but he leaned forward to regard his daughter and the witchlight in her hands. “Tell the truth, my little love, an’ with none o’ yer ma’s spinnin’ tae it.â€
“It’s borin’,†said Delial as piteously as she could manage. “It’s borin’ an’ it’s no fun at all. What’m I goin’ to do with maths? I can count. She makes us look at these horrible little squiggly things an’--â€
“Ye’ll learn an’ be better fer it,†her father interjected sternly. His face dipped that he stared at her from beneath the sharp curve of his brow. “You an’ I and yer mother too, aye, we all know yer too wild a thing and we know who’s tae blame fer that. But ye’ll not have a good life without yer learnin’.â€
“But I am learnin’--â€
“From the matron, my love, an’ yer books. Not that… that woman. It’s ungodly things she does when no one’s lookin’, and I won’t stand fer my daisy girl gettin’ caught up in that. Not s'long as I breathe.â€
“But magic--â€
“A time,†his voice cut sharply, so sharply that Delial nearly jumped. “... A time an’ a place fer magic. What’ll ye do with a spot of light,†he gestured to her hands and the ghost of waning flame she held, “An’ no wits in yer head?†It seemed only to occur to him then that he had startled his daughter, and he gave a ponderous sigh, like a bear easing itself back upon its haunches. “My little love… I just want what’s best for my girl. Aye? Can y’see that?â€
Delial was not certain. She folded her hands as the warmth in them faded and shuffled her feet. The silence that fell between them was brief but it was heavy. Garren stared at his girl, the only daughter to his name, and wondered when it was that he had lost her.
“Yer young now but that’ll change some day. I’ll have a talk with yer mother,†he said and he settled back into his chair, but not after he gave his daughter a soft pat atop her dark curls. “We’ll… see what we can do, aye? If you can promise me that ye’ll try yer best with the matron. That fair?â€
“Aye, papa.†Delial fidgeted and stared at the shapes her toes left in the rug. “I’ll try.†Then, “I love you.â€
“Love ya, too, my little ducklin’. Now, go on. Yer pa’s got studyin’ to do as well an’ he’s not near as sharp as ‘is girl.†He did not smile at her for Garren Blackstone was not predisposed to smiling at anyone, but his voice was still warm and comforting as it always was when was satisfied that he had won. His attention had already returned to his book and he did not look up again when his daughter’s footsteps padded back out into the hall and around the corner.
Around the corner, that is, and straight into her mother’s skirts. Lyra’s finger was pressed against Delial’s lips before she knew what had even happened, silencing her before she could think to speak. When she looked up, her mother was smiling down at her. There was no telling how long she had been there or if she had overheard the conversation. She did not appear to be upset, however, not that Delial could tell. Lyra’s default expression was gentle like that of a sunbathing cat, warm yet indifferent in a way Delial could not yet recognize.
Lyra smiled at her daughter and squeezed the corners of her eyes mischievously and Delial could not help but return it, knowing that they had another secret shared between them. Then silent and without a single word, with a slender hand cupped around Delial’s shoulder, they slunk away and left Garren Blackstone to his history.
Her father was not quite as pleased.
“Learnin’ tricks, are ya?â€
Delial smiled. She was young and these simple things amused her.
“Th’ matron says yer face is scarce as of late.†Garren had been reclining on an old chair in the sitting room with one of his books in hand, but he leaned forward to regard his daughter and the witchlight in her hands. “Tell the truth, my little love, an’ with none o’ yer ma’s spinnin’ tae it.â€
“It’s borin’,†said Delial as piteously as she could manage. “It’s borin’ an’ it’s no fun at all. What’m I goin’ to do with maths? I can count. She makes us look at these horrible little squiggly things an’--â€
“Ye’ll learn an’ be better fer it,†her father interjected sternly. His face dipped that he stared at her from beneath the sharp curve of his brow. “You an’ I and yer mother too, aye, we all know yer too wild a thing and we know who’s tae blame fer that. But ye’ll not have a good life without yer learnin’.â€
“But I am learnin’--â€
“From the matron, my love, an’ yer books. Not that… that woman. It’s ungodly things she does when no one’s lookin’, and I won’t stand fer my daisy girl gettin’ caught up in that. Not s'long as I breathe.â€
“But magic--â€
“A time,†his voice cut sharply, so sharply that Delial nearly jumped. “... A time an’ a place fer magic. What’ll ye do with a spot of light,†he gestured to her hands and the ghost of waning flame she held, “An’ no wits in yer head?†It seemed only to occur to him then that he had startled his daughter, and he gave a ponderous sigh, like a bear easing itself back upon its haunches. “My little love… I just want what’s best for my girl. Aye? Can y’see that?â€
Delial was not certain. She folded her hands as the warmth in them faded and shuffled her feet. The silence that fell between them was brief but it was heavy. Garren stared at his girl, the only daughter to his name, and wondered when it was that he had lost her.
“Yer young now but that’ll change some day. I’ll have a talk with yer mother,†he said and he settled back into his chair, but not after he gave his daughter a soft pat atop her dark curls. “We’ll… see what we can do, aye? If you can promise me that ye’ll try yer best with the matron. That fair?â€
“Aye, papa.†Delial fidgeted and stared at the shapes her toes left in the rug. “I’ll try.†Then, “I love you.â€
“Love ya, too, my little ducklin’. Now, go on. Yer pa’s got studyin’ to do as well an’ he’s not near as sharp as ‘is girl.†He did not smile at her for Garren Blackstone was not predisposed to smiling at anyone, but his voice was still warm and comforting as it always was when was satisfied that he had won. His attention had already returned to his book and he did not look up again when his daughter’s footsteps padded back out into the hall and around the corner.
Around the corner, that is, and straight into her mother’s skirts. Lyra’s finger was pressed against Delial’s lips before she knew what had even happened, silencing her before she could think to speak. When she looked up, her mother was smiling down at her. There was no telling how long she had been there or if she had overheard the conversation. She did not appear to be upset, however, not that Delial could tell. Lyra’s default expression was gentle like that of a sunbathing cat, warm yet indifferent in a way Delial could not yet recognize.
Lyra smiled at her daughter and squeezed the corners of her eyes mischievously and Delial could not help but return it, knowing that they had another secret shared between them. Then silent and without a single word, with a slender hand cupped around Delial’s shoulder, they slunk away and left Garren Blackstone to his history.
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