H.L. Burke - Coiled

Coiled

By H. L. Burke

2017 H. L. Burke

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Uncommon Universes Press LLC

621 N. Mulberry St.

Berwick, PA 18603

www.uncommonuniverses.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Content editing by Janeen Ippolito www.janeenippolito.com

Line editing and proofreading by Sarah McConahy

Cover Design by Julia Busko www.juliabusko.com

ISBN-13: 978-0-9974099-8-7

Dedication

To my Matt, who showed me the gentleness of true love.

Chapter One

H er mothers words echoed in Laidras thoughts. No skin must show. What cant be covered in cloth must be cast in shadow. She pulled her hood farther over her face and tucked her gloves into her sleeves.

Laughter rose from the other side of the curtain. One of the servant boys, eager to impress Laidras sister Ellea, had captured a songbird. Princess Ellea had spent the last hour poking the creature to make it cry out, throwing rocks at it when the poking ceased to suffice. Eyes sparkling, she tossed the bird into the air, laughing when its broken wings sent it plummeting to the marble floor. Laidra watched through a moth hole, cringing. She turned away when she could bear it no longer.

The birds frantic cries grew fainter and farther apart. She hazarded a peek.

Elleas perfect complexion shone as if she were carved of the same marble that adorned the hall. Some of her luxurious black curls escaped her bun to tumble around her high cheekbones. The servant boy, Reven, gazed at her, hands clasped as if in worship.

I tire of this. Ellea dropped the bird and started towards the door. Reven blocked her path, but she cuffed him on the shoulder and brushed by, the train of her scarlet mantle sweeping the floor behind her.

Reven touched where shed struck him as if the blow were a saints blessing.

Tell my maid to ready my chamber. I will bathe and change before dinner, Ellea called out.

Reven scurried to obey.

Laidra sank against the wall, listening to their fading steps. Reven wasnt a cruel youth. Shed seen him grooming horses and feeding stray cats with a gentle touch. The witchcraft of Elleas beauty, however, twisted all souls.

Pushing aside the curtain, Laidra stepped into the gallery, a great open space featuring small marble images of her ancestors on pedestals, ornate tapestries, and niches with gilded idols representing the Olevan gods. Like in all of her sisters favorite rooms, mirrors filled the empty spaces between the artwork. From her position, Laidra spied a dozen reflections of herself, all shrouded like corpses in ghostly white. She approached the bird, her sandaled feet silent on the polished stone.

The lump of feathers did not stir. Her stomach churned. Had she come too late? Had her unwillingness to face her sister robbed the bird of its one chance at life? She scooped it up.

A faint, frenzied heartbeat thrummed in the creature's chest. She slipped off a glove and stroked its matted feathers. Her fingertips warmed, heat rising from the magic in her blood. The bird stiffened, then its wings fluttered. The power beneath Laidra's skin caused her flesh to tingle as healing poured into the bird. The creature's head turned this way and that, its body so fragile she feared to clasp it firmly. With its constant twitching and clawed feet scratching at her palms, it was all she could do to hold on to it until she reached the window. When she threw open her hands, the bird shot into the sky.

Laidras heart eased. An itch on her wrist drew her eyes to a patch of tan skin just as it turned sickly white. A dark, wiry hair sprung from a new wart on her thumb. She sighed and hurriedly replaced her glove.

You cant help yourself, can you? a dry voice asked.

Ducking her head, Laidra turned. A wrinkled old woman stood in the doorwayNera, the chief maid.

It was hurt.

It was a bird. Many fall from the sky, and no one notices.

Someone does, Laidra whispered. She cleared her throat. Its not as if I can get any uglier. No one looks at me anyway.

Aye, but if the queen ... Nera stopped and shook her head. Just dont let her find out. She sighed. Your fathers guests will be here soon. Do you need to eat?

Ill take my meal in the tower. Ill go now. They wont see me.

You know, if you stopped using your gift, the curse might loosen its hold. Nera strode over and put her hand on Laidras shoulder. Her grip tightened through the thick cloth of Laidras white robe. It may be too late for you to stand beside your sister, but at least you could go out or eat with your family or let your face see the sun.

My parents will never ... Her throat constricted. Im fine. My gift is my joy, my only joy. Laidra tilted her head. Speaking of which, how is your granddaughter?

Nera flushed. She cast a glance around the room as if worried Laidra's mother would be lurking. Then she smiled. Well. She walks again, thanks to you.

Warmth crept into Laidras chest. That healing had been costlya dozen new growths on her face and neckbut when the pain left the childs twisted legs, she had smiled at Laidra.

In spite of the price, Laidra's gift was everything. Bidding farewell to Nera, she headed for the sanctuary of her private quarters.

She knew the back ways of the palace: the spiraling stairs and ill-lit halls. Now she climbed one such stair, disappearing into shadows and solitude.

Going days without speaking to another soul was not unusual for her. Though she was the older of the twins by a full five minutes, Laidra took no lessons, entertained no dignitaries, and never attended state functions. While all knew the tale of her curse, her parents preferred her to be a rumor rather than a curiositythank goodness for small mercies.

She reached her tower room. A single curtained window cast weak light on a writing desk and a stack of scrolls. The faint smell of dust and old parchment filled the space. Though Laidra did her best to keep it neat, cobwebs clung to the beams overhead. With a sigh, she sat on her sleeping couch, pushed aside the linen cushions, and began peeling off her outer garments: first the gloves, revealing withered hands more suited to a woman of sixty than a girl of sixteen, then the cloak from her bony shoulders, and finally the hood.

Laidra had successfully avoided her own image for nearly five yearsnot an easy feat with her sisters vanity and love of reflective surfaces. However, when Laidra ran her hands over her face, she could feel the warts, crags, and misplaced hairs, like defiant weeds poking through a garden path. She kept her limp dark hair cut short. It lessened the grief when large clumps fell from her head during bathing or brushing.