Lost Daughter, a faerie path fanfic

Lost Daughter

By Laura Schiller

Series: The Faerie Path

Where in the world has that confounded Bible got to? Sancha grumbled. She had called it off the shelves three times and it hadn't come. She needed it for a comparison of religious writings of the Mortal World – she was trying to find out if there was really any difference in the lessons they taught and if there was, did that justify the centuries of war Tania had described?

With a sigh, she stood up and climbed the stairs to the second level of the library, searching for the section on religion where the Bible ought to be. Her head ached and her eyes burned; maybe it was time she had a rest. She knew she had been working too hard lately; she was so happy to have her beloved library back that it was hard to leave it. Also, immersing herself in obscure studies was a good way to prevent herself from remembering the horrors of the Sorcerer King.

There was a wide, dusty space between the Book of Common Prayer and the Latin Bible where the King James edition normally stood. It was gone.

Someone has borrowed it, she told herself. The library, much as she loved it, was not her exclusive domain after all. It belonged to the entire Kingdom.

If it returns not in a month, I shall notify Father. For now, it matters not. I must occupy my time with other things.

She gave a short mental command to the pile of books and scrolls and stacks of paper on her desk. They lifted gracefully into the air and flew to their shelves, looking light as feathers instead of the heavy, unwieldy things they were. Sancha smiled to herself, waving her arms and conducting them like an orchestra. She was very pleased with her Gift.

On her way to her chambers, she noticed that the parlour which was for her and her sisters' private use was occupied. The door was ajar, with candlelight flickering through it; she stopped and peered inside.

At first, it seemed like there was nobody there; the books, instruments and furniture had not been moved. She stepped inside, her slippers barely making a sound on the carpeted floor, to blow out the candles, which stood in a seven-branched holder in the far left corner of the room.

She stopped.

Someone other than herself was breathing in the room...and it came from an ugly brown velvet armchair, with its back turned to the others, in the far left corner.

Sancha tiptoed over to the chair, slipped between it and the wall, and found herself facing the chair and the person inside it.

Fast asleep, curled up like a small child, with the missing Bible lying open in her lap, was Rathina.

Sancha's first impulse was to snatch the book away . How dare Rathina take it away without asking? And what was she reading the Bible for, anyway, corrupted beyond repair as she was?

Anger pounded in Sancha's heart and behind her eyes, making her feel both wide awake and slightly ill. It was all Rathina's fault. The death and desolation of the past weeks. The ruin of their home. The dying screams of the Soul Books which haunted Sancha every night!

Rathina's face was pale and worn, with lines of pain around the eyes and mouth which showed even in the soft golden light of the candle. Her beautiful black hair was tumbling out of its knot and streaked with grey. It was the first time Sancha had looked directly at her younger sister for so long; in her anger and bitterness, she had done her best not to be in the same room with Rathina if she could help it.

Now she stared. How could this be? How could Rathina age past her older sisters?

She knew the answer. Only great anguish of mind, such as Eden had endured in the Long Twilight, could age a Faerie.

Rathina deserves to suffer! shouted the angry part of her. After all she has done!

All she had done? Another memory came, unbidden, to her mind. Rathina slipping into their tent, head bowed in contrition – her proud, stubborn sister! – waking the Power of Seven. Rathina, a whirlwind of fury on the battlefield. Saving Tania's life. Avenging Zara.

Rathina as a little girl, climbing into Sancha's lap so they could read a book of tales or poems together.

She looked – in spite of the signs of age – like that little girl in her sleep, open and vulnerable. It would be an easy thing to stab her right then. Sancha shuddered and repressed the ugly thought as soon as it occurred to her.

Sancha remembered Rathina as a young adolescent, clumsy and bony, not yet grown into her beauty. A sulky, angry girl slouching through the Palace, ignored by everyone, picking fights with her sisters just to get attention. If they had been kinder to her then, would she still have betrayed them?

Later, Rathina had blossomed out into a lovely young woman and used her beauty as a lure to get the attention she craved. Always surrounded by adoring suitors. Always laughing, dancing, riding like the wind on her magnificent horse. Sancha had envied her then, with a silent, bitter envy that never quite went away. Sancha had no glamour to speak of; no man had ever been in love with her. All she was good for was grubbing among dusty tomes for obscure learning no one else was interested in.

Now there was nothing to envy. Rathina was a shell of her former self, rarely leaving her rooms, eating alone – if she ate at all. And, apparently, reading the Bible all by herself.

Slowly, gently, Sancha picked up the heavy black leather volume and glanced down at the soft yellow pages. She raised her eyebrows and suppressed a laugh.

Rathina had been reading the Parable of the Lost Son.

Oberon and Titania had forgiven Rathina for everything. Sancha had raged about this in the privacy of her room, but let no sign of anger escape in public. Unlike Rathina, Sancha did not like to exhibit her feelings openly.

She read silently, now and then glancing at Rathina to make sure she did not wake up. It was an old, familiar story: a young man went away from home, squandered his inheritance, regretted it and, starving, made his way back to his father's house to be at least hired as a servant. Half expecting to be turned away, he came up to his father – who was so happy to see his beloved son that he arranged a celebration for the whole household.

The older brother, the one who had stayed home and done his duty, was angry. He said:

"Lo, all these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends: But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf."

His father replied: "Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again, and was lost, and is found."

Sancha placed the red silk ribbon bookmark between the pages before shutting the book and placing it on a nearby table. Slowly, she stretched out her hand to touch her sister's shoulder.

"Rathina?" she whispered.

Rathina's eyes fluttered open and settled on Sancha's face. Alarm, embarrassment and defiance flickered over it as she sat up and ran her hands over her disordered hair.

"You...have fallen asleep," said Sancha, gesturing awkwardly to the chair, the book, and the entire room. "Perhaps – you should – go to your chamber?"

Rathina climbed out of the armchair, stiffly, as if she had been stuck in one position for too long. She cleared the room in a few long strides, apparently afraid of being alone with Sancha, then turned around with one hand on the doorknob.

Sancha picked up the Bible and held it out, with a shaky, tentative smile.

Rathina blushed, dropped her eyes, and took the book in both hands.

"You may keep it as long as you wish," said Sancha.

"Thank you."

Rathina looked up and smiled – a barely visible flash of sunlight, soon hidden as she whirled around and fled down the empty corridors.