"Someday they'll appreciate me," Tristan sobbed as she sat on her
windowsill, her leg dangling over the side. Below her she could see Numair
and their father working in the garden. Briar and Numair always worked
together whenever Briar was home. They had one of the best gardens on the
Pebble Sea and planned to keep it that way.
Tristan of course had no projects that she worked on with her father or mother. Both tended to steer away from her a lot of the time, because she was so different from them and her siblings.
She was much more like Trisana the weather-witch. She looked and acted like her and had the same magic, but the facts still remained the same. She was the child of Sandry and Briar, whether or not she wished to be.
And she did not wish to be.
What Sandry had said to her only a few moments ago had burrowed under Tristan's skin like sharp barbs and stuck there. It was like the time that Tristan had gotten herself stuck in a thorn patch and come out with the sharp little things stuck all over her. Only these ones couldn't be pulled out.
"I did it!" a triumphant voice floated up to Tristan's ears. She knew that it was coming from her sister in her sewing room, three floors down and on the other side of the palace. Tristan had the same ability that her parents had picked up from Trisana; she could hear things from far away.
"Good job Lissien," Sandry's voice, thrilled, came to Tristan's ears. "I'm so glad that you've finally learned how to bring light to the thread you're working. It is a very good accomplishment. And you finished that stitch perfectly."
The voice went on and on, praising how well Lissien was coming along, but Tristan shut it out by burying her face in her hands. "Why me?" she asked. "Why did I have to have the weather magic?"
Her anger began to rage and a strong wind burst up out of nowhere. It whirled through the palace courtyard, tearing up more then one sapling from the ground. Tristan didn't even notice, she was so mad that she couldn't control it.
Numair jumped up from the ground, his hair blowing all over the place. His gray-green eyes were flashing as he looked up to where he knew Tristan was sitting. "Tristan!" he yelled. "Tristan cut it out!"
But his sister couldn't hear him, she had been drawn into her anger and the wind was getting worse. The bright blue sky had been replaced by broiling black clouds. Briar stood up and placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "Damn," he swore when he saw the clouds approaching. "She's lost herself."
Numair looked up at him, his eyes wide. "I've never heard that term before," he remarked. "What's it mean?"
"It happened to Tris before," Briar mumbled. "She brought up the most horrible storm that I've ever seen. She was mad and sad at the same time and that storm left a mark."
"What was she so mad about?" Numair asked.
Briar looked away and then looked back to his son. "You're too young to understand," he mumbled. Then he began to drag Numair. "Come on, we need to get some help from a real weather-witch before this storm tears the palace down around our ears."
Up in Lissien's sewing room Sandry was beginning to curse. "Your sister is bringing up a storm that'll make the storm we had three years ago look like a gentle summer's rain," she told a frightened Lissien.
"I didn't know that you knew those words, mother," Lissien said, her eyes wide in awe and fright. "I've only heard street rats use them."
Sandry grinned a one-sided smile and said, "Well I married your father, didn't I? He's where I got all of my magic from. Now come on, let's go see if we can find him and your brother before this storm gets way out of hand."
((There's chapter three for you!))
Tristan of course had no projects that she worked on with her father or mother. Both tended to steer away from her a lot of the time, because she was so different from them and her siblings.
She was much more like Trisana the weather-witch. She looked and acted like her and had the same magic, but the facts still remained the same. She was the child of Sandry and Briar, whether or not she wished to be.
And she did not wish to be.
What Sandry had said to her only a few moments ago had burrowed under Tristan's skin like sharp barbs and stuck there. It was like the time that Tristan had gotten herself stuck in a thorn patch and come out with the sharp little things stuck all over her. Only these ones couldn't be pulled out.
"I did it!" a triumphant voice floated up to Tristan's ears. She knew that it was coming from her sister in her sewing room, three floors down and on the other side of the palace. Tristan had the same ability that her parents had picked up from Trisana; she could hear things from far away.
"Good job Lissien," Sandry's voice, thrilled, came to Tristan's ears. "I'm so glad that you've finally learned how to bring light to the thread you're working. It is a very good accomplishment. And you finished that stitch perfectly."
The voice went on and on, praising how well Lissien was coming along, but Tristan shut it out by burying her face in her hands. "Why me?" she asked. "Why did I have to have the weather magic?"
Her anger began to rage and a strong wind burst up out of nowhere. It whirled through the palace courtyard, tearing up more then one sapling from the ground. Tristan didn't even notice, she was so mad that she couldn't control it.
Numair jumped up from the ground, his hair blowing all over the place. His gray-green eyes were flashing as he looked up to where he knew Tristan was sitting. "Tristan!" he yelled. "Tristan cut it out!"
But his sister couldn't hear him, she had been drawn into her anger and the wind was getting worse. The bright blue sky had been replaced by broiling black clouds. Briar stood up and placed his hand on his son's shoulder. "Damn," he swore when he saw the clouds approaching. "She's lost herself."
Numair looked up at him, his eyes wide. "I've never heard that term before," he remarked. "What's it mean?"
"It happened to Tris before," Briar mumbled. "She brought up the most horrible storm that I've ever seen. She was mad and sad at the same time and that storm left a mark."
"What was she so mad about?" Numair asked.
Briar looked away and then looked back to his son. "You're too young to understand," he mumbled. Then he began to drag Numair. "Come on, we need to get some help from a real weather-witch before this storm tears the palace down around our ears."
Up in Lissien's sewing room Sandry was beginning to curse. "Your sister is bringing up a storm that'll make the storm we had three years ago look like a gentle summer's rain," she told a frightened Lissien.
"I didn't know that you knew those words, mother," Lissien said, her eyes wide in awe and fright. "I've only heard street rats use them."
Sandry grinned a one-sided smile and said, "Well I married your father, didn't I? He's where I got all of my magic from. Now come on, let's go see if we can find him and your brother before this storm gets way out of hand."
((There's chapter three for you!))
