Romans & histoires Scold Bridle

Basil is bruised, giving off a green, peppery tang. A Frisian, massive, elegant, and black as midnight, steps into view, pulling the open carriage. The coffin sits upon it, dark wood polished to a mirror, cruelly small against the weight of the horse that bears it. What is it with my family and their steeds? Am I the only one who doesn’t like these beasts? Who sees through their warm-eyed facades? Uncle John pulls the reins, and the horse comes to a slow stop.

I traced the outline of a wolf first, its eyes sharp even in ink. "What does this one mean?" "My first victory." I moved higher. A broken sword. "And this?" "The battle where I almost died." A constellation. "My mother." Roman numerals. "The day Ares was born." A crown. "My father." Every answer was short and simple and carried the full weight of a memory behind it. I moved slowly, careful, and he stayed completely still and let me. Then my fingers reached the largest one. The woman beneath the veil. I traced her differently than I had traced the others, slowly, following every line and fold of fabric, the curve of her cheek, the shape of her hidden eyes.

As she cried and begged, her elbow knocked against my emerald bracelet with uncanny precision. The bracelet snapped cleanly in two and clattered to the floor. It was my eighteenth birthday gift from my father. "Veronica!" Furious, I tried to push her off me. The moment my hand brushed against her sleeve, she suddenly clutched her stomach and screamed. "Ah! My stomach hurts… "Catherine, why did you push me? I know you're angry, but this baby is innocent! He's not going to come between you and Lex. Why would you try to hurt him…"