Leonarya cussed, threw away her working cowries and the other magic inclined stuff lying on the black table in anger, after trying for the umpteenth time to conjure up the spying demons.
She knew that they were gone, that they had been buried somewhere she could never know, but she didn’t know what else to do if not trying the more, or trying to do something, instead of lazing about and thinking about the fallacy of her plans and magic.
She hadn’t bargained for the vampires to be put to play in this story of hers. She hadn’t counted the betrayal of her daughter too. No. Not hers. But Sheila’s.
Freya.
Leonarya knew she hadn’t been the best of mothers to the girl, but she would like to believe that she had tried.
Would she have tried in that trying way if she had her own children with her? Leonarya shook her head, and slumped into her black throne seat.
She knew that she would do better. There was just this thing about the bond between you and your real child. But she would like to believe that she had tried for Freya, that she had tried for the child of an enemy.
Leonarya let her head droop and rest on her right shoulder, as she reclined further into the chair.
Sheila.
There was a time she had liked Sheila, that she had liked the one that had seemed to understand her best. That was until the latter had chosen her sister. Everyone chose Tempest at the end, when push came to shove, including Malone.
Malone that had promised her the heavens. It was why she hated her sister. Tempest had always been dealt the good cards.
Who could blame my cruelty? I just played the cards I had been dealt with. There was no other play if I really wanted to never remain mediocre in this almost eternal life of mine. Leonarya mused, taking in a deep inhalation, as her mind sunk her into a reverie, when all things had been good, when she still believed in the good and fairytale stories.
Sheila had been her friend first. They had met coincidentally in the forest. She had come to pick herbs, had gone across the border against her mother’s wishes, and Sheila had come to weep in the bushes for her father’s occasional outbursts.
The two girls had been aghast at finding each other in the forest, had been more of that when they somehow realized each other, realized their stories, and the common ground that they shared with a lost parent. She had introduced Sheila to her sister, Tempest, a few days later.
They hadn’t hit it off immediately as some may think, considering the strength of their relationship now.
No. Tempest had been aloof in that way that she was always aloof, where she thought that she was special above them all.
Sheila hadn’t cared.
Whenever she had visited the family, she had always extended a warm welcome to Tempest. The latter hadn’t budged in her resolution until their mother, Zipfarah, sang Sheila’s praise.
Leonarya’s anger hadn’t started at that moment. No, it had started years later when she became a third wheel in any relationship that involved her sister. Leonarya hadn’t been able to take it when it had come to Malone. That had been the last straw. That had solidified the resentment that had been piling up over the years.
She had met Malone first. She should have kept it to herself. But no, she had involved Tempest, and she hadn’t known when, didn’t notice the relationship under her nose, until she had caught them in the magic broom house, kissing.
She might have forgiven Tempest if Tempest would have admitted that she was flawed, that she wasn’t the perfect righteous being that they had thought her to be. She would have forgiven Tempest if the latter had pleaded for forgiveness for the betrayal.
But Tempest hadn’t.
No. Her sister refused to have her reputation distorted, and so she had hung on to her own fake story and reality, that jealousy had driven herself, Leonarya, to ruin, to revenge. That it wasn’t her fault that Malone chose her first.
Leonarya chuckled now. Only if Tempest had known that she was ready to give up Malone, a man whom she later hated so much for his weakness as a man, just to hear an apology from her only sister. Her mother of course had been quick to believe Tempest, her perfect daughter.
She had left because of the suffocation. And then her ideas of fairy tales had been corrupted, by the world she had met out there. Hence, her revenge. Power belonged to those that hungered for it, not for those that chose to do good. It has all been working out, the revenge plan, until now, until the vampires had come to play.
Vampires.
Honestly, Leonarya wasn’t sure she had the facts correct about the species of supernatural. She had put off the research for a long time, yet now would be a good time. It would take her mind off her failure to serve Legardo in the best way, and it would take her mind off her surviving children. It would also curb the self pity.
She sighed, and stood up from her seat, choosing to head to her own special library. Her head swayed, and she cussed. When was the last time she had eaten something?
She hasn’t, since Legardo had confirmed that her children were alive.
Leonarya refused to dwell on the implications of that. That she had been apart from her kids for more than eighteen to twenty three years, that she had walked all these years believing them dead, that they may be involved in this blood feud that they knew nothing about.
Leonarya cussed Legardo in her heart. Yet, she knew that she needed him, if she wanted to see her kids again. Her kids. Something akin to light fluttered in her chest. She would do anything to get them back.
There was a knock, and Leonarya turned toward the door, a furrow to her eyebrows when Kyran stepped into the room, looking a bit shocked and sullen.
“What is it, Kyran?” She asked, hoping that Legardo hadn’t made good his promises of beheading a child of hers.
“Queen Zipfarah is here.”