The next day, her parents were absent minded, moving through the house like ghosts. Her mother rearranged the same bowl of fruit over and over, while her father wore a path into the floor with his pacing. When Ester entered, his eyes lit up for a quick second before dimming into a profound melancholy. A heavy silence choked the room.
Her Father broke it first. "Good morning, Ester!" he said, the cheer in his voice strained and brittle. "Did you..did you enjoy your celebration?"
She let the question hang in the air, her gaze sweeping over their guilty faces.
"Where is he?"
Her father flinched. "Your uncle left at sunrise, back to his estate." He gestured weekly toward the table. "Are you not hungry? You should eat."
It was already afternoon, but her stomach was a knot of nausea, her mind and body thrown violently off balance.
"Mh," she grunted, selecting a banana and an orange. Her mother's eyes remained fixed on the grain of the wooden table, refusing to meet hers.
She observed each fruit before breaking the silence a second time. "Where were you last night?"
The shame on her father's face was a more damning confession than any words. He said nothing, yet his silence confirmed everything she needed to know. She could still see her mother's eyes from the night before, shining not with warmth, but with a nasty, possessive pride for the necklace.
"Does Uncle send gifts often?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft.
More silence. They sat, listening to the chirping birds outside, a sound that felt so distant away. She tried to stifle the feeling of her heart breaking in her chest, but it was useless. She got up to leave. Her parents had sold her out and she would never forgive them.
Ester couldn't wait to get to the bath. Other villagers bathed in the cold river, but thanks to her uncle's influence, their home had a room with heated water drawn from their own well. It was a luxury that filled her with a conflicting sense of guilt and desperate relief.
The steaming water soothed her, both physically and spiritually. The hand that had felt so alien the night before was slowly becoming hers again. She heard hooves outside and a muffled conversation at the entrance, but she drowned it out, clinging to her small piece of heaven.
Getting out, the feeling of refreshment only lasted a few minutes before her mood soured again. She was still seething with rage. At her uncle, at her spineless parents, at her own crushing powerlessness. Yet, a cold, level headed clarity settled over her.
She dried off, dressed, and found her appetite had returned. Heading back to the kitchen quarters, she overheard her parents.
"- don't know if i can do this anymore. Its-" Her father stammered, cutting himself off as he noticed her. His eyes were full of a helpless worry. Her mother, however, looked at her as if she were a stain. It was like being hit again, this time in the stomach.
"Do what?" Ester asked.
"Ester..." he began, his voice thick.
"We have been invited to attend your uncle's church in the capital," her mother said, her stare dissecting Ester's reaction.
Ester didn't know what to say. The only word that escaped was a raw, "No."
"We leave tomorrow," her mother said firmly, ignoring the plea. "You will complete your ceremony, and you will receive the Head Arcon's blessing. You should be grateful your uncle has told him about up. You." She slipped up, pursing her lips in immediate regret. Her husband winced, and Ester's heart plunged. It was like she didn't even matter.
She was flooded with memories of her mother in village gatherings, always striving to outpace the other women, her look of bitter disappointment whenever she found Ester lost in her father's library instead of sewing or cooking. She was her father's daughter in every way.
Looking at her mother's unyielding face, she wanted to break down. "I won't...I won't go. Please don't make me."
In her mother's cold silence, her father interrupted. "Ester, if you go, I promise you will never see him again. I swear it." His eyes begged her to believe him. "Your Uncle has recommended you to the Arcon personally...we cannot refuse something this significant."
The Arcon was the head of the Church in Geneeva. Her uncle was an Arcon in training. To be blessed by the Arcon was a coveted status symbol, but his recommendation was a trap. Refusing would be a profound insult, an act of heresy with dire consequences. But in that moment, a new thought crept into her mind. Maybe I could expose him.
"I'll go," she finally decided.
Her father breathed a shuddering sigh of relief and pulled into a hug. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry" If he was crying, it didn't matter. She was already sobbing into his chest, whilst her mother watched with guilt.