My shoulders go rigid, and I stare at her with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Do you understand yet?”
My mind races to the things dark mirror said, the red hair comments from the goddesses, and the angry fog that can often take over my mind. It can’t be. I clear my throat. “What’s there to understand?”
“You are our family, Gisela. A demigoddess.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t speak. This is impossible.
“What?” Brahm steps close and studies me. “Is this true?”
Bergot nods. “Yes. Gisela is a descendent of Stargott.”
I shake my head.
“Yes. I have watched you your whole life in awe. Over the generations these thousand years, I believed all the magic had been lost. Though certain traits,” she pauses to touch a lock of my hair, “appeared here and there. The moment you were born, I could sense your deep well of power.”
My feelings return to me in confusion and anger. “You knew this whole time and never once thought to tell me?”
“I am sorry, but I thought I was protecting you from Hexegot. She wants you for your strength, Gisela.”
“If it’s true, then…” I trail off and close my eyes.
“What is it?” Brahm asks, rubbing my back.
“No, no, no. That would mean she was right.” I pause to hold back my tears and catch my breath. Guilt creeps into my soul and spreads through every part of my body. “The dark mirror said it was my fault my brother died. If I have magic, then my anger killed Wil.”
Brahm wraps his arms around me. “Shh, no, we talked about this. His death was an accident.”
A burst of cackling laughter comes from the other side of the courtyard, and I shudder in Brahm’s arms. “It was no accident,” Hexegot says, wearing the crown of bones and holding the staff as she glides forward. “I killed him trying to connect with you again, precious one.”
A painful lump forms in my throat and tears sting my eyes at her apathetic confession. She killed my brother for no reason? Brahm squeezes me tighter as I try to form words to say. Movement from the castle catches our attention.
Albert strides out and steps next to the evil goddess. I narrow my eyes in irritation at the sight of him. His lip is still bruised from being punched by Brahm.
“What are you doing here?” I nearly spit speaking to him.
“Hello to you, too. I am here working on a business deal.” Albert smirks.
“Yes,” Hexegot says. “It is time to prepare for the ritual, High Priest.”
Albert lunges for me, but I strike his nose with the heel of my palm, making him stumble backward. He touches the blood and looks at me from under his brows, shaking his head. Hexegot glides with her white wrappings flowing behind and touches his nose. It glows and straightens as the other injuries on his face disappear.
“Thank you, my goddess.”
Hexegot doesn’t answer him but sets her sights on me.
Brahm steps between us. “Leave her alone.”
Hexegot feigns a sigh and swipes her hand through the air, sending Brahm flying across the courtyard. My stomach drops in terror. He hits his head against a tree and falls to the ground.
I leap after him, but Albert grabs my waist and drags me toward the cage. Anger fills me, and I try to harness it as strength like I did with Ferdinand and the spinners but can’t wriggle free. As Albert forces me inside, Hexegot summons Brahm and Bergot to float toward us with her powers and crams them into the cage. I wrap my arms around Brahm and kiss the top of his head, relieved that he is alright.
Bergot pushes herself to sit up, and the skeleton key clangs against the cage. Albert’s eyes dart to the key, and he reaches through the bars. He tugs the key away from Bergot until the leather tying it to the bone snaps. The goddess tucks the singing bone into the black layers of her dress as Albert hands the key to Hexegot.
“Thank you, my pet.” Hexegot reaches into the cage and grabs Bergot by the throat. “Now. Where is our brother?”
“I…don’t…know,” the goddess barely squeaks out while being strangled.
I desperately pull at Hexegot’s arms. “Isn’t he the weaver? Do you not have him imprisoned here?”
“What?” She snaps her veiled head toward me and releases Bergot.
“The tapestries inside?” I help Bergot sit up as she coughs. “Didn’t Stargott make them?”
“No, my precious one, I did.” Hexegot stands tall. “Are they not lovely? Telling the tales of the pain and suffering I have caused?”
“The ones inside the ballroom did look different than in the Sanctuary,” Brahm says, staring into my eyes.
“We found his house—or what was left of it,” I say. “There was a loom and everything.”
“Yes. After I stole this staff,” Hexegot strikes it against the ground, “Stargott went mad and wove my stories in a different manner. I watched him wallow away at that house, biding my time while I practiced magic. I thought he would be easy to find there for when I could finally use his bones as relics. One day, I went to check on him. He had met a woman who lived with him for some time. Next thing I knew, they were gone—hiding in the valley.”
Bergot shakes her head. “Yes, his wife and child stayed, but Stargott did not. He gave me his tapestries and disappeared. I assumed he was still ushering souls to the otherworld.”
“With what?” Hexegot groans and bangs the staff against the bars of the cage.
Bergot touches her chin and begins laughing. I place my hand on her shoulder, trying to get her attention. I’m terrified, yet she thinks this is all funny.
“Have you gone mad? I can make you tell me, Sister. I have my ways.” Hexegot turns to Albert. “Help me prepare for the ritual, High Priest. Now that our guest of honor has arrived, we shall begin. We’ll deal with Stargott later.”
The two venture inside a dim cavern within the walls of the castle. Bergot continues giggling under her veils. Brahm and I shake our heads in disbelief at one another.
I wave my hand in front of Bergot’s face and whisper, “What is it?”
“This.” She holds up the singing bone.
“Why is that funny?” Brahm asks.
“I think Stargott has been ushering souls to the otherworld with something even smaller than this here bone.” Bergot laughs again and shakes her head. “He was trying to show me with the tapestries.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “Show you what?”
“That he was using the fragment of our mother’s bone in the form of a needle to weave,” Bergot moves the singing bone up and down in a stitching motion, “new stories for Hexegot’s victims. He created the tapestries and the fairy tales to produce a new otherworld for their souls. I knew they were magical by the way they moved—”
I gasp and release a giggle myself. “Yes. So, they really do move? I’m not crazy!” I throw my head back in vindication. “Also, when I fell down the well into that otherworld, everything appeared to be woven fabric. But why were you laughing? What does it mean?”
“It means that if Stargott can do all that with a simple needle, I surely can create magic with this. It is a relic, after all. Let me try.” She clasps the bone in her hands and bows her head. Rocking back and forth, she hums until she drops the bone and screams.