Potenkiah, the deathgiver

Chapter 8

"And she..."

"She said it's fine, that it sounds like a good choice. That... that she will sign me up for the winter term. I've turned nine and William can certify that I'm ready."

"The winter term! But that's soon, isn't it?"

"Twenty-five days, to be exact. Most universities start the term around the same dates, more or less."

"But..."

"And then she said that maybe we'll travel to grandma's house," added Annie, before she could keep questioning her about the sudden change.

"We'll travel? Me too?"

'No, not you,' she heard the imaginary voice say. The real one said,

"That is all I know."

With a tap on her shoulder, Annie let Bridget know that she had finished her braid, and they walked to the living room, where they met their parents.

Bridget knew that at nine beltas the children of residents left to attend the different universities. However, she had thought some exception would be made regarding Annie and Paty. She was only certain about her parents wanting to keep her in the palace; she, as the heir, would need special, private education. If they sent Annie and Paty to university but not her, the farce would be over. While she walked to the door she felt a knot in her throat. She was going to be separated from her sister? It could not be true, her mother would surely deny it when she asked.

***

Bridget stopped at the dining room door, her hands sweaty with nerves. The guest list included the Britters and the Obriens -William, Paterinet, and her parents, Deana and Allister. However, there were two empty chairs, on both heads of the table, and Bridget already suspected who would sit on them: her real parents.

"Miss, if you will..." said a guard behind her, while he pointed at a side door. Bridget looked at her foster mother. Daphne nodded while she beckoned her to follow the officer.

She calmed herself down and took a deep breath before going in. There was no reason to panic.

The King and Queen were seated in the privacy of a cozy side room, despite its scarce furniture and the lack of windows. There were tapestries on the walls, and cushions in ochre and golden tones next to their armchairs.

"Little one," greeted the King.

"Your Majesty," she made a deep bow.

"Don't worry, Bridgie, it's safe to talk in here. Come closer, take a seat."

"Thank you."

Bridget released the breath she had been holding, and then greeted them like she usually did when she visited the royal apartments. She gave each a hug and a kiss on both cheeks.

The Queen signalled a round, short stool, usually referred to as an ottoman. Bridget sat down. Right away she felt like she was in a courtroom, for she had ended up in front of them, in a lower position, ready to be judged and sentenced. Fortunately, her visit had nothing to do with punishment. Did it?

"We wanted to talk to you in private before dinner. It's only fair," said her father.

The solemn environment and his words put her on alert. Something important was about to happen. Her stomach contracted into a tight knot. However, she made an effort to appear calm, because the King and Queen did.

"We hadn't planned to hide your identity for so many beltas," the King stated. "It saddens us not being able to speak to you in public, and that you can't watch and learn from the sessions in the throne room. But above all, it pains us not being able to tell you how much we love you in front of others. We did it to keep you safe, do you understand?"