The Cerulean (The Cerulean Duology #1) - Amy Ewing Page 0,86

of crisp fried eggplant, freshly sliced tomatoes with basil and seresheep cheese, stuffed squash blossoms, salads of apples, plums, and nasturtiums, and of course, a traditional Cerulean wedding cake in the shape of a dome, light and spongy and frosted with silver icing, dotted with blue roses.

“Go run and help Freeda with the water,” her purple mother said, and Leela hurried to carry one of the large earthen pitchers to a table that was wanting.

“Thank you,” Freeda said. She towered over Leela, clutching the remaining pitcher against her large chest. “Be a dear and bring those forks along as well, will you?”

Leela grabbed the forks and put them beside the pitcher, but she did not go directly back to her mothers. She wandered through the crowds, searching . . . until at last she found Sera’s purple mother. She was sitting at a table alone, twisting a napkin in her hands and staring at a platter of glazed carrots with unseeing eyes. She looked worse than before—thinner, fragile, her bones straining prominently underneath her skin.

Leela was not quite sure what to do. She took a hesitant step forward. Sera’s purple mother looked up from the carrots, and when their eyes met, Leela stopped in her tracks.

It was as if a light had been turned off inside her. Cerulean eyes were bright with the magic of their blood—it was the place where their magic shone through most clearly. But the eyes Leela stared into were dark and flat. They frightened her. Sera’s purple mother had always been full of joy and laughter. Leela did not know the woman sitting before her, and her heart sank.

She could not help Leela any more than Leela could help herself. She should not have thought to burden Sera’s poor mother with more heartache when she was clearly too distraught with grief. The bench opposite was empty, and she sat across from Sera’s mother, no longer thinking of her own plans, wishing only to comfort.

“I miss her, too,” Leela said, not sure if Sera’s mother was listening or if Leela herself just needed to talk to someone who understood. “I miss her more than anything. It’s an ache in my chest that won’t go away, a pain in my heart that throbs worse with every beat. I am angry all the time. I am angry at my mothers, at my friends. I do not even know who I am anymore. And I wished to . . . to speak with you about something, but now I think I would only make things worse.” She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “Perhaps I need to learn to deal with things on my own,” she murmured.

“The Night Gardens,” Sera’s purple mother said. Her voice was faint and hollow, like it was coming from the bottom of a well.

“Yes,” Leela said. “The Night Gardens. That’s where she . . . where she was lost to us.”

Sera’s mother lurched forward, holding her head in her hands. “Leela . . .”

“I am here.” Leela reached out and put a hand on her elbow. Sera’s mother peered at her from between her fingers.

“I feel I am going insane,” she whispered. “I remember things that can’t be real. Ever since the Night Gardens.”

“I have brought you some food, Kandra.” Sera’s green mother appeared with a plate piled high. Leela sat up, putting her hands back under the table. “Oh, good evening, Leela.”

“Good evening, Green Mother.”

Sera’s green mother smiled, but her smile was too tight and did not curve upward. “How have you been?” she asked. “We do miss hearing your laugh around our dwelling.”

Sera’s purple mother flinched.

“I have been . . .” Leela trailed off. She could not lie to Sera’s mothers. “I have been very sad.”

Sera’s green mother swallowed. “Yes. It has been difficult for us all. But what a lovely celebration.” She swept out her hand at the crowds eating and drinking and chattering happily. “It is sure to put all grief out of mind.” But her voice cracked on the last word and a tear spilled down her cheek. Sera’s purple mother closed a frail hand around her wrist.

“Stop it, Seetha,” she said. “Stop pretending. Please.”

Sera’s green mother scrubbed the tear away, putting the plate on the table. “You must eat, Kandra. You must.”

Leela opened her mouth, unsure of what to say but devastated at what was happening to Sera’s family. At that moment someone shouted, “The Lunarbelle, the Lunarbelle!” A group of novices began to sing,