Three

Arrella was still reeling—from the shock of hearing her own voice, again, and the puzzling familiarity of the man—when a loud thud echoed near the wall. Heart lurching, she realized she had to leave before she ran out of time. Stepping back, she reached to draw the curtains closed.

Straightening, she glanced one last time at the man—at Rovin—and froze.

He was blinking. At her. Slowly.

The portrait was moving—as if rousing from a heavy sleep, caught in the haze of a dream.

She stared, stunned. Her day just kept growing stranger and stranger. She had no time to question the bizarre spectacle, however. The thud came again, louder this time, followed by low, approaching voices. She had to leave.

With more questions than ever, she yanked the curtains shut and slipped out the door.

She caught sight of a couple passionately entangled, their moans echoing down the hall, and hurried to the hidden alcove where she found Jan pacing, nervously chewing on her nails.

Jan's head snapped up at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Where were you? I’ve been waiting forever.”

Arrella smoothed down her dress and patted at her hair, now frizzing in all directions. Someone was snogging in the halls, she signed. I had to wait for them to clear out.

“Was it Thomas again, with that maid?” she questioned.

Arrella nodded.

Jan sighed, “Well, unlucky for you, this was a wasted trip.” She gestured toward the stairs. “We’ve got to get back to the ballroom. Your mother’s looking for you.”

Arrella swallowed a sigh and rolled her eyes. When is she ever not looking for me? She turned and continued down the stairs. There’s something I need to ask you.

“Ask me later. We need to go now.”

They rushed down the stairs, racing through the halls and back into the raucous celebration.

“There you are!”

Arella turned to face her mother, stepping away from Jan. Despite her middle age, she was beautiful—long jet-black hair, sharp features, and bold red lips. Arrella had gotten her father’s features—deep cherry-brown curls, a round face with soft cheeks, and a button nose. The only thing they shared was their eyes: full and brown, with a hint of sadness that seemed permanent.

The Rumore family line ran through the maternal side. From a young age, Arrella knew the Rumores were trusted counselors to the king, using their unique gift to advise on matters of the kingdom and act as his right hand in leading the people.

In the hushed season of winter, Theora Rumore married Dameon Hale at the king’s command. Dameon hailed from a family of artists, and it was his portrait of Prince Aiden Veron—painted in honor of his birth—that first caught the king’s attention. Impressed by his talent, King Eero commissioned more of his works, soon inviting him to reside in the castle. There, Dameon’s artistry would eventually capture the heart of a young Theora. They fell in love and were married that year, once she came of age, her own portrait painted by him.

Arrella was only a year old when the sickness took him.

A sickness that her mother often used as the reason for Arrella’s silence—and to keep the truth about her daughter a secret.

“It’s time for the banquet,” her mother directed, pulling her arm. “The king is waiting for you.”

She was escorted with sharp tugs and a firm grip on her wrist. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother—she did, very much—but their relationship had always been complicated. Her mother’s disappointment in her as the first mute Rumore, and her own for never being enough to meet her mother’s impossible expectations.

The king raised a champagne flute as she neared.

“There she is!” he announced. “The strongest Rumore heir. Cheers to turning 18, little one.”

Arrella forced a small smile and gave a quick bow of thanks. She had only seen King Eero Veron a handful of times, and always from a distance—at grand banquets and formal ceremonies. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man whose smile lines etched deeply around his eyes and mouth, softening the commanding presence he carried. Strands of silver threaded through his dark hair, a quiet reminder of his years on the throne. Though he often greeted others with warmth and a disarming charm, Arrella had heard enough to know how unforgiving he could be. He was fair but unyielding and had kept the kingdom peaceful for over 30 years.

“I look forward to your coronation next year, when you take your mother’s place,” he said with a knowing smile. “You will make a most capable adviser to my son when he ascends the throne next year.”

As counselors to the royal throne, the Rumores held considerable weight and influence over the inner workings of the crown. Revolts were begun and ended by their counsel; cities were built and flourished through their wisdom; trade thrived under their guidance. They were revered but also feared, for they were one of the five families blessed with special gifts—powers granted by the Great Oak, the heart of all magic and the source of the world’s ancient life force.

The Rumores were masters of the spoken word, and while their powers did not affect those who shared the same abilities, they expertly wielded language as a tool. Confident, charming, yet also cunning and deceptive, their trademark was the half-truth. Young members were trained early to wield language as an art, knowing how to shape it to get what they desired, while understanding the price of abusing such power. Whatever they wished, they could speak into existence—a powerful gift, but also a curse because using it usually had a cost on the user’s body. The more powerful the request, the heavier the cost, often leading to sickness, and sometimes, death.

Her mother offered the king a measured smile. “If she is ready by then,” she replied with practiced ease.

It was easy for the Rumores to control the narrative when things didn’t go their way—especially when it came to their beloved daughter, Arrella Rumore. They wielded their wealth and influence freely on her behalf—not out of indulgence, but necessity. None of it would have mattered, if the family’s power didn’t rely on an heir to wield it—without constant use, it would fade and die.

When Arrella entered the world silent, Dameon and Theora were terrified. A Rumore without a voice? It meant death to their family; it spelled the end of their bloodline’s power. So they did what they believed they must do: they silenced the nursemaids, locked the child away from prying eyes, and began a desperate search for a cure. A way to return a voice that had never come.

People began to wonder what was wrong with their daughter. Was she as hideous as a five-horned ogre? Her legs, twisted and gnarled like the branches of a willow? Did she not have any powers?

Unable to keep her hidden from the public eye any longer, Theora and Dameon masked their fear with a web of lies. They spoke of their daughter’s unparalleled gift, claiming she couldn’t speak carelessly for fear of triggering a powerful curse. They painted her as the perfect heir—an extraordinary daughter, blessed with remarkable strength in magic.

At first, it worked. As a baby, she was still a mystery, easily kept away from watchful eyes. But as Arrella grew older, and began to interact with the other four gifted families, their control over truth became harder to maintain. It nearly cost her mother’s life when she used her gift to silence all suspicion—even the royal family’s.

The king chuckled. “We need someone as strong as you next to the throne, especially since my son is said to be the strongest Veron heir this kingdom has ever seen."

She had only seen Aiden Veron in passing, but rumors trailed him like a whispered secret. Known for his charm and mastery of both truths and lies. No one dared to lie in the presence of any Veron, for their family possessed the ability to uncover the deepest truths within one's heart. But with Aiden, it was different—people seemed to offer him their truths willingly, as though drawn to him by an invisible pull. Everyone adored him, and Arrella had never heard a word of criticism spoken about him.

She wondered if, like her, he was concealing a secret.

“I assume you’ve told her about the announcement?” the king’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Not yet,” her mother responded, shooting Arrella a sharp glare. “Unfortunately, my daughter was absent when I went to speak with her.”

He waved her off. “Not to worry. She will find out soon enough.” He passed his flute to a servant. “Follow me, Arrella.”

She cast a confused glance at her mother before following the king up to the elevated throne, positioned between the spiraling staircase at the front of the room.

"Greetings, people of Rowain, esteemed members of the council," the king announced.

Instantly, the room fell silent, all eyes turning toward him.

"We gather here today to celebrate the birth of Arrella Rumore, heir to the Rumore family and the future head counselor to the throne."

A wave of awe and hushed murmurs swept through the crowd.

He let out a light laugh. “Yes. We all heard of the great powers you hold and can’t wait for you to join the council next year.” He nodded at her. “In honor of this grand day and as a gesture of goodwill for your family’s contributions, I have a special announcement to make."

Arrella scanned the room until her gaze landed on Jan. She was pursing her lips, brows furrowed in confusion. Arrella gave a slight shake of her head—she had no idea what was happening either. Just moments ago, she had been in a mysterious room with a mysterious portrait, and, not to mention, she had spoken aloud.

“I am pleased to announce that there will be a union between two of the gifted families.”

Surprised murmurs rippled through the room. Arrella glanced at her mother, who had quickly masked her emotions with a poised smile—a look of complete composure and control.

A knot of unease twisted in Arrella’s stomach.

“At Arrella’s coming-of-age ceremony, where she will officially be appointed as Head Counselor,” the king declared, “she will also be married to my son.”

She inhaled sharply, choking back her shock. The earnest wave of applause felt distant, muffled by the roaring of her pulse.

“Let’s feast to this grand union!”

She stumbled backwards, gasping for breath. Spinning quickly, she turned to approach her mother, the shock giving way to something fiercer. Anger and disbelief collided with the frantic beat of her heart. She fought to maintain her composure, to appear calm and cordial, though she felt the watchful eyes weigh down on her with every step she took.

Her mother was speaking with a group of ladies. They noticed her approach and voiced their congratulations.

“Many blessings on your engagement. It is a great honor,” said the lady closest to her. It was Martha Branor, the head Healer and one of the five noble families. Her smile was kind, and she appeared to genuinely support the union.

Arrella gave a brief nod to the group before turning to her mother.

Mother, she signed sharply. A word with you, if you please.

Her mother faced her with a composed smile.

“Not now, Arrella,” she said dismissively. “Enjoy the celebration. I’ll come find you later.”

With that, her mother turned back to the group, continuing her conversation and effectively dismissing her.

Gritting her teeth, Arrella stormed off in search of Jan. Her eyes scanned the room, watching for shadowed figures or anyone who seemed detached from the festivities. She spotted her friend leaning against the wall near the extravagant balcony windows.

Arrella snatched a flute of rosé champagne, downed it in one swift motion, and strode toward the window.

Did you know about this? she signed quickly as she neared the window, her glare landing on the one person she trusted to be honest with her.

Jan raised an eyebrow. “If I had, I’d have stopped it before it got this far. You know I’d never keep something like this from you.” She finished her drink in one swift motion, then let the delicate glass fall. It shattered into glittering shards at her feet.

Arrella closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. You’re right, she signed, tiredly. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening. She opened her eyes and looked towards the window. The sky was a beautiful palette of pinks and oranges, the pale blue quickly darkening to a midnight shade. It reminded her of his eyes. Of him.

Rovin Artten.

She shook her head. There would be time later to think about the moving portrait, the strange feeling that still lingered in her chest, and the fact that she had spoken—out loud. But not here. Not in the middle of the party, surrounded by unrelenting noise and scrutinizing eyes. She needed the quiet of her bedroom to unpack everything.

She turned back to Jan, who was watching her with cautious eyes, lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words.

In all the years she’d known Jan, she had never seen her look so unsure. Jan Nyx had been the first of the noble families Arrella had ever met. As a child, her curious nature often drew her into closed-off, forbidden corners of the castle. Her silence made it easy to slip by unnoticed, especially when sneaking off to see her only friend. As a member of the Nyx family, a feared lineage of assassins known for erasing their scent and vanishing into the dark, Jan was someone most avoided. But Arrella saw a quietness in her that mirrored her own. She couldn't tell Jan everything—about her absent ability—but she trusted her like a sister. Together, they wandered through shadowed hallways and tucked themselves beneath stairwells, exploring the mazelike castle in secret. Their quiet adventures, hidden from the rest of the world, became Arrella’s greatest treasures—silent, sacred, and steadfast.

She fixed her gaze on Jan’s eyes.

This was Jan—the one who had always been there when things got rough. Jan, who had held her hand when she cried after being scolded for her inability to properly use her magic. Jan, who knew all her insecurities and flaws, yet still chose to remain by her side. Jan, who had learned to read her signs, choosing to understand her silent voice and language. Jan, who offered small squeezes of comfort when it felt like, "No matter how hard she tried to meet the expectations of her mother and the world, no one truly saw her for who she was—only for the power she was meant to wield.

Jan grounded her and gave her a reason to smile, a reason to laugh through the hardest times. Despite their differences, Jan had always been there when Arrella needed her. And right now, she needed her friend more than ever.

Her face crumpled, and she fought to swallow the tears threatening to spill.

Without hesitation, Jan pulled her into a tight, comforting embrace. "Oh, sweetie, you’re going to be okay," she murmured softly, her hand rubbing gentle circles on Arrella's back.

Arrella closed her eyes, trying to block out the chaos of the world around her, focusing only on the warmth and comfort offered by her friend.

"Nothing has to change. You’re still Arrella, the strongest Rumore I’ve ever known."

Arrella shot her a pointed look, a flicker of doubt lingering in her gaze.

Jan rolled her eyes. “Oh, shush, girl. Even without any abilities, you’re still the bravest, kindest Rumore this kingdom has ever been blessed with.” She gave Arrella a smirk. “Though your attraction to unhinged males does say something about your character, and your cheeky attitude concerns me from time to time.”

Arrella scoffed, signing, They were not unhinged. She paused, frowning. Just a little… overprotective.

Jan arched an eyebrow. “If by overprotective, you mean crazy psycho with an ear fetish who wouldn’t let you tie your hair or wear earrings, and kept sniffing your ears because they smelled like his cousin’s bath salts, then yes, call it ‘overprotective.’”

Arrella shrugged. I went out with him for two days, and only because you insisted I “put myself out there.” She smirked. I’d say you’re the one attracted to these unhinged specimen.

Jan pouted, crossing her arms. “I admit, it wasn’t my finest moment.” She sighed dramatically. “It’s always men with pretty faces who seem to be hiding a gross fetish or weird fixations. Please, is it too much to ask for a decent guy with nice hair?” she grumbled, rolling her eyes.

You mean like Aiden?

She waved her off. “Nah, he’s yours now anyway.” She stopped smiling, giving her a serious look. “I’ll be there with you to help you find yourself,” she said solemnly. Grasping her hands, she continued, “You won’t get lost.” And that nearly made Arrella spill tears. She wanted to hold her tight and never leave the calming presence. She sent Jan a grateful smile.

Jan smirked. “And who else is going to keep you in check and stop you from dying from a sugar overdose?”

She shoved Jan away. Oh, you mean the lemon toffee barks that I’ve never even tried? The ones you always steal and leave me only the crumbs of, but are apparently my favorite treat in the world?

Jan nodded to herself. “We can do without the cheeky attitude, little princess, but you're absolutely perfect as always.” She flicked her nose. “Now, come on. I’ll take you back to your room. We’ve both had enough of this silly little party.”

They left the party, escaping the noise, leaving the world behind. After a brief hug, Jan wished her goodnight, and Arrella shut the door to her room. The quiet air and stillness of her room were a sanctuary. She exhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing as she moved toward her closet to undress.

A sharp pain cut through her feet.

Hissing, she bent down to inspect it, realizing she wasn’t wearing any shoes.

She’d left her heels in the other room.

Not that she needed them—her closet was full of shoes, after all. But she was hesitant to return so soon. She wasn’t even sure if the room would still be there, or if it had vanished into the night.

She still needed to unpack her feelings and process the events of the day.

But exhaustion settled over her, and her eyes began to droop, pulling her into a deep slumber.