Sidle floated into the room, grabbing his wife by the hips and smothering her with a kiss. “Sidle! I am baking, you're getting flour all over you,” She cried, although she smiled brightly.
“Oh, Layla. What’s a little flour?” He teased, before kissing her again.
Syllea giggled from the corner she sat, learning her letters. Sidle turned then and smiled at his five-year-old daughter. “Hello, darling. How are the letters coming?”
Syllea looked over her Papa, and smiled, “Come look,” She replied.
Sidle strode across the small room in two steps and sat on the floor next to her. When he had sat Syllea whispered, “What’s the matter, Papa?”
Layla looked behind her shoulder, raising her brow, “Your Papa looks perfectly happy, why should anything be the matter?”
Sidle smiled at his wife before turning back to the young girl whispering so low Syl barely caught his words, “Why do you think something is the matter?”
The five-year-old shrugged, “I can just tell.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Syllea opened her eyes, smiling faintly at the memory. She had always been excellent at reading people; as she grew older her Papa told her that it was her magical gift. She remembers that later that week her Papa had found out that day he seemed to be so joyful that his favorite steed was very sick and wasn’t to be around for much longer.
Syllea creases her brows in frustration as she sits in the middle of the Breeland Scholar’s Hall, the place her Papa worked. Something was the matter within her family, but she couldn’t place it. Her father was the hardest of all. He seemed fine, but every time Syl looked at him her stomach twisted in worry and fear. She knew there was something wrong, but it wasn’t clear to her what. Last night she stand by the fire, her injured Papa in bed, Em sitting beside him, and Father sitting on a chair next to him. She kept her eyes on him but made it look as if she was looking at everyone. Her mind tried to catch every movement, every expression from him and memorize them, but he was like a stone wall she had hit. What could be the matter?
Syllea sighed again, becoming more frustrated at her thoughts. Em was also an issue. Her neck…she knew the girl had been lying about what had happened to her neck, but it wasn’t clear if Syl should worry about her younger sister or not.
“Why does my family have to be so frustrating?” She says to herself in an angry whisper.
Her guard, Miss Lynn, glances from her post towards Syllea raising a brow. “Are you alright Miss Syllea?” She asks quietly.
“Fine,” the teen replies. Now, Miss Lynn, she was too easy to read. Syllea could always tell what she was thinking or about to do. When they went hunting, she knew that Miss Lynn was going to shove Syllea out of the way when a brigand came out of nowhere, heading towards them. She knew Miss Lynn was focused on figuring out how to get out without killing the man. It was all too easy, Syl had already done what Miss Lynn was wanting before she wanted it. Syllea watched as Miss Lynn sliced the man’s arm and took Syllea by the hand, running before the man could regain his composure and come at them. Of course, Syllea didn’t tell her parents about that little encounter and had made Miss Lynn swear to secrecy, though the girl doubted the secret would be kept.
Finally, with a large sigh, Syllea stood up and walked past her guard, “I am ready to go.”
Syllea was going to get to the bottom of both her father’s problems and her younger sister. If only she could get each of them alone…
