It was long overdue. The reunion I'd wanted, though not entirely the way I'd imagined it. Free of distraction, the presence of others, some crisis or conflict pulling attention away from what mattered.

  There was a point in my life that this place was my refuge. The long chaise was soft and deep, perfect for uninterrupted naps in the light of the series of tall windows that spanned the western side of the room. Warm rugs that made traversing the cold floor trivial in the winter months, and planter boxes on the balcony that cherished all manner of color in the spring.

  And of course, the books.

  I traced the shelves with my fingertips, eyes roaming their many titles. Some she'd read, aloud, spectacles low on her nose as she kept one arm wrapped around my shoulders. Others I'd read to her, sometimes when I wasn't even sure she was awake, her skin pallid and grey.

  And there were more still, that I'd stolen in here to read after she was gone.

  Gods, I'd missed her.

  I felt her presence. It was barely detectable, a whisper of kindness in the center of so much pain.

  "Were you ever really sick?" I asked.

  Maybe not the best start to the conversation. But it was an incongruity, and depending on how she answered, a cruelty I couldn't trace to its design.

  "In a way." She began, warm voice low in her throat. "This vessel is a mortal shell. Mortal by definition. If neglected, or denied the sustenance of the divine—either because I can't, or won't, cede it—it falls prey to illness."

  "You chose to die?" I asked again, my voice less kind.

  "The nexus is in a constant state of chaos. Some iterations it takes less of me. Others far more. In the iteration you remember, it was less choice than necessity. And…" Her voice caught. "It causes me great anguish. To watch what happens at the end."

  I turned to her, and the cold retort died in my throat. Her blonde hair framed her forehead in a gentle swirl, cascading down her neck and around her shoulders. A gentle blue dress shimmered, its folds drifting slow and ethereal. And her eyes—eyes that had avoided, scolded, and diverted ever since my return—beheld me honestly.

  "It caused me great pain to live it." I finally said, swallowing down the emotion. "There's so much to address I'm not sure where to start." My eyes trailed her, and a touch of bitterness returned. "I suppose it's good to see you free of chains. It seems the drephin's fears were unfounded."

  "Not every cage is literal, my sweet."

  "Have to wonder if they knew that. Then again, manipulating an entire group of struggling people to do your bidding, based on half-truths and influence? In a way it's a relief. To realize you were a Valen all along."

  It landed like the slap it was. Part of me had even tried to divert, alter course at the last moment. Instead of rising to it, her arms wrapped around me, flooding me with her warmth, compassion and care.

  And all I wanted was to flee. With care, I shifted free of her grasp.

  "I was desperate." She admitted. "I did everything I could to prepare you. Safeguarding the version of your soul that escaped, the one time the silver sword stopped her ritual. Holding it until the conditions were right, until you had the greatest chance of success. Granting you the implement of her undoing."

  "You made me what I am?" I asked, and when her eyes crinkled, clarified. "Granted the power I hold?"

  "It was a joint effort. One that cost me dearly. So to see him sink his claws into you, when you were still forming, on the verge of growing into what you were always meant to be—after everything. I did what mortals do, when the world drops out from beneath them."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "You panicked." I smiled thinly. "At least I understand, now, why you intervened. We would have used the siege weapons. And had they worked, it would have been the end of us all."

  She grew crestfallen. "It was not so intentional. More like dangling from the edge of a precipice, watching hope of aid dwindle. And, eventually, losing to the ache. Letting go."

  "That, I can also understand. But you could have warned me. Shared the burden. Sent a runner even, to warn me of the many, many mistakes I was about to make."

  The queen swiped at her eyes. "And when you experience rebirth, and tell others of their folly along with exactly how they may fix it, how often does that mend the problem?"

  "Not… often." I admitted.

  "There are key aspects that make this iteration special. I don’t keep secrets out of malevolence. For the best chance of success, there are many things you must accomplish. Some you've managed already. Others are far from your grasp. I will offer guidance where I can. But if I tell you what path to follow—lay out the journey before you like a builder's blueprint—you will focus only on the designs. Not the person you must be to achieve them."

  "I suppose it couldn't be that easy. Though…" My thoughts darkened. "When the end comes—once we find a way to remove her from the iterations—I still don’t think I can find it within myself to spare her. As I've said before, by any reasonable measure, it would be a terrible decision to leave Thoth alive."

  "I'm aware of what she is. What she's chosen to be." A shadow flitted over her face. "You mistook my words as naivety. My counsel was not meant to advocate mercy without logic. There must be a balance. Always a balance. When you make that decision, it should be to preserve the good that exists. Not because you rose to provocation. Not because of what you lost."

  It stung, even as I realized she was right.

  I parted from her then, letting the swirl of confusion and elation and despair come to rest. Taking a seat on the chaise I'd frequented so often. Resting my chin on my hands. "In retrospect, the way I asked it was… cruel. But the question remains. Why tolerate father at all?"

  She sat beside me. Tears spilled in slow descent down her pale cheeks. "That answer is not simple. Nor easy."

  "Try." I urged, rubbing her shoulder.

  "When he found me, I had no sense of what was right. Mortals slew each other for all manner of reasons. None of them made sense to me. That he killed just made him mortal in my eyes. But… when he thrust that half-elf babe into my arms, and told me she was mine to care for? That was the beginning, I think. Because it wasn't just about providing, nurturing. Though both of those responsibilities terrified me. For the first time, my thoughts turned to the world she would inherit. What would make it better. And what made it worse. So the truth is, that I haven't always tolerated him. There are iterations I've fought him tooth and nail. Others I've slipped a blade between his ribs while he sleeps, or shoved him from the sky hold. But every time, every time the world resets itself and I'm snapped back into place, reeling from the deaths of my children, clinging to the same precipice, he is there."

  Her breath caught. She clutched at her throat, fingers plying the silver links that hung loosely across her neck, and I waited.

  "Your father told me once, that he would revere me. In whatever manner I preferred. However monstrous he is, however cruel and inexcusable his conduct, it's among the rare oaths that he has never broken. And in my darkest moments, it has healed me. Sustained me. It is my greatest shame. To love him, almost as much as I hate him."

  I left it there.

  Because who was I to judge.

  "Did you order Thaddeus to suppress Annette's power to protect her from father?"

  The queen's eyes widened in surprise. "Thaddeus told you?"

  I shook my head. "It was a guess."

  Elaria bowed her head in shame. "Annette holds my power within her. But I never attained much to begin with. I've always told Gil it didn't take. That we were lucky she happened at all. Because as much as I wish things were different, he's never shared the same warmth he holds for me towards his children. His demands upon her would be as unreasonable as his expectations for you. Possibly more."

  Sera was illegitimate. Annette was trueborn.

  I almost asked it.

  Then decided no matter the answer, it would be of no help. And if it was the wrong answer, it would make what I had to do all the more difficult.

  I pulled her to me, pressing my head to hers before parting.

  It weighed heavily on me then, what came next.

  "You'll want to coordinate with Thaddeus, in my absence. According to him, I'll need to stay away. At least for a while. We've talked over a plan to manage things, keep them from spinning out of control." I frowned, "Am I telling you things you already know? Are you omniscient?"

  Elaria laughed, and for the first time since my return she sounded much like her old self. "No. Most of us never were."

  "Goodbye, mother." I bowed to her. "May the frost always wane at your waking."

  Read ahead on the Patreon!

  Join the Discord and get Chapter Pings