Daddy pulled off my shirt and took out a big black knife with a large, shiny red stone in the center.
“I promise,” I said, sniffling, wiping tears from my face.
Sometimes, if he didn’t see them on my cheeks, he wouldn’t hit me.
But it didn’t work.
Daddy hit me, and I held my face, crying more.
“Daddy, please.”
But he didn’t hug me like Mommy did when I cried. No matter what I said, Daddy was always mad at me. I tried to be good when he came home. I tried to make him love me with flowers and smiles. Mommy loved those. But he never did.
“You were never supposed to be born. So I will unmake you.”
He stuck the knife in my heart, and I screamed.
I screamed so loudly, I didn’t know why Mommy wasn’t coming to the door. “Stop!” I cried, feeling a warm and cold pull.
Daddy shook his head, his eyes wide like he was confused. He pushed on the knife, and I fell asleep for a second, then woke up to a funny sensation. A flash of bright light blasted him and the knife back.
I rubbed at my heart, crying, but there was no blood, and it no longer hurt. I was okay.
“Why’d you do that, Daddy?”
He stared at me from the floor, holding the knife, which now had a black stone instead of red. Sitting up, he put the scary knife away and reached for me. I moved back, hitting the wall.
He took out the big white feather and climbed into my bed, pressing the tip to my chest. “Daddy made a mistake. But we won’t tell Mommy about this, okay? Or Daddy might make more mistakes.”
I nodded.
“For now, we’ll hide it with my magical feather. Understand?”
I nodded again.
Before I could feel the pain of his rune, a comforting darkness overtook my mind, soothing me into a gentle sleep.
I wokeup staring into concerned golden eyes, resting in Ronen’s lap on the warm ground.
“Are you okay?” He smoothed back the hair sticking to my forehead.
I sat up with his help, my bottom and hands hot. I looked down to find a large circle of scorched dirt and, farther out, mud and melting snow.
“What happened? Did I hurt anyone?”
I searched for Oliver. He stood in a corner near the Shard Field, heaving his guts up beside Alexei. He patted Oliver’s back as he surveyed us, his dappled wings jutting into the gray sky. His feathers looked a little ruffled, but neither he nor Oliver appeared injured. I slumped back into Ronen.
“Lucille,” Ronen pressed. “Areyouokay?”
Was I?
I touched my chest. Michael had tried to kill me at four, and my mother never knew about it. My four-year-old self had shoved the memory into the deepest, darkest corners of her mind—never to remember it again, never to bring it up.
My Glory must’ve protected me, but it was also the cause.
I bit my lip and touched the warm dirt.
“What happened?”
