“Momma,” I whisper against her neck, and I’m five years old again, safe in the circle of her arms, the world outside distant and harmless.
She pulls back just enough to cup my face in her warm, calloused hand shaking. Her touch is delicate, like she can’t quite believe I’m real. I know the feeling.
“Look at you,” she murmurs, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “All grown up and whole once more.”
A sob catches in my throat, and I can’t hold it back. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Oh, my sweet girl.” She gathers me close again, rocking me gently. “I never stopped looking for a way back to you. Not a single day.”
We cling to each other, years of separation concentrated into this single, precious moment. I breathe her in, memorizing everything, the texture of her worn cotton dress, the wildflowers tangled in her curls, the strength in her arms that feels like home.
Sam stands, taking the sheet to cover his nude body, giving us space, and I catch his eye over my mother’s shoulder. His face is soft with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.
“You saved me,” I say to them both.
My mother pulls back, her hands still cupping my face. “No, Little Fish. You saved yourself. We just caught you when you fell.”
The childhood nickname nearly breaks me again. Little Fish. I’d almost forgotten.
“How?” I ask. The single word contains a universe of questions. How did we get here? How am I still alive?
She sighs deeply, the sound carries years of worry and relief, as she settles beside me on the bed. The mattress dips under her weight, and a familiar warmth radiates from her, that earth-magic that always made her feel like solid ground beneath my feet.
“From your murmurs in your sleep, your cries in the darkness, I assume you met Goddess Ourea, face to face.” Her sea-glass eyes search mine, reading the trauma written there like ancient runes. “You don’t have to tell me what you experienced on that cursed mountain, Esme. The nightmares that wracked you these past weeks told me enough. I can only imagine the horrors she subjected you to.”
Her weathered hands reach for mine, fingers intertwining with practiced comfort. “But it appears Goddess Ourea did far more than simply strip your magic away, Esmeralda. What she did to you. . .” Her voice catches, and I see the flash of fury in her eyes, the protective rage of a mother who couldn’t shield her child. “She severed your very essence, your connection to the elements themselves. She tried to tear apart the fundamental threads that make you who you are.”
Her fingers move to brush my wrist, tracing the pulse there with the reverence of someone who thought they might never feel it again. The touch sends warmth through my veins, her earth-magic recognizing what remains of my own battered spirit. “When they brought you here four weeks ago, you were barely breathing. Your soul was fracturing like ice in a spring thaw, pieces of you scattered to the winds. Margaret, bless that woman, she brought you here to Vanir, allowing the fae blood in your veins to aid in your healing. It was the only way.”
I swallow hard, remembering the endless falling. “And the baby?” I ask, not ready to face the fae blood bomb drop.
Her face softens, her grief mirroring my own. “Your body couldn’t sustain both of you, not in that state. I’m so sorry, Little Fish.”
Fresh tears burn. I close my eyes against them, but they spill anyway, hot trails down my cheeks. Sam, now dressed, crosses the room and places his hand onmy shoulder, a warm anchor in the storm.
“Isadura,” I manage through clenched teeth. “She knew. She tried to kill us both.”
My mother’s expression hardens. “Gods. Is she dead? Because if she isn’t I will kill her myself.”
“Dead. I. . .killed her,” I say, swallowing down the bile rising in the back of my throat. I’m not a violent person. It’snot in mynature, but to protect myself and my unborn child, I have no guilt. Even if killing her didn’t matter in theend, I still lost it all.
The memory flashes, the knife, the blood, the cracking earth. The high priestess’s body disappearing into the chasm. I did that. I killed her.
I’m not sorry. Isaduragot off too easy in my opinion.
“The Coven,” I start, but my mother shakes her head.
“Later,” she says gently. “You need to rest. Your body is still healing.”
“I’ve been asleep for a month,” I protest, but even as I say it, exhaustion drags at me, heavy as iron.
“Healing sleep is different than true rest.” She brushes back my hair. “Sleep now, Little Fish. I’ll be here when you wake.”
I want to argue, to ask the hundred questions burning in my throat, but my eyelids are so heavy. The last thing I see before darkness claims me again is Sam and my mother, side by side, watching over me with matching expressions of fierce, unwavering love.
When I wake again, the light has changed, golden afternoon spilling across the floor. Sam is gone, but my mother sits ina rocking chair by the window, her fingers working deftly at something I can’t quite see.
“You’re still here,” I whisper, and she looks up, a smile breaking across her face like sunrise.
