Silence stretched between us, heavy and brittle. When I glanced back at him, his jaw was tight, those silver eyes storm-dark with some internal war I couldn’t read.
Finally, he sighed. “I don’t like it.”
“I don’t care.”
Another silence. Longer this time.
“Fine.” The word came out rough, reluctant. “But I’m having Shaelith and Cindrissian fly with us as extra security.”
I rolled my eyes, some of the tension in my chest easing now that I’d won. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being careful.” He was already moving, sliding out of bed. “There’s a difference.”
“Fine.” I turned to watch him dress, admiring the way morning light played across his skin, the carved lines of muscle I’d been tracing with my tongue not ten minutes ago. “But I’m not hiding behind them if something happens.”
The look he shot me was pure exasperation. “We leave in two hours.”
The morning sunfiltered through the leaves of the ancient oak, casting dancing shadows across the garden where Mireth and Eryx played with wooden toys Darian had carved for them. Their laughter should have been soothing—should have filled me with the same warm contentment I’d felt wrapped in Varyth’s arms this morning.
Instead, it was tearing me apart.
I sat on the stone bench as my daughter chased butterflies while my son stacked blocks with the focused determination of someone building a fortress. They looked so small here, dwarfed by the sprawling gardens and towering castle walls. So fragile.
So fucking vulnerable.
“You’re having second thoughts.” Shaelith’s voice cut through my spiralling thoughts, matter-of-fact as always.
I glanced up to find her standing a few feet away, arms crossed, reading me like an open book. Lira sat beside me on the bench, her expression gentler but no less perceptive.
“Maybe.” The admission tasted bitter. “Maybe I’m making a mistake.”
“The war camp or leaving them?” Lira asked quietly.
“Both. Either. I don’t know.” I scrubbed my hands over my face, suddenly exhausted. “What kind of mother abandons her children to go play soldier?”
“The kind who’s trying to keep them safe,” Shaelith said, her tone carrying none of its usual edge. “The kind who refuses to let other people make all the decisions that affect their lives.”
Eryx balanced another block on his tower, tongue poking out in concentration. He looked so much like his father when he did that, the same stubborn focus. The sight made my chest ache with loss and love in equal measure.
“They’ve been through so much already,” I whispered. “The crossing, being thrown into this strange new world. And now I’m leaving them.”
“For a few days,” Lira said gently. “Not forever.”
“What if something happens while I’m gone? What if?—”
“It won’t.” Lira’s hand found mine, warm and steady. “I’ll look after them, Isara. They’ll be safe.”
Shaelith moved closer, her expression unusually thoughtful. “You know, there’s something to be said for a mother who fights for her children instead of just hiding with them.”
I looked up at her, surprised by the gentleness in her tone.
“I’ve seen plenty of parents who think keeping their children locked away is the same thing as keeping them safe,” she continued. “It’s not. Safety isn’t just about walls and wards, Isara. It’s about having a voice in the decisions that shape their world. It’s about making sure the people in power remember that your children matter.”
“But what if I’m wrong?” The question came out raw, desperate. “What if I’m just being selfish? What if I want to go because I’m tired of feeling powerless, and I’m justifying it by telling myself it’s for them?”
Shaelith’s mouth curved. “Does it matter?”
“What?”
