He was quiet for a moment. Fire crackled loudly in the silence. Atria counted his deep breaths, trying to center herself so she didn’t let her reaction to his emotions color how he felt.
That was the danger with empathy. Mostly it flowedtowardher, but she was capable of projecting, too. Usually that was a good thing, promoting positive feelings and calm, but it could also result in terrible damage if those feelings were negative. It was rare, but empaths could even weaponize those negative feelings when threatened — to devastating effect.
Now that they were completely tethered, as connected as they could be without a witchbond, Kaz could feel her emotions almost as clearly as she could feel his. She had to watch herself to make sure she didn’t overwhelm him, or make a sore spot worse.
So she kept quiet, leashed her righteous anger, and she worked carefully, delicately, to ease his ache.
After a long pause, he explained, “She died a week after I landed in the EVP. Looking back, I think she knew it was going to happen and she didn’t want— I think she was trying to spare me. In her position, I would have done the same. Still, it always felt a bit like I’m the one who killed her. Teddy’s mom, too.”
Atria’s voice was barely audible when she asked, “How do you figurethat?”
“If she hadn’t gotten pregnant with me, Thaddeus wouldn’t have lost his shit and murdered Raina. If he didn’t do that, he might have eventually made the choice to be with Amira. If I didn’t exist, she wouldn’t have gotten sick and everyone might have lived happily ever after.”
“Do you really believe that?” Atria tried to keep her tone measured but failed. She couldn’t,wouldn’tlet him believe that the world would be better off if he’d never been born. Sherefused.“Do you really believe that the man who helped start the Great War and who terrorized his people with shadow squads evenbeforehe lost his mind would have ever let his spouse or children go peacefully? Or your mother, for that matter?”
“No.” He was quiet for a beat, and then, speaking so softly she could barely hear him, he added, “But it’s easier to think it’s my fault. If I’m the problem, then I at least have someone to punish.”
Atria squeezed her eyes shut.My poor mate.
Kaz didn’t want pity. She knew that on an instinctive level. He didn’t want her to feel pain for him.
His pride would not allow him to distinguish between empathy and pity. So instead of telling him how sorry she was, how his childhood made her wish she could go back in time and hold him, she gave him another part of herself to keep.
“I told you that my father wasn’t involved in my life.”
Kaz’s purr became an almost subvocal growl. “Yes.”
“Well, I did something similar to what you did after I left the Sanctuary.” She sucked in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out again — bracing herself. “Before I figured out I wanted to go to school, I saved up my money for a trip to Luxor. I tracked my father down, thinking that he might… Well, I thought maybe he might want to know me, if nothing else.”
Kaz’s arms tightened around her middle. He hunched over her, as if he wanted to draw her into his chest, where no one could ever hurt her again.
The best feeling in the world,she thought, blinking back hot tears.
She had to clear her throat before she could continue. “I showed up on his doorstep and he was— Amit wasoverjoyedto know he’d had a hand in conceiving a Bonded priestess. My mother didn’t bother to tell him, apparently. He invited me in and treated me with respect. He wanted to know everything about my life. For a few minutes, it felt like I’d found— It felt like he was my dad. My family.” She swallowed. “But I misread him. Even empaths do that sometimes. Turns out, he’s a devout worshipper.”
Her eyes dropped down to her wrists, where her red tattoos glowed against her bronze skin. “He saw me as a priestess and only a priestess. I wasn’t his daughter. My conception was an act of worship, not love. When I told him I’d left the Sanctuary, he was horrified. He asked me if I’d reconsider. If there was some way for him to… make it right, somehow.”
What a fool she was, seeking him out. Atria had pinned all her fledgling hopes of a family, community, on that man, without ever once considering the fact that High Priestess Desdemona — her gorgeous, regal, pious mother who devoted every waking hour of her life to serving the gods — would never have chosen someone whose devotion was in doubt.
Amit was a good man. Despite his feelings, he graciously welcomed her into his home. They gradually grew more comfortable together, and she’d come to love how he told stories, the way he showed her his sprawling, ancient city. He took her on a river cruise and packed her bag with gifts to bring back to the UTA. When he dropped her off at the airport, he kissed her cheeks and wished her well.
But he never contacted her again. He didn’t answer her calls. He didn’t reply to her messages. Desperate for something, anything, she followed a hunch and looked up the public directory of newly inducted pilgrims in Luxor’s Sanctuary.
Two days after her departure, Amit El-Arif sold his home, quit his job, donated his worldly goods, and joined the Sanctuary to live out the rest of his life in service.
Perhaps it was an attempt to make up for her lack, but she would never know.
The humiliation and heartbreak of that day still clung to her, and it was in no small part the reason she was so deeply uncomfortable around those who still treated her as a priestess.
And because she knew he’d understand, she confessed, “I want you to know that I did try everything. Growing up, I meditated for hours, trying to fix the way my mind wandered away from Burden’s Tenets. I fasted until I was skin and bones. I did manual labor, I served the sick, I tended the heartbroken. I took the vows and I thought if I could just— if I couldbreakmyself, maybe I could remake my soul into something better, more selfless.”
Her breath hitched, heralding a flood of tears, but she pushed on anyway. “And then I turned eighteen and I was expected to take the final vow, despite the fact that I would never be the priestess my mother was, I would never begoodenough. The way my mother looked at me when we chose the day for the ceremony, I… It was like she knew I didn’t deserve it.”
Atria tried to block out the image of her mother’s dark eyes, her glowing brown skin, the calm radiance that surrounded her. How was it that a woman so warm, so dedicated to helping others, had always seemed a million miles away from her daughter? Why couldn’t she justseeAtria for what she was, how hard she tried?
“When the day of the ceremony came, I thought of how she looked at me, how it would feel to wear the collar I didn’t evenwantfor the rest of my life and I just— I couldn’t do it, and the shame of thatdidbreak me. I felt like I’d been shattered. Except I didn’t reform into something better. I just stayed… defective.”
“I need you to explain to me exactly what a Bonded is,” Kaz said, quietly and firmly. “I don’t think I understand. Iwantto understand.”
