This is my own mother. Someone I thought long dead, who abandoned me as an infant because I was wrong, or bad, or not good enough; who left me with the House of the Broken, a place which snatched my innocence up and broke me. Onto the Diplomats, who truly ruined me. The Grimsons, with Lukain, who did his level best to patch me up and fix me.
He couldn’t fix what was broken. Lukain Pierken lacked the tools.It’s only been Skartovius, Garroway, and Vallan who have been able to give me what I need: a family. In their own dastardly ways, they care more than anyone ever has.
I’ll never take them for granted. Not after this back-and-forth with my mother, where we’ve spilled our traumas onto one another, cried, hugged, and laughed.
The mending starts now. I suppose it’s never too late to start.
“We should go see Old Endolf together,” I say once I’m finished.
We’ve moved to an upstairs room after taking a short walk outside along the river where I used to talk to a fake girl in my head—one I eventually named Jinneth after the painting on the wall downstairs.
Turns out therealJinneth is even more useful than the friend I fabricated in my mind.
At mention of Old Endolf, my mother pumps her hands. “Now, now, dear, not so fast. I’m just an old woman now. I have no skills or ability to make such a trek. Surely—it’s nearly night outside!”
I chuckle at the flush of her face, the fluster in her words. “You’re not that old, Mother. We don’t need to go now. When you’re ready. Maybe he can help us.”
She clenches her jaw and looks away, out the window, where the sun is beginning to flame an orange hue and swing down below the edge of the mountain. “Perhaps. We’re two fairly intelligent women. Let’s see what we can uncoverwithoutthe help of men, for a moment.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Tell me again what you’ve been able to do with this Loreblood,” she says.
We’re sitting on the edge of the bed like gossiping children. My legs are lifted, knees to my chest. I feel like a small girl again and it’s . . . lovely.
“Garroway—”
“The sarcastic one with the mischievous smile.”
“Right.”
“Trust him as far as I can throw him,” she mumbles.
“Anyway,” I laugh, “Garroway drank from me and can see through the eyes of animals. Keffa called it beast-charming. Mice, rats, moths—”
“Rodents and vermin.” Her nose wrinkles. “Not an excess ofprettyanimals. I suppose he’s pretty enough.”
“Mother!” I chortle. “Focus!”
“And the others?”
“Skartovius Ashfen, the—”
“Haughty young devil.”
“—can manipulate shadows. Isn’t that wild?”
“Sounds dangerous.”
I roll my eyes. “Heisdangerous. They all are.”
“And the big oak tree?”
“The big oak tree is named Vallan Stellos. He can sense when I’m in danger. He calls it bloodsight. It’s some kind of inner vision that relates only to me—the owner of the Loreblood he drank. All of their powers are strongest when closest to me. For a while, they couldn’t even utilize their powers unless I was nearby.”
Jinneth nods continuously, mulling my words over. “I’m not even going toaskhow these heathen vampires managed to drink your blood, daughter.”
“Good, because I’m not going to answer.”
