“I want to be a king!” Cyrus admitted.
“I want to be the great magicless warrior woman,” Mira said.
I could barely hear them. Because I think Elia just told the story of Valkaryn, and it broke my heart.
She pulsed at my hip as if in agreement, but said nothing.
When the children went to sleep, I checked on my mother and gently moved her to her bed, a formerly large closet off the second bedroom. Her breathing was better, shallower, and less ragged. I tucked the blankets around her thin frame, brushing a few damp strands of hair off her forehead. She murmured something unintelligible and rolled to her side.
Once she was settled, I stepped back into the main living room to find Elia wiping down the kitchen table, her sleeves rolled up, dark braid slung over one shoulder. She moved efficiently, silently, like she’d been in this home for years instead of days.
“I can do that,” I offered, stepping forward.
She didn’t look up, just held out a hand to stop me. “You need rest for the next trial.”
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “What do you care how I do in the next trial?”
Her gaze flicked up, unreadable, before briefly landing on the sword at my hip. “Considering my beloved cousin is protecting you with his life,” she said coolly, “I am naturally invested in your success.”
I snorted. “I don’t believe that for a second. You want me to win so Kaelric can have the sword. Why?”
She straightened, cloth still in hand, and studied me for a long moment before answering. “Because it would mean something,” she said, voice quiet but firm.
I arched a brow. “To who?”
She hesitated, then looked slowly around our tiny living space. Her eyes settled on the frayed patchwork carpet, the chipped teacup on the stove, the faint water stain spreading across the papered ceiling. “I don’t know much about life here,” she said finally. “But it seems your people struggle to make ends meet. To keep their bellies full. To stay warm.”
My mouth parted in offense, but she raised her hand before I could speak.
“And so do mine, but we struggle in a different way. Back home, we’re just trying to keep our children alive. Our elders safe. Our lands from falling further into ruin. Winning Valkaryn would give Kaelric power to make things better for us. Forallof us. Whatever you are going through for your people, Kaelric is doing the same for ours.”
Her voice caught slightly just at the end, and I noticed the faint tremble in her hand where it still clutched the rag. Not weakness, but resolve.
I had never considered in all my time with Kaelricthat he, too, might be fighting for people he loved, fighting to bring them up out of hard times.
I let my shoulders fall, the anger slipping away.
Maybe Kaelric and I were more alike than I thought.
After that, Elia made her bed on the couch quietly, her presence calm and unobtrusive. Within minutes, her breathing deepened, and I could tell she’d fallen asleep. I slipped into bed with my mother, curling into the familiar shape of the mattress, the huge divot where my father used to sleep. It had never quite sprung back. Just like us.
I watched the rise and fall of her chest, each inhale steady, soft. Every hour, I reached out to press the back of my hand to her forehead. My fingers trembled with each touch. I braced for the worst. But sometime near dawn the heat broke. Her skin turned damp, and she stirred on her own, eyes fluttering open.
“I feel so much better,” she whispered, sitting up, color blooming in her cheeks like spring after a long winter.
Relief washed over me, too big to hold. I nodded and blinked hard, forcing the tears back down.
“I was so worried.” I hugged her gently before I slid off the bed. I needed to get her some water, something so I could feel useful again, not just standing helpless at her bedside.
When I stepped into the kitchen, the smell hit me first, warm, buttery, rich.
“Eggs?” I asked in shock, watching Elia crack another one into a hot pan. “Where did you get those?”
She turned her head slightly and pressed a finger to her lips. Her eyes flicked to the couch.
I followed her gaze.
Kaelric was curled awkwardly across the small frame, his legs dangling off one side, one arm slung over his stomach. His chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths, and a shaft of morning sunlight stretched across his bare collarbone, golden and soft.
