I knew nothing—nothing of who I was, of who my people were. Nothing of this world, of the shadows to which I belonged.
The one goal that had anchored my listless shell was a mirage. My mother had not died, my city had not fallen. It did not need saving.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized a terrible truth.
Those bodies lining the streets of Galasvar, the terror etched on their faces, the torn off limbs, the crushed children . . .
It had been my mother's doing.
Chapter 48
Mare
The Shadowlands were utterly silent. No birds sang in the treetops; no insects buzzed in the marsh. A light breeze caressed the ebony strands of grass, but it made no sound.
I could hear a drop of water strike a pond, a thousand paces away.
Leaning against a willow tree, I stared into the distance. Mountains hugged the valley, sealing the village within their protective walls. Should I stare long enough, I could see faint movement in the darkness beyond.
Cupping my hands, I stared at my palms. My life had been in freefall since the day I’d left for Galasvar.
What was I supposed to do?
My fingers shook, and I pressed them into my eyes.
A gentle, feminine voice called to me through the darkness. “Mare?”
Lowering my hand, I wrapped it around Cierthine’s hilt. Stepping from the tree’s shadow, I watched her approach.
Lady Ethna, Duchess of Tirnanog.
My mother.
I understood what Alistair had said back in Tsuyan. She and Ididlook just alike. Save, her eyes were pale purple.
And mine were wretched and dark.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” Ethna breathed, stepping up onto the grassy knoll. She clutched a white-fire lantern. “Quinn filled me in, at least, on the important bits. You must have questions.”
I spent my life yearning for a mother I never knew. In my head, our reunion had been one of instant love, a connection between mother and daughter that time could not sever.
The woman before me was a stranger; her tone, that of a woman conducting business.
“Of course I have questions.” I gestured vaguely to the world around me. “Everyone thinks you’re dead, but here you are.”
Ethna nodded. “Walk with me.” Lifting her skirts, she turned back to the city.
Gathering myself, I walked alongside her.
“The world thinks Tirnanog lies dead, under an impenetrable storm,” Ethna said. “That is what we hoped for. In truth, most of our people are here.”
“Most?” I pressed.
She did not answer. "The Aeourant people made their home in this city long before we arrived. And they are not the only ones who call the Ceorthan Shadowlands home."
A city—let alone many cities—existing in the Shadowlands was a revelation that would shake any good religious sort to their bones.
"And these. . . Air-oh-went people." I struggled to repeat the strange word. "They accepted you?"
