“Just . . . trust me?”
My instinct was to say “no,” but Cotton was so relaxed on his lap, so eased in his presence that it calmed some of my defensiveness.
My hands shakily pulled the letter from my belt, and I raised my eyebrows slightly to see that Sharol’s scrawling handwriting now adorned the outside of the letter rather than the two runes that indicated “time” and “place.”
Apparently thisisthe time and place.
That, more than anything, bolstered my confidence. There was no reason for me not to trust Sharol—up until the point where she fled Isrun, she was always honest and trustworthy.
I opened the letter and began to read.
My dearest daughter; my Faylinn,
You’ll have to forgive me for a number of things after you read this letter, the first of which is for telling you this information in a letter rather than face-to-face. I struck a bargain with Fate years ago and there are certain parameters with that bargain. There are things I cannot say, and can really only write about so much. Eventually, I hope to see you in person, but this time as my daughter, not as my student. Maybe then I’ll be able to answer whatever questions you have.
First, as I hope your new companion has now made clear, I am your mother. Sharol is the name I took when I moved to Isrun as a way to adapt to life in the Borderlands; life with you and your father, even if you never knew me as your mother, or Holt as your father. As I said, we were under a bargain and could only tell you so much. But we loved you—oh, do we love you—as much as we could without it seeming odd to anyone else. Anonymity was, and still is, paramount.
By now you’ve learned my real name. I am the Bondsmith—natural daughter of Fate and a mortal woman. I’m sure you understand the need for secrecy now, though I did what I could to ensure that you were trained to use the power that flows through your veins. I hope that one day we can continue our training together—as the Bondsmith and her demigod daughter. Oh the things we could do together!
Second, I cannot give you all the answers here, though I wish I could. Yes, Holt is your father. His death broke the part of the bargain that allows me to speak freely about him once more. I loved him with the force of a thousand suns and know that he loved you even more—you were his pride and joy, Faylinn. The very best of both of us. Knowing you loved him the same was all he ever desired, and I know he felt it in his final moments.
Third, keep Holt’s necklace safe and out of the hands of the Warlord. My brother is hunting for it, and it is paramount that it stay hidden until the time is right. Wearing it on your neck at all times should conceal its signature enough.
Fourth, part of the bargain that another struck with Fate was for the removal of your memories. They’re there, just hidden. If you wish to have them restored, either go ask Sirak or wait for him to come to you with a journal. The timing does not matter, it is whenyouare ready to receive it.
I need you to trust Torin. I need you to help him rescue Ellowyn from Vespera—she doesn’t it see it right now, but she is in grave danger and I fear for Elyria if the Warlord truly discovers what she is. Aid him as best as you can and I will see you soon.
I love you, my sweet girl.
I stopped, gasped. Read it a second time. Then a third, my hands shaking so badly that it caused the paper to rustle and crackle in the quiet of my sitting room.
“What. The. Fuck?” I cried, letting the letter float to the ground at my feet, and pushed my hands through my hair.
Torin said nothing, just silently stroked Cotton while I had a complete breakdown over the truths written in Sharol’s—my mother’s, theBondsmith’s—hand.
“I know it’s a lot to absorb,” Torin said quietly, and I scoffed in response.
“A lot to absorb?” I exclaimed manically, my hands flying from my hair to each side of my body. “I had both a father and a mother—grew up withbothof them for as long as I can remember because my memories are alsogonebecause she gave me away when I was a young girl and then she and someone else made some deal with Fate—mygrandfather—who wiped my memory. Oh, then I had towatch my father dieand never fucking told him that Iloved himand he had topretendhe wasn’t actually my father. AND THEN to top it all off, the woman who was training me in runes is actuallymy mother,who isTHE BONDSMITH. Who also pretended like she didn’t know I was her daughter for the entirety of my adult life before she just up and left without saying anything to me! So, yes, Torin d’Eshu, it’s a lot to fucking absorb!”
My arms fell to my sides as I rubbed the scars on my skin. Pieces of my memory were restored through that letter, but it seemed even my mother wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell me how I got these scars.
Go ask Sirak, her letter stated.
“There’s just more questions than answers now,” I admitted quietly, the reality of the situation sitting like a ton of bricks on my shoulders. “If my mother is a goddess, what does that make me?” I wondered.
“She’s half-goddess,” Torin supplied, and I shot him a dry look. “Her father was Fate, her mother a mortal. So that would make you a quarter-goddess at most.”
He shrugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I blinked at him.
“I, uh, also may know the Bondsmith,” he admitted with a wince.
I blinked again.
“Youwhat?!” I screeched, and Cotton sprang from Torin’s lap with a hiss at the sudden noise. Uncaring of my present company, I hissed in return.
Torin took one look at the manic look on my face and burst into laughter.
