For a moment, no one moved, and I sat still, fighting tears of anger as I glared a hole in Lord d’Leocopus’ head.
My eyes shot to Torin briefly, and he simply gave a small shake of his head, telling me not to take it further right now.
I loved and trusted Torin like a brother, but he would never—could never—understand what those words did to me.
“As you wish, Lord d’Leocopus,” I hissed through my teeth before pushing from the table, the utensils and cups jumping from the force of my hands. In one fluid motion, I stood andswiveled on my heel, my braids clinking as I moved, before striding for the door.
I didn’t look back at the table, but I heard Lord d’Leocopus huff a laugh.
“Women. This is why I’m no longer married,” he said. “Did I ever tell you about my late fourth wife?”
His voice dulled the further I got from the dining room, but I could hear the echo of his earlier words follow me down the hall and into the safety of my room.
“Mommy!”Itanya’s little voice rang through the empty space as soon as I opened the door. She pushed off the small bed we shared and flew across the room. I knelt on the floor, low enough that she could jump into my arms, before clutching her little body to me and spinning in a circle.
The dinner—both the food and conversation—sat heavy in my stomach, but any time I heard my little girl’s voice, or saw her beautiful smile, it was like my worries were chased away; I could be the happy, carefree woman I yearned to be instead of jaded by life and singularly focused on righting past wrongs. Though I found it hard to shake it completely tonight. Because, if Lord d’Leocopus made good on this threat, then it wouldn’t just be my life that was at stake—it was the life of my little girl, too.
And that was something I refused to play with.
I squeezed her a little tighter tonight and inhaled her perfect eucalyptus smell.
Itanya was a little miracle. After I’d scoured the mark from my skin, I’d been told by a number of healers in the Matriarch’s camp that I’d never be able to have children. That the abuse I suffered at the hands of my master, coupled with the trauma Iinflicted on my own body, had rendered my womb useless and barren.
But then, after a whirlwind and extremely brief relationship with a now deceased Earth Mage, I found out I was miraculously pregnant. I’d wanted to tell her father so desperately, but I’d discovered her existence while he was out on a mission for the Matriarch to gather intelligence in one of the northern cities.
When the task force returned, he was woefully absent. He’d been captured during one of their intelligence raids and was killed on sight, his body burned to ash by a Fire Mage.
Itanya’s father and I were never in love—our relationship was more of a physical companionship, but he was a good person, and I was saddened that Itanya would never know him.
But Torin had stepped in and acted as her father for much of her formative years, though she called him ‘Uncle.’ Now that Peytor was with us, she had not one, but two positive male figures in her life, and she’d attached to Peytor like glue.
“What’s wrong, Momma?” Itanya asked, her sweet little voice so full of wisdom beyond her years. I often wondered if raising her in a rebel camp would have a negative effect on her development—if she’d see and hear things that no little girl should have to experience. That, maybe, I should have fled camp and tried to make an honest living somewhere in the south. Somewhere she could grow up in a stable environment with kids her own age, the ability to play with dolls, and go to school. Maybe I’d even decide to get married and give her a father and a sibling.
But each time I’d contemplated leaving, something deep inside the recesses of my soul pulled me back to the camp. Ineededto be here so I could finally lay my demons to rest.
Selfish? Yes.
But she needed a mother who was content in her own life, too, or I’d never be able to give her every part of me. She at least deserved that.
So I did my best to hide the worst of what happened—the gravest of my sins—from her, to preserve her innocence a little longer.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, Itanya was smarter than I gave her credit, and she interpreted a lot of what was happening, especially my emotions. She was good at reading situations and had the oldest, wisest soul I’d ever met.
The Bondsmith thought so, too, and took a liking to Itanya immediately. Whenever I was training or in meetings with Torin and Peytor—or at offensive dinners with rude lords—the Bondsmith acted as a stand-in grandmother.
And I think they both loved it.
The Bondsmith sat on my bed, a fond gaze settling over me and my daughter. She always seemed a little far away when Itanya and I embraced or laughed together, like she was remembering something. Or someone.
“Momma?” Itanya asked again, wriggling out of my arms to look at me. She clutched my face between her small hands and gazed into my eyes with the intensity of someone much older than five.
I smiled, pushing my reservations and fears from tonight to the back of my mind, while I drank in the sight of my world. She was so little for her age—short and waiflike, so unlike the bulky build of her father. Her skin was on the darker side of brown, and her hair was a mess of corkscrew curls that bounced all over the place when she walked. Mine was like that when I was her age, but my eventual slavery dictated that I keep it out of the way. It was either shave my head or braid back my curls. I didn’t have the heart to shave it—the only thing on my body that was trulymine—so I learned to twist them into braids andlocs, eventually adding beads and trinkets once I escaped to the Matriarch.
She was so like me—mind, body, and spirit.
But her eyes? Her eyes were all her dad—beautiful, bright-green orbs with flecks of blue that reminded me of the shallowest parts of the ocean near Iluul.
Those eyes regarded me now with a deep understanding that I wished she didn’t possess—that I wished she didn’t need.
