I trace a finger over the map, stopping at Ávera. My gaze narrows as I contemplate the mistake I made when I allowed her to join the military. The moment comes back to me like a nightmare every time I close my eyes.
It was a visit to Tárnov to greet the people, a routine display of my power. There, I saw her, a young woman fighting with the boys her age, making them eat dirt. I had never seen a womanbehave in such a manner. Amused, I told my guards to stay back and approached her.
“How can you fight like that?” I asked.
“I’ve been training,” she said simply. She didn’t bow or tremble. No, she looked directly into my soul.
The poor boys, shaking with fear, looked at my feet and struggled with words as if their mouths were full.
I dismissed them with a wave, and they darted away on unsteady legs.
“Why would you need to do that? A woman should be in the kitchen or, at your age, nursing her child.”
“I train to keep my mother and myself safe from men and boys like those who attacked me.”
I laughed, a sound that echoed through Tárnov’s stones. “Where is your father?”
“I don’t have one,” she replied, apparently unbothered by the presence of the tsar.
I hummed, looking at her toned figure, studying her face. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you want to do in life, young maiden?”
“I want to join the military,” she said as if she had been waiting for this question to come. I had never been astonished so many times in one day.
I laughed again, harder than before. But she didn’t smile. And so I asked, “Do you think you can do it? Those men would eat you alive.”
She smirked. “I’d love to see them try.”
At that moment, I decided to do something no one would ever think of. I allowed her to join the army.
From that day, I received detailed reports of her progress. She was different, stronger. I was fascinated by her achievements, her ability to talk back to me without fear, and herstrength against the men around her. But then her extraordinary abilities began to frighten me. She won every competition, broke the men into pieces, and memorized every lesson. She was unstoppable.
I had plans for her, to make her strong and bring her under my command, but everything changed when I discovered who Noël’s mother was.
The day is so clear in my memory. Suspicion made my nights sleepless, so I sent one of my shadows to infiltrate her home and search for clues.
The ache behind my eyes returns. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I breathe slowly, then rise from the desk and make my way to the tall window that overlooks the southern garden in the hope fresh air might offer some relief. And there she is. Elara, my lovely daughter.
A streak of light against the dark green of the grass, her pale gown spilling around her like she was placed there by an artist’s hand. Her back is straight, and yet, her shoulders are relaxed. She sits beneath the old maple, head tilted, light catching the gleam of her golden hair as she turns a page. One leg is tucked beneath her, the other stretched out, her shoe kicked off without thought.
I’ve told her nursemaids time and time again not to let her sit directly on the soil. Not only is it improper, it’s dangerous. But of course, she never listens. And worse, now they join her. Three grown women in pressed gowns, skirts soaking in dew, sitting in a circle like they are her sisters. Not her keepers. Not her servants.
I hear their giggles even through the glass.
She’s reading again. Of course she is. The book lies open in her lap, resting on the same embroidered shawl her mother once favored. I narrow my eyes. Green cover, gold trim, I recognize the book immediately. Some fairy-tale nonsense about a knightwho saves his fragile wife from a vólkin. The knight slays him, is praised by the people, and the couple live happily ever after.
Elara looks up as one of the nursemaids leans in and says something, likely some foolish comment about finding a handsome knight of her own. Tipping her head back, Elara laughs, a sound that rings like bells in the garden. Her hand flies to her mouth, as if trying to hold in her amusement.
“One of them has a chin too large,” another nursemaid says, and the others erupt with laughter. Elara slaps the book closed and presses it to her chest, leaning forward as she whispers something, and now all four of them are nearly in tears from the joke.
They are children. All of them.
Yet I watch in silence.
Elara is everything they once said a daughter of mine could never be. She’s soft, untouched by the shadows this stronghold was built upon. She walks through these halls as if they were made for her. Servants bow, courtiers perk up at the sound of her voice. She’s beloved by all who meet her. She is the light of this place.
