She holds steady. I don’t know why I think she wouldn’t; she is the Lupa Nox, the Death-Bringer, the World-Eater.
“Do you want to go?” she repeats.
In the end, I don’t answer her, and she doesn’t push me. She cleans my back in silence, producing a metal tin—the supplies she stumbled upon, I presume—and working in a salve. She says something about tearing off the bottom part of my shift so she can make bandages, but I barely hear her.
Would I go? Just a few bells ago, my answer would’ve been simple, instantaneous. Of course. In what world would I ever consider being alone with the murderer of my people amidst the perils of the Sundered Lands instead of safe within the walls of my sacred city?
But it seems I have crossed into another world, journeyed past the veil, slipped through the other side of the rain. Because as I stand undressed in a way only my betrothed should ever see, my linen shift gone translucent with the moisture, the Lupa Nox herself with her hands upon my bare skin, I feel something I never thought I would in such wild, unholy circumstances.
Safe.
Chapter 26
My mother crouches before me. Her brow creases, hair like a wild halo around her head. Her hands shake on my shoulders, and her fingers tremble as she smooths my braids.
“Ophelia,” she says, and though I am but a child, I feel the thousand things she does not say. There are no words, I think, that will ever be enough, so she settles for my name. “You need to hide.”
“Like a game?” I ask, peering up at her, though there is a funny feeling in the very pit of my stomach that tells me this is not at all like the game we play in the copse of trees by the river.
“Yes,” my mother replies, the word haggard in her mouth. “Just like a game. I found the perfect hiding spot.”
She leads me over to the wall—a dusky, swirling blue—and pulls a section of the carved wood paneling away. “Here,” she says, gesturing toward the tiny pit of darkness. It is the last place I want to go; it is the last place any child would want to go—into a patch of nighttime instead of my mother’s arms.
“Why can’t I stay with you?” I want to know, tears beginning to form in my eyes, a strange desperation I’ve neverfelt before clawing at me from the inside out. “I want to stay with you, Momma.”
“I know, baby,” my mother whispers, and because I am a child, I do not see how much it pains her. “But it’s not safe for us to be together right now. So I need you to curl up in your little den. I’ll be back when it’s safe.”
“Do you promise?” I ask.
“I promise, my dearest,” my mother replies, her eyes gleaming. “Now, go on. Off with you into your den, little bear cub.”
I acquiesce and crouch down to slip into the small opening. Thanks to the light from the rest of the small cottage, I can see there’s a soft blanket and dried foodstuffs inside, as well as a clay jug of water. I settle myself into the woolen blanket.
“Now go to sleep, little cub,” my mother says from her knees, the panel in her hands. “Momma bear will come get you when winter’s over.”
“Okay,” I agree, starting to like this game.
“I love you, Ophelia,” my mother tells me, though her tone makes love seem like a bloodstained burden, not the light, winged thing I always thought it to be.
“I love you too, Momma,” I say, looking out from my little den at my mother.
She smiles at me and moves to slide the panel back into place. Her face disappears in achingly slow motion, leaving me to be swallowed by the dark.
Because I know this is a dream, I also know it is the last time I will ever see my mother.
“Ophelia.”
The sound of my name reaches my ears, and I stir. Some part of me is that small child, tucked away in her little bear’s den, and for a moment I dare to think it is my mother calling me.
“Ophelia.” More insistent this time, urgent, and not my mother. I rouse with a start to find the dark eyes and blackberry mouth of the Lupa Nox just inches from my face. “We have to move. Now.”
“What’s happened?” I ask, pulling myself upright. I’m pleasantly surprised by how much less everything hurts. The salve in the supplies tin must have kept well in the cool underground chamber, and soaking in the hot waters was a tiny miracle in and of itself. Only a few nearby candles are lit; Nyatrix extinguished the rest when we decided to try to sleep. I have no idea how many bells ago that was.
“Knights of the Host,” she says, her attention momentarily stolen, sharp gaze snapping to something that I cannot hear. “They’re searching the tunnels. Getting too close.”
My breath catches in my chest. “Would you let me go to them?”
Her eyes meet mine, a thunderstorm limned by candlelight. “Do you want to?”
