Page 161 of Tale of the Heart Queen

When my father dies, so will she. We never got the chance to fix things, but there’s nothing I can do for her on this plane any longer. I’ll never forget the day my father tossed her into her room and shut the door on her forever. If we succeed, then she’ll finally be free, and that will have to be enough.

We skirt through the Keep and enter my mother’s wing, finding her staring out the window. One of her caretakers bows at the sight of us and then leaves to offer us privacy.

I kneel in front of my mother and take her frail, cold hands. She continues to stare out the window.

Amya stands behind me with her arms folded, her body curving into itself. She’s never been comfortable in this room.

“Mother,” I say. I get stuck on the words. I don’t know how to tell her this, but I have to. I don’t know where to begin, so I share everything.

Starting from the very beginning, I tell her about Lor in Nostraza and the Sun Queen Trials. I tell her about my mate, about how much I love her, and how she makes me feel. I hold nothing back. I tell everything to my mother, including the fact that we might never see her again.

I lay out my heart, my hopes, and everything I’ve kept in. It’s now or never.

When I’m done, I feel lighter. Like I can breathe. I drop my head in her lap. “I love you,” I say. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

Amya and I wait in silence as we prepare to say goodbye.

But a moment later, someone touches my hair, fingers softly running through it. I look up, and she’s staring at me.

“Mother?” I ask. I can’t remember the last time she moved or touched me or even noticed I was here. Her eyes. For the first time in decades, her eyes are awake. They fill with tears that remain suspended just on the edge of everything.

“You never failed me,” she says so softly that I must strain to hear it. “It was I who failed you, Nadir. Over and over. If I had just been strong enough to stand up to him . . .”

Her hand falls from my head, her lips pressing together as a tear finally slips down her cheek, curving under her chin.

“No,” I say, taking her hand in mine and pressing it to my face. “You did the best you could. He is a monster.”

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, her head shaking slightly as if disagreeing. Another tear streaks down her cheek. “You found your mate,” she says, looking at me before her mouth curls into the ghost of a smile. “All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

She leans over and presses her nose to the top of my head, inhaling deeply like she’s pulling me into her soul.

“Do whatever you need, my boy. Whatever you need to be free of him.”

“But this is it,” I say. “Your life here is over.”

“It was over so many years ago. I’m ready. I only wanted what was best for you, to protect you, and I did such a poor job of that. All I can do is try to live with that guilt.”

“Don’t,” I say. “When you get to the Evanescence, be free of this. Okay? I don’t want you to feel guilty for anything.” I squeeze her hand.

Another tear slides down her cheek, and then her gaze moves to Amya, who watches her with a mixture of fear and vulnerability on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Mother says. “I’m sorry that I never had the chance to know you.”

Amya’s face pulls together, her lower lip trembling as she sniffs. She wipes an errant tear with the back of her wrist.

“And I’m sorry that I let him take you from me. I always wanted a daughter,” she whispers, and there’s so much heartbreak in it that my chest nearly cracks.

Amya chokes out a sob, and then she dives forward, wrapping her arms around Mother’s neck and sobbing against her.

“I’m sorry,” Amya says. “I should have come here more. I should have tried harder to understand, too.”

Mother doesn’t move at first, and I watch her face, something passing over her expression that speaks to every haunting memory that lives in her thoughts—every moment of pain caused by my father. Every tear and cry of anguish.

Slowly, her arms lift to wrap around Amya as if she’s just taught herself how to hug someone. At that moment, I curse the short memories of our childhoods.

I remember her in flashes—her warm smile and snuggling up with her under the blankets. I remember soft touches and her singing as she helped me drift off to sleep, but they’re distant, buried in the haze of so many passing years. What I wouldn’t give to go back and have a record of it all. Of our lives rendered in relief or on an oil canvas to remember forever.

We were happy. With her, I was happy, even if it was so brief.