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She paused as surprise flitted across her features, but then she kneaded the dough harder. Faster. “I’m a tough girl. I can handle it.”
“You shouldn’t have to. This wasn’t fair for you.”
“Life is never fair. But you know what? I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
Yet, as she spoke the words, the lie churned her stomach with acid. What was happiness? What did it feel like? Once upon a time, she would have compared it to the sunshine on a warm, summer morning. Summer no longer thrived within her heart. She didn’t know how to get it back or if it was even possible.
Joel moved closer as if trying to capture her attention. She ignored him. “Is that why you keep sending Calle away? You hide the girls inside and then send him away. Why? He thinks it’s because you are angry with him.”
And there it was. Calle.
“Angry? No.” She rolled the dough into a round shape, placed it in a bowl, and covered it with a cloth before wiping the counter down and scrubbing a stubborn piece of flour from the surface. “Not at Calle. Never at Calle.”
Several moments of silence. “He told me your oldest can speak through minds.”
“He told you?” she gasped. She was so used to hiding Maisy’s magic from Liam that she feared anyone finding out.
“You can trust me. I swear.”
“I know. But…” She shook her head and scrubbed harder. Joel would never tell a soul nor put her daughter in danger. But knowing Maisy’s secret was out there made her uneasy.
“I’m surprised,” he continued, and she turned just enough to find his eyebrows furrowed as if working out a puzzle in his mind. “Magic is more likely to be passed through Calle’s line than Liam’s.”
Her entire body froze, and then it thawed underneath the panic crushing her chest as Joel’s eyebrows furrowed further as he began to count his fingers. She grabbed his hand and shoved it down before he reached six, her eyes as wide as a crater.
Joel inhaled sharply as he stared back at her. “That’s because Liam isn’t Maisy’s father. Calle is.”
Nyana reacted on instinct as she crossed the room, slammed the window shut between her and her children, and pressed her back against the wall as her lungs heaved with fear. “You must not tell him. I will take this secret to my grave. Do you understand?”
Thick tension filled the space between them. She hid her trembling hands behind her back and stared at Joel, waiting for his reaction. If he threatened to tell Calle, she would…she would…
She didn’t know what she would do.
Finally, he spoke, though no judgment lay within his voice, only concern. “Why not tell him? Doesn’t he deserve to know he has a child?”
Emotion pricked her eyes, but she refused to let her tears fall. Never again, she swore. She would never allow another man to make her cry. “You don’t understand, Joel. Calle is engaged to Skaja, and he’s happy. He is a good man. If he learns about our child, he will do the right thing, no matter what he must give up. I don’t want to be Queen again. And I would never forgive myself for coming between them. I hide the children away because I can’t have him finding out before he gets married. If he looks at Maisy close enough, long enough, he will learn of the truth. I am trying to buy time before I leave the kingdom, and he’ll never find out.”
He glanced at her, then at their small cottage, and finally at the closed window behind her. “Do you still love him?”
An exhausted sigh escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes, leaning her head against the shutters. “I will always hold a warm regard for him. He is the father of my child. But he feels more like a stranger to me now. We could probably both agree too much time has passed. Too much has happened. I was relieved when he introduced me to Skaja. I am happy to see him happy.”
When she moved back toward the table, her breath hitched in surprise when Joel stepped in her way, his arms folded over his chest. But instead of fear racing through her heart, something familiar echoed in the vast cavern. A warmth. No, not just a warmth. A searing heat. His green eyes pinned her in place, a serious intensity in his gaze.
“Forgive me for being candid. But you refuse Calle’s help. You work and work and work some more while taking care of your daughters. You will lose this cottage, and your pride and fear will keep you from accepting aid.”
She sniffed and turned her head to the side as her cheeks burned. Were her struggles so obvious?
“You need help, Nyana. You need to remarry.”
Now her teeth ground together at the idea, making her jaw ache. She refused to look at him but rather fixed her gaze on the large gash in the edge of the counter. One of many scars. Just like her soul. Just like her body, though most of her scars were hidden beneath her clothing.
“I just need more time to adjust to being a widow. To adjust to this lifestyle. But I refuse to marry again. I can’t put myself—my daughters—at a stranger’s mercy.”
“And what about mine?”
Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest in surprise. Her gaze snapped back to his, searching for the jest. But only honesty lived within his eyes.
His gaze softened as he dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back as if allowing her to either pass him or put distance between them. She did neither.
