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“They are, but there is some research to show that certain types of shades may follow family lines, especially Elder types. They’d hoped that she might change into an Elder when she came of age. The only blessing of the entire thing—she never changed into a shade. They give me monthly letters about her with pictures and updates, but she knows nothing about me or her mother. I wish she knew how much her mother loved her, but at least she’s been given a normal life. That is something I am grateful for.”
“And you do as the Warden says because if you don’t, they’ll threaten Lilianna?”
I sighed, hating having it spelled out like that. It made me feel weak.
I’d always viewed my sacrifices to protect my daughter as noble, as necessary. Now, however, as Hera stared at me, I didn’t feel that way. There was no nobility in this at all. I felt helpless.
“Yes,” I answered. “I lost her mother because I refused to obey an order. I thought I could do that, that I was strong enough to have my own morals, my own rules, to live my own life even in this place, but Larkwood taught me such things can’t exist here. Before the death of Jasmine, I had worked for the Warden, though I stopped short of anything I found toodistasteful. It seems the Warden had grown tired of my rebellion, and she finally had leverage to use against me. It was all my fault, because I had too much pride, thought I could handle anything. I’ve worked with wardens since Larkwood first opened, since they first sent me here. I thought too much of myself and my powers. Lilianna was only six months old when the Warden had her mother murdered and took her away from me. They placed Lilianna with a loving adoptive family, and they bribe me with these updates to keep me under their thumbs, to remind me I still have things to lose.”
Hera looked at me in a way that made me want to hide. I’d never felt like that before, always more than willing to face any problem head-on. There was no way to face this, though. I had no way to fix it. Larkwood had me trapped for however long my daughter lived, could force me to become a tool for the sake of a girl who would never know what I sacrificed for her, never know me, who would hate and fear me if she ever met me.
I expected Hera to look at me with anger, to storm out of my place and never speak to me again. She’d seen me disfigure a man who couldn’t fight back, had watched me snap the neck of a terrified shade, all things I desperately didn’t want to do but had still done.
Instead, she met my gaze head-on.“She’s very beautiful.”
I blinked slowly, unable to make sense of the statement. It made me recognize that Hera truly was kind. She had a sweetness to her, a purity that Larkwood would crush with time.
But I didn’t want it to. I wanted her to keep that, which was perhaps why I’d spent so much time and effort trying to help her, at least in my own way.
A scent struck my nose, making me frown. A spot of red sat on the carpet, and another joined the first.
“You’re bleeding?” I said, reaching for her arm where it seemed to stem from.
Hera yanked backward, as if the idea of my touching her was too much.
I can’t blame her for that.
I tried to pretend her reaction didn’t hurt, that I didn’t care if she feared me. I shifted slightly to see her arm without touching her, finding a cut there and a line of blood down the back. It seemed she hadn’t even noticed the injury.
I frowned as I tried to figure out what had happened, but the shimmer of glass shards on the floor made it clear.
I’d done this. I’d lost my temper, thrown the items and she’d ended up harmed by it.
Guilt tugged at me as I moved past her, careful not to get too close. I took a first-aid kit from the hallway closet, then opened it on the coffee table. I hadn’t used the items there since I’d never needed to. I healed quickly enough that using bandages would have been a waste.
I nodded toward the couch. “Please, sit. Walking around with blood on you in Larkwood is a bad idea. The scent of blood makes tempers run high in many shades.”
She followed the order, though she seemed uneasy, still. How couldn’t she, though? After seeing what I’d done, after hearing my story, after I’d lost control and hurt her?
I really am worthless.
“I will clean your arm, then apply the bandage. It would be too difficult for you to do it yourself.” I didn’t want to apologize. I wanted to not mention all those things, but as I took out an alcohol wipe to clean the blood away, words fell from my lips. “I’m sorry. For what you had to see me do, for burdening you with this all, and for my behavior here. I never wished for you to be afraid of me, but I understand if you are.”
She didn’t respond at first, but when I went to open a second wipe, her hands moved.“I’m not afraid of you.”
“I don’t need your skills to spot that lie. It would be a normal reaction to fear me. Don’t worry—I’m used to it.” I wiped the rest of the blood from her upper arm, then moved down to her wrist, to where the red had dried even at her fingers. Her hand was so small compared to mine.
It made her seem fragile, made me almost afraid to touch her. “Lilianna’s mother was a level-1 shade—a banshee. She was tough, the absolute embodiment of a mama bear. I remember being astounded when I met her. I found her protecting a new shade, one who was only ten at the most, when other shades had cornered them. She sent eight other level 1 shades running. I was in love at first sight.”
Hera listened quietly as I cleaned the blood from her hand, moving between each finger, careful to get it all.
Or perhaps I just enjoyed touching her enough that I took my time so the moment lasted…
“I thought that because of what she was, because of how tough she was, that she would be safe. I thought between her and I, between the power we held, nothing could hurt us.” I let out a cold laugh. “That didn’t happen, clearly. I have so much power, and for what? Icouldn’t protect the only things that ever mattered to me. Lilianna’s mother died and Lilianna was taken from me, and all I can do is act like a puppet for the Warden. I feel like one of those trained tigers, forced to follow the orders of things less than, forced to ignore my nature.”
I balled up the last alcohol wipe and tossed it to the table in frustration before taking out a bandage. I opened it and pulled the back off so I could apply it to the small cut that had already stopped bleeding.
“This isn’t who I wanted to be,” I admitted, hating myself for burdening her further. Why did I want to tell her that? I’d cared little when people thought badly of me, when they had no idea why I did the things I did. It was my place in life and thinking too much about it only caused pain.
