Page 52 of A Monarch's Fall

“That is fair,” she replied slowly. “I have been a poor grandmother. I haven’t been there for any of the big moments in your life, your name day, first steps, birthdays, or the day your magic first manifested,” she leaned forward again, “But it was not from a lack of wanting to be there. I have longed to meet you, to bring you into the coven,” she told me and it felt sincere.

I took a calming breath.

“What coven? I was told Flores disappeared, disbanded, that they stopped helping the kingdom,” I said, more curious than angry.

The old woman before me was my mother’s mother, my grandmother, my family, and at the very least, I could allow her to explain herself because I deserved answers. I deserved to know why I had been forgotten, along with the rest of the kingdom.

She nodded in understanding.

“Your mother’s magic was unique, too,” she began.

I leaned forward.

“Like mine?” I asked.

She smiled fondly.

“Not quite, well, at the time, I didn’t imagine that it could develop into what you have shown yourself capable of. Given your own novel ability, it complements your mother's well. Your mother was a dual user,” she replied. She must have seen the confusion on my face because she continued, “Damia could control both Flores' magic, like me, and Aqua's magic.”

“Her books, her gift, she said it was for aquatic plant life,” I replied, confused.

I had read my mother’s books cover to cover more times than I kept track of; she made no mention of being a dual user. No one had the magic of multiple covens. Even if your parents were from a mixed magic background, magic only manifested within the limits of one coven, similar to vampiric capabilities; one parent's characteristics were always dominant.

Lady Flores laughed softly. “Yes, that was how we explained Damia’s abilities, how I hid her. Dual users of magic were so incredibly rare that I had never known of any witch with such abilities. We chose a cautious approach; as a family, we kept her abilities secret from the entire witching community, at least until we understood what was happening,” she explained.

“What was happening?” I asked.

“Did you know it is coven law that none of Flores' magic can bear children with any other witching coven?” She asked me.

I shook my head, no, I had never heard of such a law. But coven law was sacred to each coven; it wasn’t for outsiders, and I was an outsider.

“It has been the law of the coven for as long as anyone can tell, and we don’t change laws lightly. You understand? Coven laws are the most highly held; they are there to protect us. They are gifts from our ancestors.”

“And so, you broke the law with Mother,” I stated.

She smiled sadly.

“All children should be born of love, and Damia was so dearly loved, but not all children are conceived from love; some are violent conceptions,” she answered.

There was a pause at her words, and the room seemed to become cold despite the crackling fireplace.

I felt sick in understanding.

“My late husband, the only man with any right to be regarded as your grandfather, was understanding, and he loved Damia as his own. We kept the circumstances of your mother's birth and heritage secret. For her own safety.”

“I,” I hesitated, “I’m sorry,” I said, looking to the fireplace, my anger for the woman in front of me extinguished. I’d never met anyone who had revealed to me that they had experienced such a violation, and I was unsure how to respond. I felt grief for this woman, as a woman myself, but I thought it wasn’t my place to express such a feeling; it wasn’t my experience. I could only be sorry.

“It was at the time the worst experience of my life. It was meant to break me, to humiliate me, to silence me. Rape is never about desire; it is never the result of what a woman has or has not done. It is an act of shameful violence committed by those who are so aware of their inferiority that, in their cowardice, they attack in a vain attempt to dominate. They are already broken, and they carry shame so great that they will never escape it.

“If it wasn’t for Karo, your grandfather, my rapist may have achieved his goal. But he reminded me, in his strength, that we are Flores, we give and protect life, and Damia may not have been planned; her very existence was against our laws, but she was chosen, she was loved, and ultimately, we are here today because of her.”

“My grandfather?” I asked.

She smiled softly.

“He passed away,” she answered.

“Oh.” I didn’t know why; I had never even known of him, I had never thought of him, but hearing that he was no longer here, that I would never know him, was upsetting.