Page 4 of Fighting for Her Heart

“OfcourseI came here looking for you.” She squeezes my hand again. “And wow. You just asked a lot of questions at once.” She laughs. “I’ll answer them all as best I can.”

“Thanks.” I grin.

“Let’s sit.” Her head gestures toward a large boulder I remember climbing on often when I was little. It seems so much smaller now and we push ourselves up onto it and sit side-by-side. Twigs snap in the forest behind us as Axe and Zuben settle in to keep watch.

Does my mom realize they can easily listen in to our conversation? She must. But no way am I telling her, in case she doesn’t.

“The witches who came looking for you that day,” Mom says softly. “They were very angry with me.”

“Angry? Why?”

“For hiding you. The spell I cast over this farm is powerful. I’m still not sure how they broke through it that day, but I am glad that you and I had run those drills. I’m just grateful the spell hiding the cellar held.”

“Is the cellar real? I can’t find the door.”

She shakes her head.

Memories of that day flash through my mind—my terror, alone in that cellar as I listened to the battle upstairs—no way to help, or even find my bearings.

“Mom…” I tug at the denim over my knee.

“What is it?” she rubs my back in tiny circles, like she used to when I was little. I want to snuggle against her, to fall asleep, but I still have so many questions.

I choose one of many topics swirling in my mind. “I had a strange dream recently.”

“What about?”

“In the dream, I was little. Maybe two or three? Someone hid me. And there was a fire? I think? You were in the dream. You found me, but in the dream I…I didn’t know you.” I shake my head. “It’s more like a nightmare.”

Mom shifts on the rock, looking down.

“Was that a dream or a memory?” I ask, my voice breathless.

She takes my hand. “It was a memory, Ember. And before that day, youdidn’tknow me.”

“What?” Were we separated more than once? “How did I not know my own mother?”

My mind goes fuzzy and my throat and chest squeeze. A rush of emotions flood through me, a mix so confusing I can’t even begin to name its ingredients.

“Who? What?” I stammer to find words—even thoughts—inside the thick emotional soup clouding my mind. “Are you—are you even my mother?”

Her face crumples and her eyes close as she shakes her head. Her eyes reopen filled with tears and pain.

My chest has collapsed under ten tons of stone.

“The fire you remember… Your mother—yourbirthmother—she was killed in that fire.” Mom tightens her hold on my hands. “She hid you to keep you safe. I found you. You were so little and sad, and needed protection, so I raised you as my own and I did everything in my power to protect you.” Her tone turns defensive. Like she needs to justify helping a toddler.

But I can’t bring myself to reassure her that what she did was okay. Especially since she kept me from the truth. A sob rises in my chest. “My real mom… Did you know her?”

She nods.

“Was she your friend? Is that how you knew to look for me after the fire?”

“Something like that.”

“And did…did I have…sisters?” Other memories rush through my mind.

She nods. “You had two older sisters.”