Page 50

50

F ilak didn’t speak, or try to defend himself, or bring up their son.

Instead, he just kept standing there in all those black layers, holding out the sketchbook, waiting. His hand’s pale skin looking almost translucent in the sunlight, but for the distinct red blotches already creeping over his fingers.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Daisy finally croaked, even as she belatedly snatched for the sketchbook, and clutched it to her chest. Gods , she needed it right now, needed it so much it ached. And curse her, but maybe — maybe she needed Filak too. Even after all he’d done, after all he might still do, in this moment she just needed the familiar stubborn certainty of his presence, his solidness, his safety.

So she didn’t argue with him, either. Didn’t tell him to go. And instead she gripped his arm through his cloak, and dragged him away, over into the deepest shade beside the mountain. Where she sagged against the wall of stone, felt its cool reassuring strength behind her, just as solid and stubborn as Filak beside her.

“Did you bring a pencil, too?” she croaked, as her shaky hands flipped the sketchbook open — but yes, he was already holding one out, its tip freshly sharpened. And Daisy blinked at that for a brief, stuttering moment, and then smoothed out the page, and began to draw.

And it wasn’t even… anything. It was just the pencil digging into the page, leaving behind angry lines and shapes, black barriers and blank forbidding walls. All the confusion and terror and chaos, all blocking her and closing her in, trapping her in a deep dark dungeon. With no freedom, no hope, no light. No art. No … seeing.

But she still kept going, jabbing with the pencil again and again, until the page was full with it, scarred and trampled and ruined with it. Showing her everything screaming its way through her, etched out and made real before her blinking, leaking eyes. Darkness . Loneliness . Fear . Stupid .

She sniffled as she stared at it, wiped at the wetness streaking down her cheek. Because that was so much of it, wasn’t it? Stupid , irrational, foolish, dangerous . All those vicious black strikes from Lew against her, meant to make her cower and hide, and cover her eyes. Meant to… trap her. Chain her. Keep her locked alone in the dark.

She couldn’t bear to keep looking at it, suddenly, couldn’t stop the water from streaking down her cheeks. And her hand wouldn’t even seem to turn the page, fumbling at the edges, her fingers sweaty and clammy, and…

And then, Filak’s long black claw. Curving under all that darkness, sweeping it up with swift, easy purpose, and turning the page. Confronting Daisy with that fresh clean expanse of white, waiting and ready to reveal something pure and new.

Daisy’s breath rushed in, and she slowly, carefully, set her pencil back to the page. Drawing , for maybe the first time ever, herself.

The strokes were thin and pale and ragged at first, as if seeing through a cracked clouded glass. But the more she drew, the more she could see the weight of it, the shape of it. The small, thin woman, dressed in tatters, crouching in the corner, holding her hands over her eyes.

And there, much bigger and clearer, was the figure emerging out of the shadows, and standing over her. The tall, lean figure, with vicious claws and teeth. And he was holding something small, something helpless and wide-eyed and innocent…

A child. A helpless tiny child, held in the monster’s arms.

Daisy only vaguely noticed Filak’s sharp flinch beside her, the choking hitch from his breath. Because she was too caught in drawing this, in finally seeing it, desperately scrubbing through the cloudy glass. Seeing the child’s small features, the familiar angle of his nose and chin. And the tall monster’s handsome face was familiar too, and so were those herbs in his hand…

It was… Lew . Lew , standing over Daisy’s cowering body, feeding belladonna to her son.

Daisy’s eyes squeezed shut, but the vision of it was still there, shouting behind her eyelids. Lew , towering over her. Lew , threatening her. Lew , killing her son. Attacking , destroying. Doing everything she’d feared so much, all this time.

And… and yet, still Lew , with a child in his arms.

Daisy blinked her wet eyes open again, stared dully back down at the page. At the strange distant tug in her chest, still strong enough that it was almost an ache, a loss. A … grief.

Had she… had she wanted a child? With Lew ?

Something like a laugh bubbled in her throat, or maybe it was another sob, because of course she hadn’t… right? She’d never once been allowed to even consider such a thing. Lew had always been so adamantly against having children, so focused on his work and his career and his fame. It had never, ever been an option, and Daisy had long ago accepted that…

Or… had she? Had some quiet, hidden part of her still wanted it? A child? A little family of her own? A home?

The image of it was still here, still shouting so clearly in front of Daisy’s eyes, and another choked sound escaped her mouth. Gods curse her, maybe she had wanted it. Because she still couldn’t look away from the sight of it, the possibility of it, the… hope.

And how long had that hope been waiting there, hiding safe and secret, just out of sight? And how much — Daisy’s wet eyes blinked toward Filak’s silent form beside her — how much of it had been hiding here with Filak , too? How much of it had she been ignoring, shoving away, forgetting?

But maybe she already knew the answer, her pencil whispering once more against the page. Filling in the rest of it, finally coming clear before her eyes. The child’s tiny pointed ears. His long sharp claws. The small perfect sun, marked over his heart.

Beside her, Filak’s hand rose to his eyes, his breath shuddering out, and Daisy was breathing hard too, her other hand slipping down to her waist, spreading wide against it. As if… as if…

She’d known, somewhere deep down in the darkness. She’d known .

She shook her head, tried to question it, shove it away — but it kept shouting, louder and clearer before her eyes. Even if it had only been part of her, hidden and afraid, she’d still… seen . She’d still heard those risks of pregnancy, and chosen to ignore them. She’d still met all these adorable orc children. She’d caught sight of that future, opening up before her, and she’d still just kept walking forward. She’d called it a test. An experiment, for two weeks. A dream.

And — she closed her eyes, sank heavier against the solid stone behind her — Filak had seen it, too. Filak had known. Just like he’d seen so much of all the rest of it.

Son is gift. Son is art. Son is light. Blessing from gods, beyond price.

Stupid , that distant voice wailed, more angry black marks on a page, but Daisy felt the solid stone wall behind her, the earth beneath her feet, the warmth of the orc beside her.

No. No . She’d been alone. She’d been wounded and afraid. She’d longed for something she’d never believed she could have. A child. A family. A home.

And now? Daisy blinked back at the page, at that unflinching painful art before her. And finally she just made herself look at it, at all the terrifying truth she could no longer deny.

She was under attack. Her son was under attack. Her friends and kin were under attack. And she’d cowered and covered her eyes, and allowed Lew to make her part of it. Allowed herself to ignore Lew’s own stupidity. His own weakness. His selfish, short-sighted, ridiculous foolishness.

And there was no more escaping it. No more hiding. And Daisy took a shaky breath as she slowly stood straight, closed the sketchbook, and turned to look at her son’s father beside her.

“I need to see this,” she said. “ And I need you to take me to Jule . Now .”