Page 212 of The Chains You Defy

For a long time in my life, I’d considered my mother the most beautiful female I’d ever seen. I understood now that this was wrong, but she was still holding the second spot and would do so forever.

Seeing her sit in her favorite chair, book in hand, smiling down at an oh-so-young me with wild black hair sticking out in every direction, sliced right through my heart.

“Read to me?”

“Any wishes, my Dionny?”

“Hmm…let me think.”

“Perhaps the Tale of Noelk and the Twins?”

“No, that’s so sad, and the accompanying sheet music is much too complicated.”

I knew which day I was witnessing, recognized every word the faeling I’d been said, how he rambled about a ritardando that wasn’t at the coda where the sequence rightfully belonged. What a fool I’d been. Today, I was well aware that sometimes, after a climax, events slowed down, only to return with a bang, both in music and life.

“I want to hear the Firebird and the Dragon.”

“Again?”

“It’s my favorite. When I grow up, I want to be like the dragon.”

“Of course you will be, my beloved son. You can be everything you want to be.”

“Grandfather insists that I have to become a soldier.”

“Don’t listen to him. He has no power or say over you.”

I didn’t pay my younger self further attention. Instead, I observed my mother, how her long, ruby hair framed her face in soft waves, how her crimson eyes sparkled with mirth and affection whenever her gaze lingered on her son, and how her lips curled into the happiest smile as the door opened and my father entered.

“There you are.”

“Father. Mother wants to read me a story. The Firebird and the Dragon.”

“Aren’t you already too old for fantasy tales, son?”

“Nooo.”

Back then, he had been the center of my world too. He’d been tall, even for a fae, and muscular, with long, almost white hair tumbling over his shoulders, with eyes in the non-color of diamonds. He’d been the light to my darkness, at least in optics. Later, I’d found some of his diaries and realized my hero worship had been unfounded—my father had been just as insane as Galrach.

“Your story has to wait, dinner is ready.”

“Oh, but I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll read to you later, promise.”

Nayana’s presence hovered next to me. This was the first time I wasn’t only sharing what happened to me, but also allowing someone inside my memories.

Was she aware of how big this was? How much I trusted her? When I had come up with this idea, I’d wondered if I’d feel too vulnerable with her here, but now—everything was oddly right.

My heart broke anew as the scene unfolded. Dinner was served, and my mother drained her goblet. Just a few seconds later—

“Caoin?”

“My love, I’m not feeling well. Something is wr—”

“I’m getting a healer. Dionadair, protect her.”

Younger me witnessed my mother collapsing to the ground, how my father dropped everything and hurried out of the door. The panic in his wild expression confirmed his innocence. He didn’t poison her, even though he’d been executed for that crime.