Though the seat of First Daughter on the cabinet had been ceremonial for centuries, when she told her new husband she wanted to be more active in her role at court, he heartily welcomed her. She was known to be strong in the gift, sensing dangers and folly. At first the king considered everything she said. He sought her advice, but she sensed a growing resentment among the cabinet at the king’s attentions toward his young bride, and she was slowly, but diplomatically, pushed aside.
And then the babies came. First Walther, who was the delight of the court, then Regan and Bryn, who added to their happiness. They were allowed every freedom, which was new to her. She came from a household of girls, where choices were limited. Here she watched her young boys nurtured and encouraged to find their own strengths, not just by her and the king, but by the whole court.
Then she became pregnant again. There were enough heirs and spares, and now everyone waited with expectation for a girl, a new generation to carry on the tradition of First Daughter. She knew I was going to be a girl before I was ever born. It filled her with immeasurable joy—until she heard a rumble, a growl, the hunger of a beast, pacing in the corners of her mind. Her misery grew each day, as did the thump of the beast’s footsteps. She feared that it stalked me, that it somehow knew I was a threat, and she felt strongly that this was because of the gift. She saw me being torn away from my family, from everything that I knew and dragged across an unimaginable landscape. She chased after me, but her steps were not as swift as the beast that had ripped me from her arms.
“I vowed I wouldn’t let that happen. I spoke to you as you grew in my belly and made a daily promise that I would somehow keep you safe. And then on the day you were born, in the midst of my fears and promises to you, I heard a whisper, a soft, gentle voice as clear as my own. The promise is great, for the one named Jezelia. I thought that was my answer, and when I looked into your sweet face, the name Jezelia fit you best above all the others the kingdom had placed on your tiny shoulders. I thought the name was an omen, the answer I was hoping for. Your father protested at the breach of protocol, but I wouldn’t back down.
“Afterward, it seemed I had made the right decision. From the time you were an infant, you were strong. You had a lusty cry that could wake all of Civica. Everything about you was vibrant. You squalled louder, played harder, hungered more, and thrived. I gave you the same freedoms as your brothers, and you ran freely with them. I was happier than I had ever been. When your formal schooling began, the Royal Scholar tried to tailor your lessons to nurture the gift. I forbade it, despite his protests. When he finally confronted me, asking for a reason, I told him the circumstances of your birth and my fear that the gift would bring you harm. I insisted he focus on your other strengths. He reluctantly agreed. Then, when you were twelve—”
“That’s when everything changed.”
“I was afraid and had to enlist the help of the Royal Scholar to—”
“But the Royal Scholar is exactly who you needed to be afraid of! He tried to kill me. He sent a bounty hunter to slit my throat, and he’s secretly sent countless scholars to Venda to devise ways to kill us all. He conspired with them. However you may have trusted him once, he turned on you. And me.”
“No, Lia,” she said, shaking her head. “Of this much I’m certain. He never betrayed you. He was one of the twelve priests who lifted you before the gods in the abbey and promised his protection.”
“People change, Mother—”
“Not him. He never broke his promise. I understand your mistrust. I’ve lived with it ever since you were twelve years old. It made me conspire with him all the more.”
“What happened when I was twelve?”
She told me the Royal Scholar had called her into his office. He had something he thought she should see. He said it was a very old book that had been taken off a dead Vendan soldier. Like all artifacts, it had been turned over to the royal archive and the Royal Scholar had set about translating it. What he read disturbed him, and he consulted with the Chancellor about it. The Chancellor had initially seemed disturbed too. He read it over several times, but then declared it barbarian jibberish, threw it into the fire, and left. It wasn’t unusual for the Chancellor to order barbarian texts destroyed. Most made no sense, even when translated, and this one was no different, except for one key thing that had caught the Royal Scholar’s attention. He retrieved it from the fire. It was damaged but not destroyed.
“I knew when he handed me the book along with the translation that something was very wrong. I felt queasy as I began to read. I heard the heavy steps of a beast once again, but by the time I got to the last verses, I was trembling with rage.”
“When you read that my life would be sacrificed.”
She nodded. “I ripped out the last page and threw the book at the Royal Scholar. I told him to destroy it just as the Chancellor had ordered, and I ran from the room feeling like I’d been betrayed in the most wicked of ways—tricked by the very gift I had trusted.”
“Venda didn’t trick you, Mother. The universe sang the name to her. She simply sang it back, and you listened. You yourself said the name seemed right. It had to be someone. Why not me?”
“Because you’re my daughter. I would sacrifice my own life, but never yours.”
I reached down and squeezed her hand. “Mother, I chose to make the words true. You had to have felt it in your heart too. You gave me a special blessing on the day I left. You asked the gods to gird me with strength.”
She looked down at my bandaged hand in my lap and shook her head. “But this—” I saw all the fears she had harbored for years crystallized in her eyes.
“Why didn’t you ever share this with Father?”
Her eyes shone with tears again.
“You didn’t trust him?”
“I couldn’t trust him not to speak to anyone else. A wedge had grown between us as far as the cabinet was concerned. It had become a contentious subject between us. He seemed as married to them as he was to me. Maybe more so. The Scholar and I both agreed it was too risky to tell him because it seemed betrayed by her own could mean someone in a position of power.”
“And that’s when you conspired with the Royal Scholar to send me away.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “We were so close. On your wedding day, I thought you’d soon be gone from Morrighan, and if there actually was anyone here who sought to harm you, you’d be away from them too. Dalbreck was a powerful kingdom that could keep you safe. But then as I admired your kavah along with everyone else, I remembered the verse, the one marked with claw and vine. I had always thought it meant a different kind of mark—the scars made by an animal or whip—but there among all the heraldry and intricate designs on your back, in one small part, on your shoulder, there it was, a Dalbreck claw and a Morrighese vine. It was only an innocent kavah, I tried to tell myself, only a coincidence. It would wash away in a matter of days. I wanted to believe it meant nothing.”
“But you had the priest offer the prayer in your native tongue. Just in case.”
She nodded, exhaustion lining her face. “I wanted to believe my plan would still work, but really, I didn’t know what would happen next. I could only pray for the gods to gird you with strength, but when King Jaxon laid you on your bed, and I saw what they had done to you—”
Her eyes squeezed shut.
I held her, comforting her as she had comforted me so many times. “I’m still here, Mother,” I whispered. “A few marks are nothing. I have many regrets, but being named Jezelia is not one of them. Neither should it be yours.”