Page 134 of The Night Prince

“You were not.”

Her breath is a whisper on the summer-scented breeze. “I was not. Your father... I loved him, at first. I was young, only eighteen years old. He showered me with affection. He bought me gifts. He made me his queen. He was handsome when we met, and I thought myself the luckiest wolf in the Snowlands to have escaped the war, and to have met such a man.” I hear thesad smile in her voice as the moonlit water ripples before her, and I wish that she would look at me.

“I took the wolfsbane willingly at first. Just a small dose every day. He told me it was for my own good, to keep my wolf at bay. No one would love a queen with my affliction, he told me. His council would murder me, our people would turn on me, and he could not be with me... I had to keep that side of myself hidden at all times. He said the wolf was an illness, and the wolfsbane was the medicine. It would make me better. I took it for him. I tried to be ‘better’ for him. It was, of course, unnecessary. I don’t have to shift on the nights of the full moon, because of the blood that runs in my veins.”

She tips her head back to the moon, which is full in the clear night sky.

“I needed him to think that it was the ‘medicine’ that kept it at bay, not the power in my bloodline, though it pained me to take it. Because I knew that if I had a daughter, and the secret came out, she would be killed by your father’s council because of what she represented to the Wolves.”

She exhales. “He changed after Philip was born, now he had his heir. Or perhaps he was a monster all along, and I had chosen not to see it. Perhaps forcing me to hide a part of myself, perhaps making me feel shame for who I was, perhaps showing disgust if I ever slipped... perhaps that was abuse all along.

“When you were born, he started making me take larger doses of my ‘medicine’. He told me he would take you and Philip from me if I did not. I can withstand it better than most, but I’m not impervious to its effects.

“I tried to escape with you and Philip, once. He caught me, and I was punished for it. This... this is the second and last time I will try to get you out of the kingdom.”

The temperature cools, and a shadow passes over the moon. The water of the lake becomes agitated, and my mother’s voice becomes harder.

“The next day at dawn, I tried to send you away with my lady-in-waiting. I instructed her to take you to the port at the White Cliff, and get passage on a ship to the Snowlands. There, I thought you would be safe. But your father’s men came in the night, and took us back.”

My heart stops. She is not talking to the sleeping child. She is talking to me.

“He locked me in my chambers, and made me take more and more of my medicine as punishment. He told me he would kill you, if I did not.”

My breath mists in front of my face, and the soft grass hardens beneath my feet. A crack fills the air as the lake freezes, and snow falls from the sky. I knew he had killed her, had taken her from me, but the knowledge of how long his abuse lasted, and that my mother knew she was being poisoned... I cannot bear it.

“So I took it. I got weaker, day by day. I let him kill me, because I was afraid. Afraid of him, afraid he would harm you. And because I was afraid he would find out the truth.”

Tears slide down my cheeks, hot in the winter air. My throat is tight. “What truth?” I whisper.

“Ghealachdid not rip out her heart so the Elderwolf could be close to her power. She sent him her daughter, so that he would protect her. The power the Wolves seek... it was never a rock, or a relic, or a tool to be used. It was a person, and then a bloodline. We are descended fromGhealachand the Elderwolf, little one. You are the Heart of the Moon.”

My heart shatters into a thousand jagged pieces. My fists clench, and my fingernails bite into my palms. The ice thaws, and the snow stops falling. The shadows shift, and the moon lights the lake once more. The summer breeze makes the green trees rustle. She kisses the small version of me on the head, then lays her down in the grass.

My mother stands up and looks out onto the water.

“What do I do now?” I ask her.

“Whatever you want to do.”

Slowly, she turns. My heart almost bursts when I look upon her face. I had forgotten how blue her eyes were, and the way she wore kohl to underline them. I had lost count of the freckles that covered her nose, and I misremembered the warmth of her smile. I forgot how she smelt like lavender and snow and horses. And how that scent made me feel warm and safe and like no one could harm me.

Facing her as an adult, there are things I don’t think I even recognized as a child. Like the grit in her stance and the steel in her gaze. My mother, I realize, was a warrior. She did not fight her battles in the field with swords and shields, but she was a warrior nonetheless. She fought every day to protect my brother and me, to keep us safe from the man who would harm us.

“First,” she says, “you must fight.”

“I miss you so much.”

She touches my cheek. Her hands are delicate yet calloused. Warm. I had forgotten. “I’m so proud of the woman you have become.”

A tear slides down my cheek. Her face starts to fade. The warmth of her touch disappears. The sounds of the summer become distant. Panic swells within me.

“Don’t go,” I plead. “I’m not ready. Don’t go.”

“They will make you feel as if you have no choice. There is always a choice.” She smiles, and her voice sounds like it comes from a whole universe away. “Have courage, little one.”

I’m hurtling upward. The wind tears at my face and my clothes. I squeeze my eyes shut. I cannot breathe. I cannot feel.

My knees slam onto hard earth. I open my eyes. Pain sears my back, and the sounds of battle fill my ears. I’m in the amphitheater and a wave of shadow crashes toward me.

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