Page 73 of Of Skulls Of Shackles

Adalina said next, “Daughter, you mean well, but time grows thin.”

I thudded my head on dirt.Time.I was heartily sick of that notion. “Immortality is ironic.”

A few mothers laughed. Some did not like the joke at all because they struggled with the journey of their immortal stitched death.

“I feel very strongly that I cannot enter the haze without conquering all kings,” I told them. “I have two. My power should now exceed that of a king. Conquering the others might go easier.”

“Should,” said one of the newer mothers, Hazel. “Might.”

I sighed. “I deal in shoulds and mights, and queendommightalways be this way, so youshouldaccept that.”

Hazel dipped her head. “I accept your admonishment, daughter.”

I sat. Only then did I see that five mothers lurked unstitched. Three sat, and two were lying. The breath of one was labored.

Staggering upright, I weaved to them, and grew stronger with every step. I started with the weakest, stitched her to Hazel, and then returned for the other mother, who had stitched on my big toe on my left foot. Though her job had been smaller in comparison to, say, Cassandra’s, she had stitched with all the care in the world.

As I approached the next mother, I felt a pang down my chest akin to what I imagined a horse kick might feel like.

I grunted at the warning, and sure enough, the mother who had stitched it surged to her feet at my approach.

“It is not enough that you stole half of my life,” she shouted.

The shout cost her. She did not have the energy for this fight. “I did no such thing.”

“No,” she seethed, then cast her glare at Cassandra. “Shedid.”

Cassandra returned her look, but without the heat. “I did, while controlled by another.”

The mother demanded, “Does this ‘another’ still control you?”

“No,” replied Cassandra. “But ancients now drive our fiftieth daughter. I have felt the undeniable force of them. Iwillsupport another in that position.”

The mother returned her glare to me. “So you ask this of fifty mothers? You would accept half of our lives and also the entirety of our death?”

“This has not been phrased such until now,” I replied. “Mothers have mostly phrased these as their own gift and sacrifice more than my expectation and demand.”

“Mostly,” the mother said, latching on to the weakness.

I gestured at Molly. “Not everyone feels the same because not every person is the same. Molly felt robbed of a life with her daughter. She is now content to spend death with her; however, this does not erase her bitterness toward me and the other mothers yet. Some other mothers here have mixed feelings about their withering and the call to sit in vigil to protect my queendom and the world.”

The mother crossed her arms.

I said, “Would the arrival of your daughter help you, Mother?”

Her eyes widened at my use of “mother.” She reclaimed her glare. “The daughter who abandoned me in my last days? I withered alone, and for a daughter who did not love me.” She laughed. “What a fool I was. I always wondered if she at least had the sense to turn away from withering herself. Clearly not. Selfish and a fool, I see.”

This was a very hurt mother. This was a mother who felt betrayed by her very soul—her child. “You are welcome here. As will your daughter be when she arrives. I hope that you might find peace when that time comes. You are important to me, Mother, in the wellness of you and in the warm presence of you. I also have thirty-six other mothers to consider now. They have chosen this, and I have no option but to choose this. If a way presents itself to free you, I will take it at considerable cost to free you in death. Until that time, you will remain here in vigil with the rest of our line.”

She turned to run.

I had done some horrible things, but with the weight of withering and unwilling sacrifice in my heart and mind, I did something very horrible.

I dragged a mother, kicking and screaming to be stitched. I made sure to stitch her tightly to the unconscious mother beside her, and then to the next mother, who calmly took her place.

The last of the recently arrived ancestors took my hand in hers as we walked to stitch her too. “We will look after her,” she said. “In our maternal care, she will heal and thrive. And with the return of her daughter.”

I nodded. I agreed that the solution rested there. Her daughter had surely not left her mother to wither alone. “Thank you for wise words, Mother.”

---