Page 77 of Between Despair and Hope

“I said I’m sorry.”

“No, no, after that. You whispered something.”

I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “I—Sometimes I need to remind myself. That you’re real. And you’re mine.”

Her eyes softened, and I nearly pulled her into my arms until I felt her pity. I didn’t need her feeling sorry for me. I had done what I needed to do to protect her, and I paid the price. I didn’t want to think about it, so I shook my head.

“How is she?”

Her answering smile could have been the key to the heavens, the answer to a gods damn prayer. “Tired. Her muscles aren’t what they were, but she’s able to walk for short bursts. We’ll have to help her do some exercises.”

“Has she been alone since she woke?”

“Cyran woke her, though she wouldn’t tell me how. She kicked him out, but I heard him upstairs.”

I tensed, uncertain how to feel about the boy. The only thing keeping his head on his shoulders was Em’s request. But if Elora wanted me to string him up, I wouldn’t fucking hesitate. “And then she’s been alone?”

Emma gave a soft smile as she answered. “Mairin checked her over before going on her rounds to the wounded soldiers, and I guess Ven never came back last night. I don’t know where she went. We had a system. Dewalt, Thyra, Cyran too. She hasn’t been left alone almost the entire time. Mairin left her with Sterling, and he seems to have fussed over her.”

“And how did she take it? Does she want to...” I trailed off. Even though my voice was quiet, I was aware of the open door to my bedroom.

“She already knew. Quite perceptive, our girl. Well, she suspected. Apparently, she suspected ever since the last time I spoke to her in one of Cyran’s illusions.”

“And she wasn’t upset?”

“No, Rain. She’s nervous, worried perhaps. But not upset.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m afraid you might have your work cut out for you to earn her trust.”

I closed my eyes, exhaling with a chuckle. “I wore you down quick enough,” I said, grinning at her. I hadn’t realized we’d moved so close, and the side of her hand slid against mine. It reminded me just how nervous I was to be around her. I curled my hands, finding my palms sweaty and wiping them on my pants, breaking our connection. Disappointment rippled down the bond, though she did her best to stifle it, and I was sure she felt my shame.

I’m trying, dear heart.

She stepped back quickly before turning toward the hallway leading to our suite. Leading the way as she cleared her throat, Em stopped on the threshold, knocking her knuckles against the door frame. “Elora?” Her voice called out, and I could see over her shoulder to the empty bed. Had she fled from me? Did she not want to meet me?

And then a voice rang, one I’d dreamed of and longed to hear.

“I’m washing up a bit. Give me a minute. Do you know how disgusting I feel? Did you eventryto wash me? I smell like—”

“Rainier is here with me!” Emma called out desperately, cutting Elora off to save her from embarrassment. I couldn’t help it as I laughed. Poor girl. I heard a loud groan, and I chuckled as I strode down the hall.

“Call me when she’s ready, Em. No hurry.”

But I didn’t wait for her to tell me, rushing back into the room the second I heard the bathroom door creak. I stared as my daughter walked into the room, looking annoyed, legs stiff like a newborn fawn. She was shorter than Em, but with that white hair, gods, she looked so much like Lucia. I understood why that was all Emma saw. But as she turned toward me, cheeks rosy and an embarrassed crooked smile lighting up her face, I knew with certainty this girl belonged to me. Similar to the vision I’d seen in Declan’s dungeons, her hair was waist-length, with spiraling curls, and her eyes belonged to her mother. But the smile was mine, the upturned nose was mine, the expression she was making, her eyebrows tugged up in the center—mine. She was quiet for a moment, staring up at me, and I wondered if perhaps I was more nervous than she was.

I’d never once been intimidated by a fifteen-year-old, but I supposed my own child was a great place to start.

“Cursing a certain goddess right about now?” she asked, arms crossed. I’d imagined her voice to sound a bit higher, but it was low and a bit raspy.

“All the gods, actually.” I gave her a half smile, and I watched as her brows moved down, a glare on her face. “For keeping us apart this long,” I finished.

Squinting at me for a second, perhaps to suss out a lie, she finally made her way over to the bed, moving with slow, jerky motions. I considered helping her, but I had the idea she’d be just as annoyed by that as her mother would be. Perched at the head of the bed, hands crossed daintily in her lap, she looked so much like Em and her sister from when we were young.

“Mama, can you fetch me some of that tea you mentioned? I’m getting sore.”

Emma’s eyes darted between us, uncertain. “Right now, honey?”

“Yes, now.”

“Alright, right now. Can—should I bring Rain with me or—”

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