Page 58 of Broken Rejected Mate

Sarina slices off a thick bite of cake, stuffs it into her mouth, and says, grinning at me. “I’m going to castbetterthan my mom. If you can make a little stone just that big, then imagine what else you could make!” She lifts the hand not holding the fork, gesturing at the table. “A house? An elephant?”

I could bring up the fact that just because the Amanzite is small doesn’t mean it’s a simple thing. I could also bring up the ethical problems, and frankly, nightmarish complications that could arise if you attempted to cast a living thing into being like that.

But Sarina is silly, and thinking big thoughts. And I’m never going to discourage her from doing that.

I think of the conversation I’ve been having with Kira. Her explanations of what it’s like to grow up as an omega—what it was like for her. This strange idea that, because you might mate an alpha someday, that would determine your entire worth.

For Kira, being chubby as a kid, then plus-size as a teenager, made people assume she would never find a mate. Which was obviously untrue, and came with a whole host of its own issues.

But hearing about her experience has opened my eyes. Made me realize how I was complicit in reinforcing those ideas.

And I will never push Sarina to stop thinking her big thoughts. Maybe she grows up and finds a mate, or maybe she doesn’t, but her dreams are allowed to exist outside of that. Her worth certainly does.

Dorian’s grandfather already ended the tradition of fighting to the death for the alpha leader role in this pack. It could be the beginning of many changes, all pushing us to be stronger, better. To take advantage of everythingeachAmbersky shifter has to offer.

I realize Sarina is waiting for me to answer, and so I say, “A new canyon? A bunny?”

Sarina laughs, “I can make a bunny.”

“Oh, really?”

She taps on the table, and a little scrap of paper folds into a tiny rabbit. I try to keep from looking astounded.

“Pretty cool,” I say as she picks it up, hands it to me.

“Here, you keep it.”

Something sticks in my throat, and I push it away, running one finger down the back of the rabbit. Then, I say, “What about extra clouds during the festival? Could you make those?”

Her mouth drops open, and her eyes light up. “A new gamefor the festival! We could make a new game—something even more fun than the lassoing.”

“Yeah,” I laugh, oddly endeared by her competitive side. It’s like seeing myself as a kid reflected back at me. “We could, couldn’t we?”

“Do you have any ideas?” Sarina asks, abandoning her cake, pushing it forward so she can drum her fingers against the table. “Something to do with clouds—like cloud-shaping!”

With that, she stretches her hands, and I watch as the white frosting on her plate shifts, moving into the shape of a heart. I look up at her, eyes wide.

I’m not that familiar with casting, but that has to be impressive for her age.

“I’m not sure about it,” I laugh, trying to be nonchalant. “Not everyone can cast like that, Sarina.”

She nods, rests her chin on her hands. “Good point. Maybe we could do cloud fishing!”

I don’t point out that cloud fishing is pretty close to cloud lassoing. Instead, I focus on the fact that she’s brought up fishing. A few days ago, I got Veva and her out on the lake, in the boat. Veva said it was boring—that there were much more efficient ways of catching fish, and she’d drawn one right up to her hand with her magic to prove it.

But Sarina had enjoyed the process of setting the bait, casting. Even though, after watching her with the icing, I’m starting to think she could have used magic to catch a fish, too.

“Did you like fishing?” I ask, hoping I sound as nonchalant as I’m going for. “Because we could do some real fishing again, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sarina says, nodding and leaning forward, so her coppery-blonde hair catches in the light, some of it swinging out over her shoulder. Lowering her voice, like it’s a secret, she says, “I’m going to ask Mom for a fishing pole when I turn ten.”

That makes me laugh. “You can have a fishing pole for your next birthday, Sarina. You don’t have to wait that long.”

She returns to her cake, scoops up a dollop of the frosting with the tip of her finger, and shakes her head. “It’s not that long. I turn ten inonemonth.”

The first prickle of unease moves over my skin like a fever. Hot to the touch, but forces a chill through me. “…No,” Ilaugh, feeling my face go weird. “No, Sarina, you’re turning eight soon, right? Or, you’re eight now, and turning nine.”

“No,” she laughs, shaking her head and giggling like I’m teasing her, or playing a prank. Popping another dollop of frosting in her mouth, she says, “I’mnineright now. And I know because this year I’m turning double-digits. Mom says it’s a big year, because then I’ll have two numbers. And she always does a little magic for me with the cake. Last year, it was nine little lizards. This year, maybe it will be ten clouds.”

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