Page 128 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
Wulfric hadn’t just loved her mother. He had been her partner in something bigger. Luna had believed in a future where humans and supernaturals didn’t just exist side by side—but lived together, thrived together. And her father had believed in it, too, fought for it, standing at her mother’s side, working toward a world where their daughter could grow up without fear, where she and all witches like her would be free from the need to hide who and what they were.
And Wulfric had adored Nia, too. Loved her enough to shield her from truths he thought too heavy for a child to bear. To protect her from the threats that had already stolen her mother from them both. Luna had known the dangers of the Anti-Glamour Coalition and embraced a new path that defied them anyway; she’d understood the risks, but believed change was worth it.
Nia’s fingers trembled as she reached for the last diary and found a folded letter tucked between its pages. Her name was written across the front in looping script.
Nia unfolded it, her hands shaking.
My dearest daughter,
I hope you aren’t reading this. If you are, then I have passed, and that thought alone makes my heart ache. It feels strange to write this, when I have spent so long feeling safe—when I have spent so long believing I would see you grow, hold you, tell you all of this myself.
But the tides have turned again.
There are some who do not wish to see our vision come to light. They fight against it, clawing to keep the world as it is, separate and broken. But your father and I believe in something better. We dream of a future where humans and supernaturals are not at odds but woven together, building a stronger world than either could alone. A place where the next generation—your generation—can thrive in harmony, not fear.
And so we fight on.
I do not know what the world looks like as you read this. I do not know what your father has told you, or if he’s alive. I hope he is. I hope we will both survive this. I don’t know what you have been made to believe. But please, my love, trust in this—I love you. He loves you. You have been cherished since the moment we knew you existed.
I wish I could tell you how much of me already belongs to you. How I wonder what your laugh sounds like, if you have my nose, if your magic will bloom bright and wild, like fire in the dark.
Don’t fear it, my love.
If you ever find yourself lost, if you ever stand in the shadows and wonder if you are meant to be there—know this: your magic is not cruel. It is beautiful. It is endless. It is yours to shape.
And so are you.
With all my love, Mom
Tears splashed onto the page, smudging the ink. Nia blinked rapidly, pulling her sleeve down to blot them away before they could do more damage. Her chest burned with frustration, a storm of emotions swirling inside her.
She was angry—so angry—with herself, with her father, with Lochlan.
Why hadn’t they told her? Why had they just let her continue on, clinging to half-truths and assumptions? They hadn’t fought her. They hadn’t pushed her. They had just… let her.
“Nia?”
She whipped her head around so fast, pain twinged down her neck.
Lochlan stood in the doorway, his expression caught somewhere between guilt and dread, like a man walking into his own execution.
CHAPTER 43
Nia
“THE DUTCHESS OF CHARITY LIKED A SHADE POST ABOUT THE SWORD.” —THE WEEKLY HEX
“How long?” Nia’s voice cracked as she pointed at the diaries, her fingers trembling.
Lochlan hesitated, his jaw tightening. “The first one came a few nights before Mabon.”
She sobbed again, her chest heaving. “And my father?”
His expression twisted with pain. “He’s been a mentor for eight years… an advocate. A friend.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice rising. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He told me not to,” Lochlan admitted, his voice low. “And threatened me when I told him I wanted to come clean. I didn’t know what to do.”
