The Vampire & Her Witch

The Royal Box, or perhaps it should be called the Imperial Box, was very different from the ones Maela had seen prepared for tournaments across the Kingdom of Gaal.

Besides the enclosed sides and back that defined every noble seating area at this gathering, the entire front of the box was sealed by the largest pane of crystal-clear glass that Maela had ever seen. It was only when she came close to it as she followed Ashlynn and Nyrielle into the room that she realized it wasn’t glass at all, but perfectly clear ice nearly as thick as her palm.

The sounds of the crowd faded away when they entered the room, and even their footfalls were muffled by the plush carpets piled atop a layer of freshly cut rushes from the river. The room smelled faintly of woodsmoke and the lightest trace of perfume, and the entire space, at least twenty paces long on a side, was warm enough that Maela quickly removed her cloak.

”Let me,” Jocelynn said, quickly taking her mother’s cloak while Maela got her bearings in the strange room.

Any nobleman in Gaal would have set out a row of chairs with small thrones for the hosting lord and lady, or in this case, for the ruling ladies, but Maela found no such thing. Instead, heaps and piles of cushions dominated the space, arranged into more casual conversational areas like a young lady’s slumber party.

There were places with proper seats, but most of them were long benches with proportions that felt distinctly off to Maela. They were short, squat, and far too wide to look comfortable to sit on for very long, despite the plush upholstery.

The room couldn’t distract Maela for long, though. Once her eyes had swept across the oddly decorated space, they returned directly to the dark-haired woman with raven-like wings who had taken Ashlynn’s arm to escort her into the room.

”Mother,” Ashlynn said, looking nothing like an empress and very much like the young lady who had so rarely asked her mother for anything.

Growing up, Maela and Rhys had denied her so many things because they felt the risk was too great that, for a time, Ashlynn had stopped asking altogether. When she eventually did ask for something, it was usually so important to her that saying yes resulted in explosions of joy, while each additional refusal felt a crushing, heartbreaking blow.

Ashlynn wore that same hopeful expression now as she stepped forward with her lover on her arm.

”This is Nyrielle,” Ashlynn said. ”She saved my life, and my heart. She’s the most precious person in my life, and my betrothed. I, I hope you can see how much she means to me and accept her as part of our family,” she said, each word toward the end coming slightly faster than the one before it.

”Mother-in-law,” Nyrielle said, making it clear with the term that she used that she considered her relationship with Ashlynn something that couldn’t be altered by this meeting. However, Maela reacted: Nyrielle would wed Ashlynn. That wasn’t up for debate. The question wasn’t whether or not Maela would assent to the eventual marriage; it was whether or not she would personally accept and recognize it.

Maela took half a step forward, intending to say something polite while she formed an opinion of her daughter’s lover, but she’d barely started to move when Nyrielle’s measuring gaze fell on her again, and she found that she couldn’t. Nothing restrained her physically; there was no force to push against, but those dark eyes became vast in her vision, and Maela suddenly felt like a ship lost at sea without a direction to take.

The moment stretched on for two heartbeats, then three, and several more until Ashlynn looked up at Nyrielle, tugging slightly on her arm. At the side, Micheline shifted nervously, looking from her aunt Maela and Nyrielle to Jocelynn, but her cousin only shook her head and placed a finger across her lips, doing nothing to break the fragile tension of the moment.

”You’ve come a very long way for your daughters,” Nyrielle said at last as she stepped forward to take Maela’s hands in her own. It was a perfectly polite gesture, but it also felt very restrained. Maela’s arms twitched, moving with an intention to offer an embrace, only to find that Nyrielle’s grip on her hands was as firm as steel and every bit as unyielding.

”I wish you hadn’t needed to come so far,” Nyrielle continued, her voice wrapping around Maela like silk ropes used to bind. ”If you’d stayed at Jocelynn’s side in Lothian, we might have been able to meet much sooner.”

The reproach in her tone pierced Maela’s heart like a knife made of ice, and for a moment, Maela was completely speechless. She’d thought something similar several times during the long days and nights of travel in Marcel’s carriages.

If she hadn’t run to the convent, if she’d stayed in Lothian to care for Jocelynn, could she have prevented the tragedies that befell her youngest daughter? But every time she asked herself that question, a darker thought followed it. Jocelynn walked the path she’d chosen despite the terrible price Ashlynn had paid to open that path... If she suffered as a result of that, was it really undeserved after what she’d done?

Maela couldn’t bring herself to help Jocelynn secure her place in Lothian. She couldn’t watch one daughter entwining herself with the man who had killed the other one. The fact that Jocelynn could still turn her doe-eyed gaze to Owain Lothian after what had happened left Maela wondering if Jocelynn was even human, or if she had been born of the wickedness that was supposed to be inherent to witches.

She’d actually asked the Mother Superior, at one point, if it was possible for the darkness and evil that belonged to a witch to be passed to another, allowing her little miracle, Ashlynn, to be born with a chance to reach the Heavenly Shores. Because after what Jocelynn had done, Maela was convinced that her youngest daughter had lost any hope of reaching them at the end of this life.

Mother Superior Koulma hadn’t had any answers for her, and Maela had spent much of the past year in prayer, searching for an answer to the conflict in her heart about her youngest daughter.

”I don’t expect you to understand,” Maela said, doing her best to meet Nyrielle’s gaze despite the pressure she felt. ”Family can be...”

”You think I don’t understand the ties that bind a family together?” Nyrielle interrupted, raising a brow at Maela. ”Careful with your words, little girl,” she added, her tone growing colder. ”I know more of family than you ever will.”

”Nyri,” Ashlynn said, setting a hand on her lover’s arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. ”You don’t need to...”

”I do,” Nyrielle countered flatly. ”Few people are as dangerous to you as your mother and father. I’ve already seen the hurt your sister was capable of inflicting,” she said, glancing briefly at Jocelynn, pinning her in place with a sharp gaze that made it clear that now wasn’t the time for Jocelynn to voice any opinions of her own.

”You are an empress, my darling,” Nyrielle said, letting go of Maela’s hands to gently cup Ashlynn’s face. ”An empress and a Great Witch. Your hands are stained with blood and the vengeance you’ve claimed,” she added, taking one of Ashlynn’s hands in her own and kissing it lightly. ”These things do not trouble me. The things you will do in the future do not trouble me either,” she added.

”But if your mother is going to run from you when she first glimpses your ruthless side,” Nyrielle said, turning her gaze back toward Maela. ”If she’s going to go back to her Church the instant she sees you do something that she can’t accept,” she added in a voice colder than the winter air outside the Imperial Box.

”Then your mother has no place in the life we’re building together,” Nyrielle declared.