reason I didn’t kill him for making my sister pregnant out of wedlock.” I lean back in my seat at her fierce expression, feeling surprised. Had I expected their relationship to be a fairy tale, where they fell in love and got married? I already knew it didn’t end in a happily ever after.
“We take pregnancy out of marriage seriously here,” she warns, her eyes flicking to Vaeril who instantly bristles at my side. I have the urge to giggle, but I instantly push it down, now is not the time for that. “My sister was never happy here, she was always exploring and leaving the tribe. When she returned with a half-elf, your father, claiming that she loved him and was to be married, she was banished from our tribe.” There’s a hint of regret in my aunt’s voice, and I remember Tor telling me that he and the new leader of the tribespeople were trying to change things. Perhaps if she had been in charge when my mother was here, things might have been different.
Shifting in her seat, Revna’s eyes run over my face. “I didn’t see her for years after that. Then, one day, she returned, pregnant with you and in labour. She told me you were special, that it was vital you survived and knew the ways of the tribes. I helped her deliver you. You never cried once.” She pauses, her eyes glazed over as if caught up in the memory. “You were the most beautiful baby.” Her eyes clear before locking on me, and she smiles. Just as I’m about to return the smile, hers drops. “Then she disappeared with you. Over the years, she would reappear with you, stay a couple of days, and then go again. That’s when we started to realise you were different, and that’s also when we realised our prophecies and tellings from the gods were about you.”
Everything is silent, except for the scratching of the quill as the tribesman notes down our exchange, as I absorb what I’ve just learned. Where did we go when we weren’t with the tribes, and why don’t I remember my time with them?
“What happened to them?” If it was anyone else, I would need to explain that I’m asking about my parents, but she knows. She knows exactly why I’ve come here.
But she answers my question with another question. “What do you remember?”
Frowning, I grip my skirts slightly, hoping she’s not going to mess around with me by talking in circles. Vaeril and Naril shift slightly in their seats, feeling my frustration. “I have been a slave in Arhaven since the age of eight, I have no memories prior to that.” My frustration makes me snappier than I meant to be, but I’m surprised by their reactions.
Curses fill the space, and a large male at Revna’s side shakes his head. He looks a little older than her, possibly in his mid-fifties, with grey hairs speckling his dark beard. Tattoos cover almost every inch of his body. “Tor reported back something similar, but to hear that you were under our noses this whole time…”
A cold chill runs down my back, and I suddenly have the feeling I don’t want to know the answer. “What do you mean?” My voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to me any longer.
“The cruel reality of it is you probably would have seen each other many times before,” Revna murmurs, only making my confusion worse. Dread lines my stomach. Why won’t they just tell me? Why is she dancing around the subject? I already know my mother is dead, it can’t get any worse than that, right? Why won’t they just tell me? “Whatever foul magic was used on the two of you…we will find out what it was and try to reverse it to reclaim your memories,” she continues, but at this point, I don’t care about why I don’t remember, I’ve had many theories over the years.
“What do you mean?” They’ve awoken that other part of me, the part I try to keep hidden, the dark, angry piece of me who was never allowed to be heard as a slave. Every time I felt angry or mad, or when something unjust happened, I put it away and let the anger simmer.
Well, right now, I’ve had enough.
Pushing up from my seat, I ball my hands into fists so tight my nails bite into my palms, and I’m sure I’ve broken the skin, but I don’t care. A