I did not know how long I walked, but I came to a lake over which more orbs had settled. Their ghostly reflections led to the very center and then stopped.
I shed my robe and my boots, leaving my blade atop the pile before wading into the water. I expected it to be cold like it had been at Lake Galat, but this—this was warm, and from it, I felt an energy seeping into my skin. It felt dark but also light, no more dangerous than life itself.
The water was up to my shoulders as I came to the final misty orb floating at eye-level. It began to disappear as if it were smoke, and when the final tendril was no longer visible, I closed my eyes and dropped below the surface of the lake. Everything went white.
***
Someone was humming, and as the sound vibrated against my skin, I recognized the song—a lullaby my mother used to sing.
Moon above and earth below. I mouthed the words but did not speak them aloud. Then I became aware of fingers running through my hair. I opened my eyes and sat up, meeting the dark-eyed gaze of my mother.
I burst into tears and covered my mouth, but I could not contain the barrage of emotion that accosted my body. I shook, wracked with incomprehensible feelings.
This could not be. It had to be a spell, some form of witchcraft used to hurt me.
I shook my head, tears burning my eyes.
“Do not cry, daughter,” she said in a smooth, balmy voice.
She held my face in her soft hands, brushing away tears. I wished she had been around to do this my whole life.
“You aren’t real,” I whispered.
“I am as real as any dream,” she said.
“That is no comfort,” I said, and she smiled.
She still held my face, and I latched onto her wrists, wanting to feel her touch always.
“I am so proud.”
“Proud? I have done nothing to earn your pride.”
“Know who you came from,” my mother said, and her voice was stern.
“But I don’t know who I came from,” I said. “I know nothing of our people—”
She dropped her hands from my face and took mine into hers. “You are a strong woman from a strong line. Your roots go deep in this earth, and from them, you draw your magic.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“You are the daughter of witches, as all women are,” she said, and she brushed a strand of hair from my face. “Magic is in our blood and bone; it is in the earth at our feet; it is in the very air we breathe.”
“But I have barely been able to use magic at all.” It seemed the only time I managed to do anything well was by chance.
“Words are spells, daughter, no matter how simple they may seem.” She paused and then looked away from me and around.
Her expression was so peaceful, so happy. And she was so beautiful. She looked like me but also different—her nose was wider, her lips fuller, her cheekbones higher, her hair thicker, darker. I wanted to look more like her and less like my father.
“You brought yourself to this place,” my mother said, and I blinked. I had been so focused on her, memorizing every part of her, I had not taken the time to observe where exactly we were.
The only thing I had noted when I had opened my eyes—other than my mother—was that we were surrounded by bright light. Now I realized it was only the sun beating down upon us, striking the surface of the fairest sand and the clearest water. Behind us was a curtain of dense forest, the greenery blazing against a blue sky.
“What is this place?”
“This is my home,” she said. “Nalani.”
Once again, tears blurred my eyes. “It is beautiful,” I said, breathless.
“I always dreamed of bringing you here,” my mother said. “And look, it has happened. Dreams are wonderful, are they not, my daughter?”
I met her gaze again and my heart sank, giving away to a profound and painful disappointment. “So this is a dream,” I whispered.
Her smile was warm, but she shook her head. I was not certain if that was an answer to my question.
“Magic is not so serious,” she said. “It is many things—an essence that gives everything on earth life and an energy. You can harness that energy if you remain aware enough, but you have become so caught up in spells, in words, in shapes. You need none of that to call upon your power.”
“But…that is what I have always done,” I said.
“No,” she said. “You—no matter what incarnation—have always drawn upon the world with no effort. You only made spells to help women understand their potential when they could not feel it themselves.”
I wanted to tell her I had no idea how to do what she was telling me, but she spoke, as if she heard me.
“Trust yourself, Isolde,” she said. “Your soul has been speaking and you have not been listening.”
I felt almost as if I were being reprimanded, but she squeezed my hands and I focused on her touch—soft and warm and real.
“It is no fault of your own,” she said. “This world is afraid of powerful women.”
There was no greater example than the Burning. Our trauma had crossed lifetimes. It was in our blood; it lived in the air and earth; it whispered in the dark.
It had silenced us for too long.
“Trust yourself,” my mother said. “As I do.”
I studied her dark eyes, wishing I’d had her forever.
“I have needed you,” I said, my voice breaking.
She smiled, and though her eyes watered, I sensed she did not agree. She lifted my hand and placed a seed in my palm, curling my fingers tight around it.
“For when you return to your plane,” she said.
“What is this?” I asked, but her hands were already loosening around mine and I felt a sense of panic rise within me.
“Don’t let go,” she said.
“Mother!”
I was torn from her and broke the surface of the water, surprised when I found I was alone. I had felt as if I had been pulled with such force—I was sure someone else had to be with me. I looked around the quiet wood, but there was nothing other than an unsettling stillness to the world, and I knew it meant we were about to be plunged into chaos.
My hand was clenched, and as I uncurled my fingers, I found the seed my mother had given me. It was the size of my thumbnail and felt like a weight in the palm of my hand. I nearly burst into tears once more.
She was real. I had actually visited her.
I left the water, dressed, and hurried back to camp.
***
When I returned to the tent, twilight was upon us, and Adrian was gone, though I noticed a wooden goblet on the table. When I checked, it was full of his blood.
My heart seized a moment, both at his thoughtfulness but also at the implication. He did not wish for me to touch him.
I did not drink it.
I stored the seed my mother had given me and changed into warmer clothes quickly, in case Adrian was in search of me. But I found him only a few feet from the tent, speaking with two of his scouts.
He sensed my approach because he went rigid. It was an observation that both hurt and angered me. If anyone should feel uneasy, it should be me.
The scouts ceased speaking and bowed to me.
“Good evening, my queen,” said one.
“Good evening,” I replied. “Is there news?”