“So, what is rhythm, Master?” Hattie asked.
“In essence, every duel, particularly one between mages seems to develop a rhythm. It’s a kind of pattern often punctuated by the spells cast by both sides, but sometimes by the songs the mages themselves sing.” Frances snapped her fingers. “For example, you know my cousin Ayax the Blackwake is a particularly skilled mage. What you might not know is that she often wins our practice duels quite often. I’d say about fifty-percent of the time she ends up winning sparring matches against me.”
Morgan frowned. “You can’t be going all out in those fights, though.”
Hattie nudged Morgan. “But that’s still impressive, though, given our Master’s power.”
“Yes. I really should arrange a lesson in hand-to-hand fighting with Ayax when she gets back from Erisdale.” Frances shook her head. “Ayax mainly wins our matches because she’s very good at getting inside my rhythm and disrupting it. Hattie, would you be alright with me demonstrating with you?”
“Of course, Master.” Hattie rose to her feet. Facing Frances across the beach, she caught the safety ring that Frances passed to her and put it on.
Bowing to her student, Frances raised Ivy’s Sting. “What’s going to happen Morgan is that Hattie is free to attack me with whatever she wants, however many times, and I can only make one attack. I’m also going to make it in such a way that she wouldn’t be able to block it.”
Morgan blinked as Hattie took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders before raising her wand.
“Begin,” said Frances.
Hattie swallowed and inched forward, shoes shuffling forward on the shifting beach sands.
Suddenly she whipped her wand, sending a bolt of magic at Frances. Before the bolt had even reached Frances, Hattie was crying out the first notes in a song, bringing a blast of water from the shore. Morgan blinked, missing Hattie’s third spell, a fireball that leapt from her wand. She was casting fast and hard.
Frances parried the first bolt with a small shield. She leapt out of the way of the blast of water, and sidestepped the fireball before firing back with a bolt of magic of her own.
Morgan’s eyes shot to Hattie, expecting her to block, yet in that split second, it was as if the half-troll was moving in slow motion. She waved her wand and tried to cry out a shield, but Frances’s magic slapped into her chest, stopped just by the activation of the emergency shield.
“What just happened?” Morgan stammered. “Hattie didn’t seem able to block that, but why?”
“Rhythm. There’s a pattern—a natural beat to when Hattie attacks. Once I deflected or blocked several attacks I was able to read her rhythm and find the gap between when she casts to make an attack of my own.” Frances extended her hand to pat her older apprentice on the shoulder. “Good job Hattie. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Master,” said Hattie, dipping her head.
Her wings fluttering, Morgan crossed her arms. “Okay, but how does that explain why Ayax is able to beat you sometimes?”
“Ah, so Ayax is very good at reading my rhythm, and also because mine is quite easy to read.” Frances sighed, her free hand twirling the end of her hair. “Edana trained me primarily as a war mage, someone who can fight mages but tries to end fights as quickly as possible. So the spells I developed are meant to kill or overpower my opponents in one hit.”
“So if Ayax dodged your first few spells, she’d be able to get into your rhythm and beat you,” said Morgan.
“Yes. To practise, Morgan you’re going to be attacking Hattie but you can only cast two spells in a round. How fast and how hard the spells are though will be entirely up to you. Hattie will be blocking or dodging them to practise her reaction speed and shield spells.”
Nodding, Morgan clambered to her feet and took her place across from Hattie “Ready?”
Hattie smiled. “Don’t go easy on me.”
Frances raised her hand. “Begin!”
----------------------------------------
“Morgan, I need to ask Frances a quick question. Do you mind going ahead first?” Hattie winked at her friend. “ You have an appointment with Renia today after all.”
Frances blinked and glanced between her two students.
She expected Morgan to demand to know why, but the harpy-troll’s eyes only briefly narrowed, before widening.
“Oh! Oh sure. Is that alright with you Frances?”
Frances resisted the urge to frown as she took in both Hattie’s small smile and Morgan’s far too eager one.
“Of course. Do you mind starting the stove and washing the vegetables?”
“Sure. See ya!” And like that Morgan had jumped into the air and was speeding away, leaving the master-student pair walking down the street.
Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Frances couldn’t help but smile. “You and Morgan seem to be getting along very well.”
A slight blush came over Hattie’s cheeks as she toyed with the ends of her hair. “Yes. We talked and um, we worked something out. Sortof.” Frances’s first apprentice took a deep breath. “But we really wanted to ask you how you are doing, Master.”
“I’m fine, Hattie,” said Frances.
Hattie’s smile vanished. “You seem…very tired and busy lately. Is Timur’s mission worrying you?”
Waving a hand, Frances shook her head. “Oh no. He’s just met up with his mother now and is heading into the mountains. He’s safe as can be.”
“Then what’s bothering you, Master?”
Frances blinked as she squeezed herself. Wait, when had she crossed her arms? Shaking her head to try to push the tiredness back, she forced the ends of her lips up.
“You don’t have to worry on my behalf, Hattie. I appreciate that you want to help, but the things I have to look over are not something you ought to concern yourself about.”
“But…why are we any different? You were fourteen when you took to the battlefield at Vertingen, though. Fifteen on your first mission in Westfall Pass. Then after Kwent and Freeburg, you thwarted the conspiracy at the Winter Tournament in Erlenberg.”
Frances and Hattie had come to a stop. The slightly taller apprentice looked down at her master, her dark blue eyes wide, and her jaw clenched. Her lips trying to figure out what words to form, Frances suddenly recalled that more than a year ago, Hattie was just as if not more fierce than her junior.
“You’re not.” Frances grimaced. “But that does not mean I am willing to burden you with my personal demons or what’s at stake.”
Brushing aside a lock of her hair, Hattie smiled bitterly. “Master, my parents were killed by this war and Morgan’s dad died trying to prevent it. We’re products of this war.”
Frances took a deep breath and sighed, her shoulders sagging. “And you do deserve a role in ending it. I will…I will try to involve you both into what’s going on and why I’ve been so occupied of late, but you both shouldn’t be worrying about this. Morgan was rescued only a few months ago after all and you’ve only just started becoming involved in the fighting.”
“I understand. Thank you, Master.” Hattie pursed her lips. “That’s not all that’s bothering you, though. You mentioned something about your person.”
Frances shut her eyes, trying to keep herself as still as possible. “Hattie, I appreciate you trying to help but I’ve been managing my…my personal problems for years. I’m fine.”
Hattie bit her lip. “Then why aren’t you sleeping well?”
“Just a round of nightmares. Nothing for you or Morgan to be concerned about.” Frances winced as Hattie’s eyes widened.
“When did they start?”
Frances grimaced. “Hattie, as much as I appreciate you and Morgan worrying about me, I’m not ready to talk about it.”
The half-troll nodded. “I…I understand that, but then how are you going to manage them? Shouldn’t you maybe at least take a break?”
“Hattie…I can’t.” Frances looked around them and whispered in a low tone. “King Thorgoth is planning something. For the last year before Morgan’s rescue he’s raided near or attempted to attack Athelda-Aoun multiple times. It’s been months since the last raid, or any major offensive by his armies into allied territory. I’m beginning to think he’s planning something and it’s one reason why I didn’t oppose Timur’s mission. I’m hoping he can find something.”
“Oh.” Hattie nodded slowly. “Yeah, if anybody can find anything it would be Timur.” Her hands balling into fists Hattie swallowed. “Is there really nothing we can do to help? You just…you just seem so tired and you still try to keep taking care of us.”
Swallowing, Frances shook her head and patted Hattie’s shoulder. “I do very little, Hattie. For both you and Morgan. I’m very lucky to have you both as my apprentices.”
To Frances’s surprise, Hattie stepped back, grabbing her hand with her hands. “What are you talking about, Frances? You’ve defended me even when I wouldn’t advocate for myself and you keep taking care of me. I have dinner at your house almost every night. You didn’t have to love me and you didn’t have to care for Morgan. Yet you do anyway.”
Something cold and sharp sank deep claws around Frances’s chest and she couldn’t help but look away. “Hattie, you know I love you, but for Morgan, I’m just doing it because there’s no other option.”
Hattie blinked. “That can’t be true. You told Morgan you care about her more than a typical apprentice.”
Trying to breathe calmly through clenched teeth, Frances wiped her eyes. “That’s true but it’s…it’s more complicated than that.”
“Why is it complicated? You care for Morgan and Morgan cares for you. She understands that you want the best for her and listens to you because of it. And she’s worried about you. She was the one who told me you weren’t getting enough sleep.”
Dropping her head, Frances groaned. “Hattie…I can’t…I can’t tell you why it’s complicated. All I can say is…I don’t feel that I’ve been open with Morgan. There are things that I can’t tell her because they’ll hurt and that’s the last thing she needs.” Before her student could say more, Frances raised her hand. “That’s all for tonight. I’m sorry, Hattie, but…look I’ll try to talk to Morgan, reassure her and hear her out, okay?”
Hattie opened her mouth, but Frances supposed there was something to the look on her face because Hattie sighed and nodded. “Alright. I’m sorry.”
Frances shook her head and squeezed her student’s hand. “Don’t be. You’re only asking questions and they were good questions. I…I should have been able to answer you.” She took a deep breath. “Are you coming over for dinner?”
“Yes. If…if that’s alright with you?” Hattie asked.
“Of course,” said Frances, smiling.
----------------------------------------
Today, Morgan told Renia about the nightmares she’d been having, her feelings about humans, and just about her day and how she was feeling.
Morgan wasn’t exactly sure why it was easy to talk to Renia and tell her these things. In fact, sometimes Renia couldn’t answer questions that Morgan suspected Frances would have the answer to. Morgan did know, though, that she always appreciated how Renia just listened to her without judgement.
Only, Morgan was starting to notice that while she felt comfortable and safe with Renia, there was something about how the harpy looked at her that seemed a bit strange. She’d brushed it off before, but now that she watched Renia scribble down in her book, she seemed a bit tense.
“Alright, I have one last question, Morgan, but it may be a bit private,” said the harpy.
Morgan sipped from her glass of water. “Go on.”
“You’ve been living with Frances for some time now and you didn’t like her at first. What do you feel about her now?” Renia asked.
What did she feel about Frances?
“I don’t know. I mean, I like her,” said Morgan.
“Hmm, but that’s not all, is it?” Renia asked.
“Well I’m worried about her. Something’s bothering her and I’m not sure what.” Morgan stammered. She crossed her arms. “I think it’s related to me. She’s been keeping this “big secret” from me until I get older and I don’t get why. Hattie said she’ll talk to Frances while I’m with you.”
“I see. Can you tell me why you aren’t sure about your feelings regarding Frances?”
Morgan froze as a strange numbing wave ran down from the top of her head to the tips of her claws.
“Um, I might need some help,” she stammered. Morgan remembered a few times when something like this had happened during a session with Renia. She just…didn’t know how to say or sort out her thoughts sometimes. Renia and Frances had told her that this was natural, but she still found it a bit weird that she needed someone else’s help to unpack these feelings.
Renia hopped off her chair and walked closer to Morgan, extending a wing over her, but not touching her. “Alright. Is it something you feel that you can’t say, or something that is conflicting?”
“Both. Um, more…more that I can’t say it,” Morgan whispered. She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Yeah, I don’t…I don’t think I can say it.”
Renia nodded slowly and her warm feathers gently brushed over Morgan’s own. “What’s preventing you from saying it? Is it something you feel that you don’t want to…to say out loud because you think it’s true, or because you are worried about how others will react?”
Morgan bit her lip, her head drooping toward her thighs. “I don’t know how people will react.” She looked up at the harpy, into the golden-brown eyes so similar to her own. “Renia, you…you won’t tell anybody, right?”
“Of course not, Morgan,” said Renia, with a quiet smile.
“Because I…I’m happy. I’m…I like being taken care of by Frances, who…who is a human.” Morgan clasped her hands, trying to keep them still. “That can’t be right.”
Renia’s smile faded a bit. “Morgan, I’m not sure why Frances being a human is a problem. You said in our last session that you are realising there are different humans and that Frances is a good person.”
“I mean… I shouldn’t like her,” said Morgan. “She’s weird and creepy. She knows what I’m thinking sometimes before I’ve even thought of it. She’s in love with my uncle and I shouldn’t be happy that she makes him happy as he’s a prince of Alavaria and she’s just a human.”
The lie tasted horrible as it left her mouth, and she winced. She tried to hold her tongue for a moment longer, but she couldn’t.
Renia frowned. “Morgan—”
“I like her. I like her a lot!” Morgan croaked. She blinked, trying to hold back her tears. “She’s nice and kind and I feel safe with her. Even if she’s keeping some kind of secret from me.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“Then… isn’t that a good thing?” Renia asked, frowning.
“It’s not! It’s not a good thing!” Morgan cried out. “I shouldn’t like her so much. Get along with her so well. She was just supposed to help me control my magic and just be my uncle’s girlfriend.”
Renia pursed her lips. “Why do you feel that’s not a good thing, Morgan? It sounds to me that your relationship with Frances is helping you a lot. You said she makes you feel safe, helps you with your nightmares and teaches you magic in an entertaining and informative way. Is there something else she does that is making you uncomfortable?”
“I don’t know! I just don’t want to say it to Frances. I mean… I could and she wouldn’t hurt me. She’d probably be really happy, but… what then?” Morgan stammered.
Renia hesitated. “What do you mean?”
Morgan shut her tear-filled eyes. “If I tell her what I feel, then…then what would my birth mother think? What—what would she think about me liking Frances? My father…Prince Teutobal would probably be over the moon that Timur is taking care of me. I know Neria is long dead, but I still feel like I’m betraying her. And if I tell Frances, things are going to change. It’s nice right now. I’m happy, and I feel I can happy, but Frances isn’t. Something is really worrying her and I want to help but I don’t know if I can.”
The feeling of Renia’s feathers on her back stopped. Morgan looked up at Renia, who seemed strangely stiff. Her wings were clamped to her sides and her eyes were closed.
After a moment, the harpy took a deep breath. “Well, you said you told her that you liked her after you stole her wand a few weeks ago. You wouldn’t be changing much.”
Morgan froze, her breath catching in her throat.
“That’s… that’s not what I feel,” she croaked. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I… I think I like her more than just… liking her, Renia. I… sometimes…just sometimes when I’m around her, it’s like having a mom and I don’t know what to feel about it.”
Renia blinked, her eyes wide. Morgan caught a flash of a stricken, almost sorrowful-look, before the harpy’s face returned to a sympathetic smile. That…that was odd. And yet, now, Renia looked happy, genuinely happy, except for the tears that had formed at the edges of her eyes.
“I don’t know what your mom would think, Morgan, but I think she’d be happy for you. I know I’m overjoyed that you are feeling happier.” Renia wiped her eyes. “She’s probably sad, but who wouldn’t want to see her daughter so happy?”
Morgan snorted and wiped her eyes. “It’s… it’s that obvious, right? But what do I do?”
“Talk to her about what you feel, like how you told me. You don’t have to tell her what you feel exactly, at least, not until you’re ready. I think, though, that telling her a bit of how you care for Frances would make her feel better and also make you feel better?” Renia asked, smiling gently.
Morgan, thought about it and nodded.
Because it would make her feel better, a lot better.
----------------------------------------
Morgan woke up, shaking, the remnants of a nightmare already forgotten, but having left her shivering. Burying her face in her pillow, she groaned and rolled out of bed. Maybe tonight she needed the sleeping pill on her nightmare tray after all.
As she made her way to the stairs, she noticed the light downstairs was on. Every muscle in her body tensing up, she tiptoed downstairs, her magic at the ready.
She found instead, Frances in a sleeping robe, sniffling at the table, one hand holding a mug of Hearthsange. It wasn’t from Morgan’s tray, but from a new kettle that had been set on the stove.
Morgan froze, watching as her teacher breathed in and out, trying to steady herself. She didn’t look like Frances Stormcaller, the powerful, deadly mage that was her teacher. She looked like a tired woman, woken from what had to be a nightmare.
Just like she had. Morgan wet her lips. “Frances, are you alright?”
Frances turned around, wiping her eyes. “Oh, good evening, Morgan. I’m…I’ve been better. Did I wake you?”
“No. I had a nightmare too. I can’t remember it.” Morgan walked over to her tray and after a second’s pause, took it and brought it over to the table. Sitting beside her teacher, she took off the dome to the cookie plate. “Would you like a cookie?”
Frances blinked before smiling warmly and taking a cookie. “Thank you, Morgan.”
“You’re welcome, and… thank you, for the nightmare tray.” Morgan took the water and poured herself a glass. As she sipped it she tried to meet her teacher’s brown eyes. “Frances, I…I need to…to…” She groaned and ran her fingers through her hair, gripping the end of her reddish-brown locks.
“Take your time, Morgan,” said Frances, smiling gently.
Morgan swallowed and spat out, “I’m sorry for being so rude when I met you! I know I was being a brat and I’m sorry.” She looked away, it felt woefully insufficient and it wasn’t even exactly what she wanted to say. What would her teacher think?
A hand hovered over Morgan’s and she looked up to see her teacher between bites. “Apology accepted, Morgan. I… I know how hard it can be to change things.”
Morgan nodded slowly and reached up to take Frances’s hand. It was warm to the touch and surprisingly small. “You really do, don’t you?”
“Yeah. As you can see, I still have nightmares even now. Luckily your uncle sleeps really deeply or I’d have woken him up many times,” said Frances. She swallowed the last piece of the cookie. “Thank you.”
“What do you have nightmares about?” Morgan clasped her free hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s alright, Morgan. I don’t mind you asking.” Her teacher crossed her free arm across her chest. “Usually, they’re about what my parents did to me when I was a child. They hit me and starved me. Once they even burned me.” Frances pursed her lips before suddenly pushing her seat back. Reaching down, she parted her sleeping robe to reveal a dark triangle-shaped scar on her thigh, just before where her shorts began. “My mom pressed the tip of an iron there.”
“Your mom did that,” whispered Morgan, eyes wide in disbelief, but she did believe. She recognized the shape from the tips of the irons that they used.
Frances nodded and drew her sleeping robe over herself again. “Thankfully, these nightmares have become a rarity. I just get them once in a while. So I know that yours will fade too.”
Morgan nodded, feeling no small measure of relief. She was wondering if the nightmares would ever end. She sipped from her water and glanced at Frances. To be honest, she was wondering about a lot of things. Things about… about the hurt she was feeling, and the fear.
“Frances, can I… can I ask you some other questions? Questions about… about… about what only we know?” she whispered.
Her teacher gave her a small, tired smile. “Of course, Morgan. What questions do you have?”
Morgan knew that her teacher would have agreed to help, but she couldn’t stop the warm feeling that spread through her chest at her teacher’s answer. Just having someone who understood her, had experienced something even somewhat similar to what she had gone through, and survived? The relief she felt was indescribable.
“Is it normal that we feel that it’s our fault?” she blurted out. She started, and looked away. She hadn’t even told Renia this, and she liked the harpy. Besides, wasn’t she her counsellor? Why did she feel she could tell Frances this, but not her counsellor?
“Yes. It is very normal.” Morgan, eyes wide, looked back at her mentor and the long, sad look her amber eyes gave her. “For a long time, I thought I deserved what my parents did to me.”
And that soft affirmation, Morgan realised, was why she could tell her teacher this. Because she understood what she felt. The confused anger, pain and just… feelings that she thought nobody could understand.
“Why do we feel that way?” Morgan whispered.
Frances sighed, briefly closing her eyes. “From what I remember, from what I’ve been told, we blame ourselves because what happened to us is so… crazy, so painful, that it’s the only way for us to understand why and what happened. It’s a way of coping with the pain when it was happening.”
“Then why do I feel that when I know it’s the human’s fault? I mean, when it’s Earl Darius’s fault?” Morgan croaked out, squeezing her teacher’s hand. She noticed Frances' wince and immediately let go, horrified. Only, her teacher just extended an arm around her shoulders, and offered her other hand. Morgan, tentatively, accepted both, and slid closer to her teacher. Not hugging her, but just… resting her head on her shoulder. She was getting tired after all, it was alright.
“That’s because we have a conscious mind, and unconscious feelings. We might not actively think it’s our fault. We may recognize who caused us pain, but our unconscious feelings and emotions may feel differently.” Frances giggled softly. “I…I love your uncle, and I know he loves me, but when we started dating, it wasn’t easy for me to let him touch me, or kiss me.”
Morgan blinked uncomprehendingly. Timur and Frances were so close, and kissed each other so casually on the cheek, or even on the lips. Only now that she really thought about it, she realized that any time her uncle initiated a touch or a kiss, he’d often pause for a second. A split-second to allow her teacher to consent and meet him in the middle.
“But it’s been so long. Seven years since you came to Durannon,” Morgan stammered. Her heart clenched. “Do you mean… do you mean I might feel… I… what happened…I… I don’t know what…”
She felt her mentor squeeze her gently. “Morgan, I have to be honest. There are some things that might stay with you. Some of the things I’ve gone through keep hurting me. But they don’t mean that you’re abnormal, or strange, or weird. You will heal, and no, not everything will go away, but you can still have a good life, a happy life. You will still have your uncle, myself and your friends.”
Morgan felt her fear abate, the shivering, clenching anxiety, subside, but only for a second.
“But what if we lose the war?” Morgan whispered.
Frances’s grip on her stiffened for a brief moment, before she spoke in stern words, filled with iron-determination.
“I won’t let that happen. I promise. And if we do lose this war, I’ll have you escape to Erlenberg where my family will get you on a ship to an undiscovered continent, far from your grandfather. You’ll be safe.”
Morgan let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, but there was still one, gnawing question that turned her head to look right at her teacher’s amber eyes.
“What…but what about you, and uncle. You’ll escape with me too, right?”
Frances’s eyes widened and her face twisted into a pained smile. “I’ll try, but I…if we are losing the war, I don’t know if I’ll still be in Durannon. I might have lost to your grandfather.”
“You can’t. Please, I know you can win this war. You’re the Stormcaller! You fought my grandfather and survived! You can beat him! You…” Morgan gritted her teeth, holding back the words she didn’t want to say, but dearly wanted to communicate to her teacher. “I can’t lose you both.”
Frances’s eyes were wide and Morgan tore her gaze downward, blinking back tears. Her teacher had to be so confused and annoyed. Her demand was completely unreasonable. Frances had a responsibility to the town they lived in, to her country, to fighting her grandfather. And what was this about not being able to lose her? Morgan had never told her teacher that.
“Morgan, can I touch your cheek?” Frances whispered.
Morgan blinked, but nodded, and found gentle hands bringing her chin up. Her teacher’s face was suddenly so close, her amber eyes bright with tears. Morgan froze as Frances brought her forehead to touch her’s.
“Thank you, for caring about me, and for believing in me. It means so much to me, and I promise that I will do my best for you.” Frances sniffled, wiping her eyes with a trembling hand. “But the thing is Morgan, I don’t deserve what I think you feel for me.”
The harpy-troll blinked and as Frances withdrew her hand, Morgan grabbed onto it.
“Wait what—I thought you wanted me to like you.”
Closing her eyes Frances tried to pull back but Morgan held on. Sighing, the mage rested her hand on the princess’s shoulder. “And I’m glad you do. I’m really happy, but correct me if I’m wrong, I now think you care more about me than that.”
Morgan frowned trying to form words and figure out just what had happened. She had essentially told Frances she cared about her. She had finally voiced a little about what she felt to her mentor-mother-something figure.
And Frances hadn’t rejected her feelings because she didn’t like Morgan. She said that Morgan didn’t deserve to like her—to care about her?
“Wait but what…what do you feel about me? Did I do something wrong—”
“No. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Frances wiped her eyes, a low groan escaping her lips. “This…this is happening because it’s my fault and because of the problems that I have.”
“I don’t understand! You’ve done nothing but try to help me.” Morgan swallowed and took a breath. “Is it because of that secret that you mentioned you were keeping? I mean I am curious, but I don’t really care about that!”
“It’s partly related, Morgan, and I am sure you are at least a little concerned about that secret.”
“Only because I think it’s why you don’t want to take care of me!”
Frances flinched, her eyes widening and the sinking feeling in Morgan’s stomach grew.
“It is, isn't it?” Morgan’s wings clung to herself. “It’s about me isn’t it? It must be because then
“Morgan no. It isn’t you it’s…it’s…” Frances pulled her hand from Morgan’s numb grasp and buried her face in it. Wiping tears from her eyes, the human mage met Morgan’s gaze. “It’s me and…and…what I have to tell you. It’s not the whole secret, but you need to know this before you want me to be anything to you.”
“Oh…” Morgan nodded, a little relieved that it wasn’t something wrong with herself. Yet, the way Frances’s hands trembled made her pull her arms around herself. “I thought you said you were keeping it a secret for my own good?”
“I was—we were, but if I don’t tell you now I’m going to hurt you even more than I already have.” Frances swallowed, bowing her head. “I think you’re going to be very angry at me, and at certain people. That’s alright. I just ask you to hear me out and let me finish, please.”
Morgan had many more questions, but the stricken, defeated look her teacher had silenced them. All she could do was nod and rest her arms on the table, trying to brace herself.
Frances took a deep breath and faced Morgan. “Your mother, Neria Sunwing, is alive.”
Morgan blinked. She blinked again, trying to figure out why every limb in her body suddenly felt so heavy. From her shoulders to her elbows, wingtips to her clawtips, everything seemed to just be pulled down.
“She’s alive? How?”
“Your father managed to get her off of the ship before he steered it into the storm. She’s been in hiding ever since because if your grandfather knew, he’d have her silenced.”
“He did? But that’s amazing! We can find her! We can—” Morgan’s voice trailed off as Frances sobbed, burying her face in her hands once again. “Wait, why can’t we find her?”
Frances wiped her eyes again and reached out to hold her apprentice’s hands. “Morgan, I know where she is. I know her alias. I know how to contact her and—and I know you may not believe me, but she also told Timur and I that she can’t take care of you.”
Her apprentice shook her head, mouth working up and down. “I don’t understand. She’s my mom. She’s…she’s my mom! Doesn’t she love me?”
Frances squeezed Morgan’s hand. “She does. I know she does. She cried so hard when we finally found you and she was so happy.”
“Then why isn’t she taking care of me? Why did she give me to you! Why—” Morgan’s tears dripped onto the table, her grip on Frances’s hand tightening. “Does she think I’m a monster?”
“No! No! She doesn’t. That’s the last thing she is thinking. I…I only know what she told me and your uncle mind you, but when she fled, your mother had to give up on ever coming back to see you because if she did—”
“She’d be killed. Oh.” Morgan’s shoulders sagged, and her wingtips drooped to touch the floor. “And that was more than ten years ago, wasn’t it?”
Frances nodded, trying not to wince as her apprentice squeezed her hands so tightly her fingers were turning white. “Yes.”
“It…it isn’t easy to change that kind of thinking, right? You and Renia said so. It takes time and effort and…” Morgan sniffled, trying to think, but all she could do was sob and watch her own tears continue to fall and splash onto the varnished wooden table. As the warm arms of her teacher wrapped around her wings and shoulders, Morgan couldn’t help but bury herself into Frances’s chest and sob.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Frances whimpered, holding Morgan tight as the harpy-troll cried.
“It’s not your fault, Frances. It’s just this stupid war.” Morgan groaned and glanced at her teacher, frowning when the older woman didn’t reply. “Frances?”
“Yes?”
“You know it isn’t your fault, right?”
Frances let go of her student, not able to look her in the eye. “I could have forced your mother to take care of you.”
Morgan wiped her eyes, glaring at the woman. “Really.”
“Alright I couldn’t, but because I didn’t you got put through all of this. You don’t know who you want to be your caretaker.”
“Um, you.”
Frances’s head whipped around. “Excuse me?”
The princess, still holding onto Frances, looked up at her. “Well who else is it going to be? It can’t be my birth mom. She’s not ready to even meet me for fuck’s sake!”
“Language, Morgan. But—hold on, aren’t you angry at me?”
“Why the f—flipping crap do you think I’m going to be angry at you? You didn’t want to keep that secret did you?”
“Well no—”
Morgan flung her hands into the air. “Then why don’t you just be my mom already? You’re already doing everything a mom is supposed to do!”
It was so quiet, both Frances and Morgan could hear the wind blowing outside the house. The sound of Morgan’s hands clapping over her mouth echoed like a cannonshot.
“I…Oh…I…Shit.”
Frances took a deep breath. “Morgan, do you really want me to be your mother? Even when your real one is still alive?”
“Yes? Maybe? I don’t know. She doesn’t want to be my mom right now and well, I like you.”
Frances giggled helplessly, wiping her eyes again with the back of her hand. “I know and I like you too.” She pursed her lips and nodded. “I didn’t know if I would but I’ve grown to care for you as much as your uncle does.”
Morgan snorted and bowed her head. “Thanks, but none of that matters if well…if you don’t want to be my mom.”
Frances winced, trying to collect her feelings as she wrapped her arms around herself.
“I do want to take care of you, Morgan and I would love to be a parental figure to you, but well…” Frances pinched herself. “I’m scared. I’m really really scared.”
Frowning, Morgan stared at her teacher for a moment. “You, scared?”
“Yes. The thing is I don’t trust myself to take care of you. I’m not…normal as you know.”
“Yeah, but you can help me because you get me. You’ve already helped me!”
“I can help, but there are some things about me that I’m worried will hurt you. I…I’ve already hurt you a little even when trying my best.” Frances closed her eyes. “The thing is Morgan, I don’t know why but for some reason you’ve reminded me of my birth mother and my nightmares returned sometime after I took you in.”
Morgan froze. “What?”
Taking her student’s hand Frances shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I know that. I don’t blame you, but what I’m trying to say is…I’m not like other adults you know. I’m still hurt by what happened to me and it will continue to affect what I do and how I feel in spite of all that I can do.” Frances glanced at Morgan. “Are you sure you want me to be your…mother-figure, even knowing that?”
The harpy-troll’s wings fluttered. “Wait hold on! Why would you even want to be my kinda-mom if I remind you of your birth mom? How do I even remind you of your birth mom?”
“Because well…I still care about you Morgan and I know the problem is with me.” Frances grimaced. “As to how you remind me of my birth mom? I wish I knew. For a while I thought that your outbursts were triggering my memories, but I don’t think that’s the case now.”
Morgan swallowed. “Why not?”
Frances took a deep breath. “My nightmares reminded me that when my mother abused me, she didn’t do it just out of anger. There were times when she looked me in the eye, and hit me without saying a word. It didn’t matter if I begged or stayed silent, she wouldn’t stop. So although the nightmares did start when you arrived, it probably wasn’t your outbursts.”
Just thinking about it made Morgan shiver. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” Letting Morgan’s hand go, Frances placed her hands very carefully on the table. “The fact is things like this are going to continue to happen, Morgan. If you really want me to be your mother—or mother-figure—”
“I’ll be getting you as a mom, all of you, and not just your good side?” Morgan asked, her hands clasped tightly.
Frances nodded, studying Morgan’s frown and her mouth twisted in concentration and consternation.
Finally the princes looked up, meeting Frances’s eye. “Can we give it a try, Frances? I mean…my real mom isn’t ready right?”
Frances’s eyes widened and she shook her head just once. “Are you sure?”
“No, but…well how long did my mom say she needed?” Morgan asked.
Briefly closing her eyes, Frances winced. “She said she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready. She—some of us weren’t sure if we should tell you that she was alive.”
“My mom didn’t want to tell me she was alive and you…”Morgan studied Frances and noted how she was crossing her arms. “Did you want to?”
Frances groaned. “That’s not…please don’t take this the wrong way, Morgan. She was trying to protect you in her own way.”
“Was she the one who wanted you to take care of me?” Morgan demanded, her eyes narrowed.
Frances hesitated, but nodded once.
Morgan took a deep breath and nodded. “Then I think she’d be fine with you taking care of me for a while longer. If you don’t mind…Frances?”
Taking a deep breath, Frances extended her arms. Morgan barrelled into her teacher and held onto her tightly, as Frances gently stroked her hair.
“Morgan, I would love to.”
Morgan sniffled, looking up at her teacher. She was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks once again. And yet, she was smiling the widest Morgan had ever seen her. A smile that the harpy-troll realised, she was mirroring, as the warmth from her teacher’s touch almost seemed to spread from head to toe.
The news about her real mother being alive and not able to be with her still hurt. It ached like an old wound. Yet that didn’t stop the relief and joy that lifted Morgan’s lips into a smile.
She had a mom, two moms really. As crazy and messy as it was, it felt really nice.