Briar stood with some difficulty next to the mahogany hospice- bassinet the maidstaff had moved her daughter into. Her hands clenched into fists at her side; it tore at the sensitive fabric of her dress, but she didn’t care.

How could she care about anything as trivial as that, if her daughter was injured? And it wasn’t just a small injury, either; Briar had almost collapsed from shock when the nanny Haswalth had brought out of nowhere - Daphne, Cherry had called her - had burst into her bedroom with Briar’s daughter in her arms. She had been soaked in blood and- and some other fluid, although Briar hadn’t been thinking rationally enough to really cognize what it was.

She still wasn’t, anyway.

Briar watched anxiously, with Cherry standing solemnly behind her, as the House doctor finished his inspection. He was using some device attached to his head, connected to a long, black rubber tube that had been injected into her daughter intravenously.

The nanny in question, though, was also standing in the room to the back, her face pale and hands trembling. Briar had been tempted to dismiss her outright at first, but before she could do so Cherry had already taken the situation into her hands.

“What is it?” Briar asked. Her voice was so high-pitched Briar thought she must sound hysterical, but she couldn’t care less. “What’s wrong with her?”

The doctor coughed. He looked embarrassed- confused, even, which was decidedly not the expression Briar wanted to see at the moment. “I- there’s nothing wrong with her, duchess. She doesn’t have any internal bleeding. Physiologically, the young miss is fine.”

Briar grit her teeth. “Then why is she still asleep? And why is there blood covering her? That doesn’t just- just magic itself out of nowhere!”

Behind her, Daphne shifted. Briar spun, glaring at her, and the girl shrank. “What?”

Cherry placed a hand on her shoulder, and Briar sagged. “Leave her alone, miss,” Cherry remarked, sharply. “The poor girl hasn’t done anything suspicious. I checked.”

“There is an irregularity in the young miss’ etherflow,” spoke the Doctor, grimacing. “But it’s nothing much, really. She hasn’t formed a false or faulty spiritual core, so that rules out Ether-Sickness. A week has passed already, has it not? Exposure to magic shouldn’t have affected the young miss at all.”

“She almost seems healthier,” Cherry remarked, gazing upon the fetal form of Briar’s daughter, asleep in her crib. “Look - her skin is smoother.”

Briar frowned, before squinting at her child. She was a first- circle Chanter, which meant Briar possessed a spiritual core and the minor sensory aptitude that came from it.

Her eyes widened. Cherry had been right; the channels of etherin her daughter were oddly developed for her age, but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with them. In fact, their flow was so efficient - ether filtering in through her skin and coming out without leaving any residue, like all impurities had been expelled from her body - that Briar almost mistook the channels for actual veins instead of simple pathways.

Only the absence of a core distinguished her from a mage.

“She’ll grow to be quite powerful, I think,” said the Doctor, “although this is quite the unique case. The young miss is fine to go, though. I wouldn’t recommend leaving her next to large sources of ambient ether, however.”

“Thank you for your service, doctor,” said Briar. The Doctor gave her a sharp nod, and turned to leave.

Before he exited the room, however, he turned to look Briar dead in the eyes. “Duchess. If I may offer a suggestion; I do recommend hiring a specialist tutor for the young miss once she comes of age. Before, even.”

Briar frowned. “For what reason?” she asked.

“The young miss has an oddly developed brain for one her age,” the

Doctor explained. “And I can... sense she’s intelligent.” Briar blinked, before nodding. “Thank you.”

The Doctor bowed, and exited the room.

Briar staggered backwards, sinking onto her bedside. Cherry was already directing the maidstaff, who had been tittering nervously the whole time, casting pitious looks to Daphne.

That was a lot, she thought, chest heaving. Thank the Heroes she’s safe, though.

“Everyone,” Briar said, holding a hand to her forehead. “Leave. Cherry and... Daphne. You two, stay.”

The maidstaff followed her orders, shuffling out her bedroom. Cherry had just been about to get them to leave, anyway.

Eventually, the only people left in her room were Cherry, Briar herself, her daughter, and Daphne. Briar fixed an observing glance on her; the girl looked like she wanted to sink into the floor and drop to the center of the planet.

It was the girl that spoke first.

“I- I didn’t mean it, my lady,” Daphne stammered. “I just- I assumed, because it’d been over a week, that it’d be fine-”

Briar held up her hand, and the girl felt silent. “I’m not blaming you, Daphne. You-” she swallowed. “You didn’t know better.”

Briar felt Cherry’s approving gaze on her neck even without physically looking. The woman had scolded her earlier for ragging on the girl; it was in ways like this that Cherry still served as a mother- figure for her, despite literally serving under her.

Daphne trembled, then fell to her knees. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Briar appraised Daphne, brow arched. “You are the girl that Haswalth sponsored to take care of my- our daughter, correct?”

Behind her, Cherry cleared her throat. “Ah, yes. She’s the Rosenson girl, my lady. The one that the Duke rescued from the purge, after her family was arrested.”

Briar grimaced. Why didn’t he save my- No. Focus. Not the time for that.

Briar shook her head, dispelling those evil thoughts. “Whatever your background, Daphne, I understand.”

The girl raised her head, and Briar was struck by just how frail this Daphne looked. As if a stiff wind might blow her right over; it was so obvious the girl - barely an adult, even, and definitely still a teen - had been affected by the purge.

Like me, Briar realized. And that was all it took; she felt her distaste for the girl instantly lessen, and felt sympathy well up instead.

She stood with some difficulty, approaching the girl. She was still on her knees, so Briar crouched herself, folding her dress to do so. She held a hand to the maid’s face, lifting her chin.

Daphne’s eyes widened. They were azure-blue - in sharp contrast to the wheatfield gold of her hair.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“You don’t have to be afraid in this house, Daphne,” Briar said. “My family was caught in the purge, too. Just like you, I was lucky to be spared. But most of my family wasn’t so lucky.”

A hic. Briar felt Daphne tremble in her arms, her ether fluctuating. Briar was surprised; the girl was a second-circle Chanter bordering on the third - she must have been a talent at whatever academy she’d been attending, prior to the Rosenson family’s dissolution.

“Thank you, miss,” Daphne whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so-”

“None of that,” Briar shot. “My daughter is fine, after all. And I expect you to take care of her well, from now on until death does both of you part. If you truly feel sorry for what you have done today, then you may repay me and Has- your benefactor by raising my daughter well.”

The girl swallowed. Briar felt a tear trickle onto her arm. “I understand, my Duchess. Thank you.”

Briar sighed, withdrawing Daphne from her embrace. “Very well, then. You may go to the servant’s quarters. Clean yourself up - this is unbecoming of you. Cherry will resume your duties for the time being, until you feel yourself ready to return.”

Daphne stood, shakily. Cherry gave her a small smile, which the girl returned, albeit with much less vigor. But she looked a little stronger, now, her skin a little less pale. “I will do my best, my lady.”

Briar watched her leave, sighing. “Poor girl.”

Cherry raised a brow. “You were quite furious at her earlier, my lady.”

“That was before I learned of her circumstances. And that it was my daughter who was unique, and thus that I should not attribute blame to her” she snorted. “Although - I still can’t understand why she was so cavalier with her use of magic. Levitating a bassinet? What came over her to-” Briar frowned.

“From what I’ve heard, that’s just how the girl is, my lady,” Cherry snickered. “She was quite the eccentric one.”

Briar looked at her curiously. Cherry obliged, answering, “As head-maid, I took the opportunity to look over Daphne’s records. She was a student at the Therellian Aristocrat’s academy in theoretical and practical applications of magic as well as algorithmic studies. She was considered quite the prodigy, before her family...” she winced. “The point remains that she was known for using magic from youth in lieu of physical activity. Things like picking objects up and moving them. Perhaps that explains the control and flexibility of her magic, as well as just how frail she is. She could never be a Breaker.”

“Lazy brat,” Briar muttered, but her voice was good-natured. “She must have been shocked when her magic caused my daughter to... react that way.”

She bit her lip. In truth, Briar wasn’t satisfied with the explanation the doctor had given; there was something abnormal at play here. She just didn’t know what.

“She’s a good girl,” Cherry said. “Different from myself, but I’m confident from my research on her that she’s studious and diligent. Doesn’t cut corners - well, as long those corners don’t involve exercise. She’ll take care of the young miss as well as I did with you.”

Briar glanced at her, a grin stretched on her face. “That’s unlikely, I think.”

The old bat winked at her.

----------------------------------------

Briar rolled over under her covers.

Her child slept in a new bassinet that had been placed next to her four-poster. Tomorrow, her daughter would be returned to her bedroom; but for tonight, Briar had requested she sleep close to her. Cherry was asleep in the next room over, ready to respond as soon as Briar awakened her with the servant’s bell that stood on her licorice- black bedside table.

Blood. Flesh scraping off of steel. Her house burning.

Her beautiful, kind, intelligent older sister looking down at her feet, calm, as Haswalth stood over her. His face could have been carved of stone. Despite the fact that he’d been courting her for the past year, Briar could never tell what he was thinking.

The accusations. The looks on the faces of her brothers and sisters. Terrified. Incredulous. Angry. And the silent message they all shot at her.

It should have been you.

Briar gasped, shooting up in a cold sweat. She looked around the room wildly, the taste of blood still thick, still so tangible yet ephemeral, resting on the tip of her tongue.

Shit. Briar threw her covers off of her. It was cold out, but she didn’t care.

She’d barely been able to sleep for the past four weeks, ever since that. Tonight, with her child by her side, Briar thought things might be different.

But it seems my demons plague me yet, Briar thought, shivering. She clenched the sides of her gossamer nightgown, crinkling the fabric.

“What am I doing,” Briar moaned, burying her face in her hands. “Why am I even still here? I-”

A sniffle. Briar turned to the source of the noise, frowning. It had come from the bassinet.

She slipped out of her covers; the curtains of the four-poster had been adjusted earlier for Briar to sleep in full view of her daughter, so she had no need to pull them apart. Briar flexed her feet, feeling the rich fabric of Bherevian carpet sink in between her toes.

Moonlight’s strong tonight, Briar mused. She walked slowly, luxuriating in the feeling of the quiet.

Still, it didn’t take long for her to reach the bassinet. Briar peered into it from above, gazing at the sight of the sleeping child within: her daughter.

She was immediately struck by just how lovely she was. Briar didn’t know much about motherhood, her own childhood having been stunted, but there was something that pulsated in her heart whenever she looked upon the infant she’d birthed from her own womb. Her creation. The only thing in the world that mattered.

Briar didn’t understand why she felt this way. Even though she’d promised herself to take care of her child well - a vow she’d made at her clandestine wedding with Haswalth, as well as when she’d first held her daughter in her arms, as well as that very noon - Briar hadn’t expected an outpouring of emotion this sheer and raw. It was staggering.

Not your own, though, Briar’s darker thoughts reminded her. She’s as much part of that man as she is of you.

She’s not Haswalth, Briar thought to herself, sighing. She’s her own person. It’s not fair of me to think of her that way.

Besides, I loved Haswalth too. And even now, I think I still might do. Even though I can never forgive him for what he did.

Her thoughts coiled around her clavicle, hissing hungrily. But are you sure he loves you? When the King called upon him to choose one of us as a sacrifice, he chose Rosalba specifically. Why would he do that, if not to hurt you?

There’s got to be a reason for that, Briar argued. Haswalth is a kind person, despite his line of work. I know how much he loved his father, before he passed away, and how much he adores his cousin.

Ha. Then why wasn’t he here today? When his only daughter and heir could have died? How can we justify that?

Briar scowled. Shut up.

But the thing in her heart only laughed. It laughed. And it made Briar so angry. It made her want to kill the world, this cruel kingdom and that megalomaniac ursurper of a king that only took and took and took.

And, despite her better judgment, she wanted to kill the bastard man that had taken her sister, who took and took and took-

But what about her child?

Briar stilled.

What would that leave her child, not yet having even gone through her naming? A baby girl, with Haswalth’s hair and her eyes. A child with skin as pale as hers, but with a strength and vivacity that denoted her already apparent strength, without any of the physical infirmity Briar had suffered from her youth.

And what would that leave the spark of love Briar had felt for her child? That spark of hope? Her love for her child had been unexpected, but strangely welcome. As Haswalth stood by her side for the first time in months, Briar had felt... warm. At home. And though that feeling had quickly subsided then, she felt it again, now.

Briar suspired. She’d never have thought she could feel such a thing again. Not in this cursed place.

Her child had deep, soulful eyes - a mix of her gold and Haswalth’s violet, painted on their mutual palette of darkest void. And in that moment, as she stared into them, Briar had felt her resolve temper itself.

She would not let this child grow lost, as she had. She would not be neglected.

Briar knew that she would never be the best of mothers. She could not offer her baby the same love and affection softer, more empathetic noblewomen - or even commoners - could.

Briar felt the Winter cold sink into her bones. Haswalth was still out, doing something with the Dukedom’s fringe army - border politics Briar knew little about. He worked tirelessly to keep his Dukedom and the lands of Azer Luceras safe.

But that had not protected her sister. She cared nothing for her extended family, but her sister had mattered to her. Rosalba had been all that had mattered to her in that cursed place.

She clenched her fists, a tear trickling down her cheek. Then she sighed.

Not anymore, Briar reminded herself. You have someone just as important, now. Think of that no longer. That’s all in the past. Leave Rosalba for tomorrow.

Focus on the now. My child needs me.