The table before me was of normal size, but it was so stuffed with extravagant foods that my little girl mind looked upon it as a feast. Roasted pheasant, desserts made of exotic and rare desert fruits from Nahara, all manner of other meats cooked in ways I'd never tasted before.

Father had entertained Naharan diplomats just hours ago, and what was left of the feast was given to Terran and I to pick over. As a child, times like these were almost as fun as entire event festivals held in the merchant district. Food was my only vice.

As I chewed through a mouthful of pork, I looked over the table at Terran. I found him to be so cool. He was fourteen. Fourteen! As a seven-year-old myself, that was so old. Terran was now at the age where girls in his classes were swooning over him, but he didn't seem to notice. Yet, anyway. Despite father's grunts over the length of his hair, Terran kept it shoulder length. Now, it was kept in a ponytail as he ate. At some point over the past few years, Terran's face had sharpened. He had the high cheekbones normally reserved for the models that the expensive clothing merchants hired to show off their clothes to leering tourists.

I was glad he kept his hair long. I had always thought men looked better with longer hair, and my brother was no exception. His hair glimmered in the nearby candlelight, the shine a golden hue over seas of dark chocolate. Then, my mind moved back to my father's disapproval of its length. I realized that had it been me who asked, father wouldn't have relented. But because it was Terran, he'd allowed him to make up his own mind.

I frowned over my next bite of food. I didn't know why that still hurt me so bad. It was the way it always was. Father would refer to me as his daughter, but he didn't feel it. I was often reminded of the sacrifice he made to raise me, to the point where I wondered why he'd decided to if it was going to be so much trouble.

“Brother,” I blurted, before I could stop myself. Terran glanced up at me, the bright green of his eyes much darker in this light.

“Hmm?” He murmured, through a mouthful of pie.

“What was mother like?”

Terran's eyebrows betrayed his amusement at my question, and he smiled. After he finished chewing his bite, he asked, “Mother? Is that what you've taken to calling her? You two never met.”

I felt embarrassed, then. I'd just assumed that father's wife would have been my mother. I knew she'd died before I had even been born.

“You can call her mother, you know,” Terran went on, when I hadn't responded to him. I had been too hurt. I think he sensed that. “She would have been, had she been alive to see you.”

“Do you think she would have liked me?”

“Of course she would have liked you. Mother liked everyone.”

“Just like father hates everyone.”

Terran chuckled. “Precisely.” He took another bite. Chewed, swallowed. “Did you know that mother was pregnant with a girl?”

“The second time?” I asked, stupidly.

“Yes, silly. The first time, she had me. The second time she was pregnant, she wanted a girl so bad. She prayed every night to the gods for a girl. Then, she hired an illusionist to finally tell her when she was far enough along. And he told her she was having a girl. Everyone was so happy. I think even father was, in his own way. Then, of course, you know the rest of the story.”

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I did. Mother had been in labor, and had had immense complications. She was a dual caster, and before marrying father, had been one of the Seran Army's top elite soldiers. It had taken a huge toll on her, aging her past her years. The pregnancy had ended in death. Both for her, and her baby.

“As for what she was like...” Terran trailed off, pushing the last bite of pie around his plate, distracted. “She was strong. And smart. Really, really smart. I could ask her anything and she would have the answer or would know where to go to get it. If she wasn't training the mages or working, she was reading. She was like a kid in that way. You know how kids go to school, and some of them actually like to learn?”

I nodded. I knew exactly how that felt. I thirsted for knowledge.

“Well, then you become an adult, and you stop caring. At least, that's what it seems like. Not mother. She was always learning about something new. Annoying father by talking his ear off about her latest obsession. She read me a bed-time story one night, when I was about your age. And when she got done, she told me, 'Terran, never stop learning. If I have one regret in life, it was that I took advantage of my years in the army and didn't learn everything I could about the places I went.' In a way, I think she even kind of regretted marrying father, because it tied her down. But don't tell him I said that.”

“She sounds a lot like me,” I said, unable to keep the hopefulness out of my voice. There was no bringing her back, but I wished to make some sort of connection with her, anyway. The only father I'd ever known didn't care for me. I could hope for a mother that did.

“You are a lot like her,” Terran agreed, with a smile. He was so mature for his age, able to talk about his deceased mother without a tear. Perhaps he just had too many good memories of her and could not find his sadness. “Sometimes I think my memories serve me incorrectly, sister. Sometimes I think the baby was born that day, and that she's sitting right across from me.”

Terran stood up in his chair, just to lean across the table and ruffle my hair. It was a loving gesture, but as a child, I wrinkled my nose and acted annoyed.

I was unable to get the idea of parents who loved me out of my head after finishing my meal, so I headed through the castle to outside. I didn't hear the sound of fighting, so I figured melee training was done for the day.

I found Bjorn sharpening a sword at the grindstone just outside of the armory. His cheeks were red from a day in the full sun. His hulking frame looked too large for his tiny seat. People of his size normally scared me, but his familiar form was nothing but comfort.

Dad. The word really only made sense with Bjorn. As a little girl, I simply didn't have the guts to ask him if I could call him that.

Bjorn looked up, saw me standing outside the gate and watching him. He must have been fatigued after a day of training. Still, he greeted me with a beaming smile.

“There's my girl!”

A cheesy, child-like grin spread across my face, and I squeezed between the wood planks of the heavy gate, hurrying to him. Bjorn dropped the sword he'd been working at beside the grindstone, and opened his thick arms just before I jumped into them.

“Ohhh, boy!” He feigned falling backwards a bit, before catching himself. “Uggh, girl, you're going to kill me one of these days. What are you, two hundred pounds?”

I gasped. “I'm fifty-seven pounds, not two hundred!”

“Fifty-seven...two hundred...” Bjorn trailed off as I pulled back from his arms. I felt his sweat on my own skin from a long day's work. “Not too far off though, are ya?”

“Bjorn!” I groaned, embarrassed.

He laughed. “I'm just teasing ya, lass.” He watched me with suspicious eyes. “You've got something on your mind.”

I nodded, too shy to admit it verbally.

“What's going on in that little head of yours?” He asked me.

“Do you think mother would have loved me?”

His hazel eyes widened. “Are you kidding? She would have adored you! Who doesn't love you?”

“Father,” I replied, a sharp pain in my gut accompanying the word.

“Ohhh, come now. Your father loves you. He's just a grumpy old man.” Bjorn reached over, rubbing my forearm affectionately. “He's a smart man when it comes to politics and magic, love, but he is socially and emotionally stupid.”

I frowned over at Bjorn. “What do you mean?”

“He's not good at showing love or letting you know he cares.”

I blinked up at Bjorn bashfully. “Do you love me?”

“You know I love you. Very much.” He grabbed me around my waist with an arm, pulling me toward him for a quick peck on the cheek. “Do you love me?”

“Mm...” I looked away. “Maybe.”

Bjorn scoffed playfully. “Maybe? Now, that's not fair at all. I think I got the raw end of the deal!”

I was overcome with giggles.