After leaving Dorothea and the others behind at that disgustingly opulent mansion of Cerid’s that night, Ariana retreated home. Her shack was nestled out of sight near the pungent farmlands on Udara’s outskirts, so no one really came by. This suited her just fine.

To liven the place up, she’d recently taken to crocheting. Bungled doilies laid here and there; she wasn’t sure what to do with them. Tonight, not in the mood for more failure, she unveiled the journal she’d thieved from the Atlin home in Sirpo and rested it on her lap. Naturally, she started with the first entry:

Dear Dorothea,

Now that you’ve been born, I wanted to start this journal for the both of us. This magic will take from you, and it will break us both someday, but I know that what I’ve chosen is right. We have it for a reason, and we are bound by honor to protect others. Always remember that, my darling.

I’ll note down everything I discover so that you won’t waste any of your precious time. One day, when you have children and they have children in turn, hopefully they’ll have all the answers they need to live as long and as fruitfully as possible.

Your father, though you’ll never meet him, is already so proud of you. We both love you, my dear, and I’ll do everything I can to give you a beautiful life.

First, to win the War of Blending.

With all my heart,

Your mother, Ophelia Atlin, Year 1171

Interesting. Dorothea had been directed to give her life to serve others from the very start. Her mother probably meant that altruism was the best way to live a full life, but Ariana could see how it might give a young orphan some issues.

She flipped next to review a page that was sticking out of the book. Seemed it had been ripped out and tucked back into the folds later on. Additionally, it was the only entry she saw that wasn’t formatted as a letter.

Dorothea has fallen ill once again. My sweet girl doesn’t complain anymore, not since the tree incident, but she’s in pain. Today, the fourth day, she was able to stomach food. She is so weak, but no matter how she feels, she just looks at me and says it’s okay. By the Gods, it seems almost inhumane to have brought her into the world.

Today, a man from Sacer came. Cinder Creed. It’s a shame my old friend Cadby had a hand in spawning such a creature. All seriousness. He laughed at not one of my jokes and asked me for help in fighting a war mere minutes into tea. He’s certain that another conflict is coming between the ones below. I refused him, and the look on his face was rather entertaining as he left. I think he was certain I would agree. To be honest, my weakness is the only thing stopping me.

I’m a terrible mother, wanting to leave Dorothea like this. However, it still stands that the plight of we Atlins is also our duty. The way my daughter looks at me sometimes with a desperate hatred and longing seems to indicate she disagrees. It is an expression that begs me to be selfish, to stay with her no matter what. But this magic is meant to be used in service to others, regardless of my fate.

I must hide this entry so that my daughter never reads it.

Ophelia Atlin, Year 1179

Wow. What a savior complex this lady had. But it made sense she’d wanted to conceal the entry. It wouldn’t have been pleasant for Dorothea to read about her mother feeling sorry she’d been born.

Ariana shook her head and let out an exasperated groan. No. She wasn't going to pity her, not after she’d had a hand in forcing Dorothea here in the first place. A page tore some along the spine as she angrily flipped to the last entry available, and she flinched at the sound.

I’m now the leader of Sirpo, or so everyone says. Mom is gone. The council says the war between the ones below will destroy us if I don’t protect everyone. No matter where I go, there will be someone who needs me to take something back for their sake. I may as well stay here where it’s quiet if that’s the case.

I need Mom here with me. Why didn’t she stay?

I’m scared. I’m alone.

Why wasn’t I enough to make her stay?

And then, all scratched out and smudged with dried spots of moisture but still legible due to its size and darkness:

I hate her

I hate her

I HATE HER I HATE HER

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Then the entry continued, but only briefly.

There will always be another war, another knock on our door and another plea for help. It won’t be like how Mom wanted. The line will end with me. No one else will have to get hurt.

Dorothea Atlin, Year 1180

So this was the real Dorothea. A child forced into an adult’s position and mindset. Spiteful and scared, filled with hatred for a mother who had been ripped apart by her good intentions. Dorothea had taken all that in and given up to living shortly and dying painfully in Sirpo. Joining the Sacerians may very well have been the first choice she made because it was something she genuinely wanted to do, but Iree had manipulated even that in the end.

It should have felt good for Ariana to have her suspicions about the girl’s lack of character confirmed, but it just didn’t. None of them were any better than each other. Ariana had been so mad at Dorothea for her inaction, but it wasn’t like she herself was putting anything good into the world. In fact, she was in large part of blame for pushing Dorothea more quickly towards her death.

There wasn’t much she could do no matter how she felt. People only got one chance, and she’d already gone too far to turn back or believe she could be anything better.

*

The day after Izozkia’s retrieval, soldiers moved out from Udara to help its people settle back in with the rations that had been provided.

Everywhere Iree looked, there was a newfound pep in everyone’s step. It had taken some convincing at that morning’s council meeting, but she’d gotten the day declared a holiday. The wrong had been righted, and there was a sense of safety knowing Rhys and Dorothea were back in line.

Iree was beyond relieved. She couldn’t reinstate Rhys as her captain since that damage had already been done, but it was good to have him back. The Rhys that could and would destroy anything and everything in his path without thinking twice was the one she needed.

Most soldiers spent their time off at home with their families, washing as much of the strain they could away. In the evening, the collective army agreed, they would meet in the outfitted basement of the Creed mansion to celebrate with an evening of gluttonizing and boozing. Such indulgences were seldom afforded; they’d take all they could.

There was one thing Iree was determined to take for herself. Rhys was slipping away, and she needed him in place. Atlin was the one to blame—Iree was starting to think she was much more trouble than she was worth. Now, how to drive a wedge between them?

Luckily, she knew Rhys’ heart better than anyone, so she knew just the words to manipulate it.

*

Rhys couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. He couldn't tell what time it was, but he didn’t remember a point in his life he’d been allowed to sleep in so late. The notion that there wasn’t much point in moving prevailed. If possible, it would be nice to rot here and be released.

His deeds at Izozkia. They were all going to be so happy. So proud of him. But those people, what he’d done…

There was only one person in his narrow world he felt might understand. If he could just get to his feet and make it to her, then… But it was so hard to move. Bed was such a safe place. If he stayed put, he wouldn’t have to face anyone. Their judgements or their expectations.

Guilt, sympathy, shame. A soldier couldn’t give in to these things. It was unforgivable, all weakness was. He was supposed to feel wonderful and accomplished. He needed to get up and accept their praise, go along with whatever happened next.

Stand. Get cleaned up. Put on a smile.

He managed to do that and was in the middle of putting the kettle on the stove for tea when an insistent knock pounded against the front door.

“Rhysy!” Iree called. “You up? I’m coming in either way!”

He’d always hated that nickname, but he’d kept quiet since Iree and Sharee had always liked it. “Iree. Hi,” he greeted lamely as she strutted into his home.

In a flash, her arms were around his neck. “I’m so proud of you.”

He kept his arms stiff at his sides. “Thanks.”

She backed off, frowning. “What’s the matter with you? Come on, you’re king of the world for the day! Seriously, a lot of people are impressed.”

He forced a smile. “I’m just worried about Dorothea.”

Her face fell before she laughed, too loud. “It’s fine, it’s fine! Olyen and Creed are watching her like hawks. Just let her rest.” She chattered on, looping her arm with his. Pressing her chest against him. “You’re coming to the celebration tonight. I already told lots of people you’d make an appearance. At least come along and accept their thanks.”

So he had no choice. “I’ll be there.”

“Rhys, seriously, snap out of it. You’re gonna ruin everyone’s mood if you keep being like that.” She pinched his cheeks to drag his mouth into a smile.

The kettle started whistling, so he had a good excuse to turn away from her. Iree showed no signs of leaving. She grabbed two cups and placed them on the table, then took a seat.

And she was still talking. “Olyen’s pretty pissed at me, you know. Pfft. Whatever.”

Had she cared about the consequences for Dorothea before sending her to Izozkia? Rhys returned to the table and poured their drinks, trying to arrange his words. “Iree—”

“It’s amazing, the burden that’s on her shoulders,” Iree noted. “She’s got a nation to lead after all this. War, then rebuilding all by herself? Insane. I can’t imagine trying to hold it all together. If I were her, I wouldn’t be able to handle any more burdens than absolutely necessary.”

Rhys froze. Burdens. That was right. Dorothea had so much weighing on her, and he was only compounding those frustrations. He wanted to talk to her so badly, get all of these dark feelings off his chest. But what right did he have to throw them at her? Iree was right. He was being selfish. He was just being a burden by reaching out like that.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “We should leave her alone.”

When Iree touched his cheek, he didn’t even have the energy to flinch away. Though he didn’t like to be touched. Not by her. “I want you by my side forever, Rhys. I want you to be happy.”

He didn’t know if he was capable of it anymore. If it was as easy as putting on a smile and shrugging everything off, he’d have been okay by now.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About Mom not being proud of us.” Iree smiled gently. “I think she’d be proud no matter what. Because we’re here, we’re together. As long as it’s the two of us and we keep fighting, everything will be okay. Right?”

He owed the Nobelises so much. He felt so guilty when he thought about wanting to tear away from everything he’d ever known. If Iree didn’t have him, she’d be alone in her grief for Sharee. He couldn’t do that to her, dishonoring Sharee’s memory in the process. He wanted to. He wanted to think for himself and breathe for once, but he just…couldn’t. He didn’t see any way out.

“You’re right,” he said, feeling as if he was fully submerged in freezing water.