She was smiling even before I turned around.
Mother was in the cryo chamber, suspended in the green mist that kept the rot from spreading. The frost clung to the glass in delicate patterns. Inside, she was curled in a way that must have been uncomfortable, but she’d learned to sleep that way. Had learned to do a lot of things. A lot of impossible things.
I smiled back at her, even though my chest was trying to split open.
The rot was worse than last week.
The blackness had spread up the side of her neck. Her skin in those places looked like charred wood, all dark and cracked. Red infection bloomed underneath like flowers I didn’t want to see. Her left arm was wrapped, and I could see the seep of something that wasn’t right oozing through the bandages. The fungus inside her was eating her from the inside out. Doctor Maren called it the rot. The healers called it a curse. Mother just called it a phase of her life.
I put on the glove and the mask. I’d gotten good at this. Fast and efficient even. I opened the chamber and felt the cold air rush out at me. Mother had gone still, the way she always did when I opened it. Waiting for me to touch her.
“Are you hungry, Mother?”
“I have told you several times we should do as Doctor Maren suggested.” Her voice was thin but steady. She always kept that steadiness for me. “Just give me a feeder. No one should get infected. Cian, we both know the risks.”
“I’m not letting you forego the only contact with kin you have left.” I meant it in a way that made my throat tight. “I need this. And you need this.”
I opened the tray and sorted through the dishes. The omega had prepared soft foods, things that didn’t require much chewing. Broth and vegetables that had been cooked until they were almost liquid. Bread soaked in milk. All of it was warm. I’d timed the walk perfectly.
I helped Mother out of the chamber, my gloved hands careful against her shoulders. She was so light now. Like she might blow away if I wasn’t holding her down. I settled her on the bed and propped her up with pillows so she was sitting upright.
“What about your bride?” she asked. Her eyes were still sharp even when the rest of her was failing.
“The wedding took a toll on her,” I lied smoothly. “She’ll see you tomorrow. She needed to rest.”
Mother smiled. I saw the effort it cost her, the way the movement made her wince. But she smiled anyway.
“You look tired too,” she said. She reached her hand toward my face, and then stopped. Let it fall back to her lap. “I shouldn’t touch you without the glove.”
I took her hand anyway. Her skin was cool but not the terrible cold of the chamber. It was just cool the way a mother’s hand could be.
“I’ll disinfect anyway,” I said.
She held my hand. Her grip was weak, but it was there. I could feel her trying to squeeze harder, could feel her restraint. The way she had to hold back every instinct to pull me close.
I picked up the spoon and started to feed her. The broth was still warm. She swallowed slowly, carefully. She’d gotten better at this too. Learning how her body changed. Learning what it could and couldn’t do anymore.
“I can’t wait to see her,” Mother said between spoonfuls. “Your bride. What is she like?”
“She’s strong,” I said, and meant it. Fia had fought me with everything she had. Had nearly died rather than let me have the satisfaction of killing her. Had saved my life when she could have let me burn. “You’ll love her.”
“I don’t have to,” Mother said, and there was something in her voice that made me look at her. “As long as you love her.”
I felt the spoon almost slip in my hand. I recovered, brought it back up to her mouth, and smiled. I made it look easy.
“I do,” I said. “Why else would I have gotten married?”
Mother laughed. It was a soft sound, barely more than a breath, but it was real. “That is true. I did all I could, but you never heard me.”
She was quiet for a moment, swallowing another spoonful. Then she looked at me and said something I hadn’t expected.
“When you told me you found a woman you loved, I was certain you were only giving in because you were convinced I would die soon.”
My grip on the spoon almost faltered. The metal nearly slipped right out of my hand and into the broth. I made myself laugh. Forced it out like it was the most crazy thing I’d ever heard.
“That’s absurd,” I said.
But it wasn’t.
Maren and Thorne had given me the report in private. One year. Maybe a little longer if the herbs worked better than they expected. But one year was what I’d been working with when I made this choice. When I decided that Mother needed to see me settled. Needed to believe that I had found someone. That I wouldn’t be alone after she was gone.
I’d thought a bride would comfort her. Give her something to hold onto in her final months. Someone to believe in, even if it was a lie I was constructing just for her benefit.
I fed her another spoonful. She closed her eyes while she swallowed, like she was trying to savor it. Like the soft broth was something precious.
“You know me too well,” I said quietly.
“I’m your mother,” she replied. “It’s my job to know you too well.”
I kept feeding her. The spoon moved up and down in a rhythm I’d learned. She ate slowly, deliberately, taking her time with each bite. I didn’t rush her. I never rushed her.
When the bowl was half empty, she waved her hand. Said she was full. I set the bowl aside and just sat with her, my gloved hand still holding hers. The candlelight flickered across her face, and I tried not to look at the dark patches of the rot spreading under her skin. Tried not to count how much worse it looked than last week.
“Tell me about her,” Mother said. “Your bride. What does she look like? What kind of person do you think she is?”
I told her stories. Small things. Nothing true, mostly. But things I wanted to be true. I invented kindness and grace. I invented a woman who looked at me the way I imagined someone should look at a person they were going to spend their life with.
Mother listened with her eyes closed, smiling that small, satisfied smile. And I sat there in the candlelight of that old room, holding her cool hand in my gloved one, lying like my life depended on it.
Because it did. Her life did. And I would lie to the goddess herself if it meant giving her peace.
FIA
I had been in this cell for more than twenty-three hours. I knew because I’d been counting. Counting the seconds. Counting the minutes. Counting every breath that made my ribs ache against the cold stone wall I was leaning against.
The mate bond was a constant throb in my chest. Like a bruise that wouldn’t heal. I’d been trying to shield it. Trying to keep my emotions locked down tight so he wouldn’t feel them through the connection. So he wouldn’t know I was breaking.
But I was tired. So tired. And the shield was slipping.
I could feel him on the other side of it. His contempt. His anger. It bled through the bond in waves that made me want to curl up on the thin cot and never move again. But I wouldn’t. I refused to give him that satisfaction.
The worst part wasn’t even him. It was the pack. I could feel their hostility like needles under my skin. Every time one of them walked past the dungeon entrance, their hatred would spike through like it was alive and hit me square in the chest. They despised me. All of them.
Footsteps echoed down the stone stairs. Multiple sets. I heard them before I saw them. Three omegas appeared at my cell door carrying a tray. The food smelled good. Warm bread and some kind of stew. My stomach clenched with hunger.
The first omega smiled at me. It wasn’t a kind smile.
She tilted the tray. The food splashed onto the floor in front of my cell. The bowl clattered and rolled. Stew seeped between the cracks in the stone.
“Oops,” she said.
The second one laughed. “That’s the only way an omega like you deserves to eat. Off the ground. Like the animal you are.”
I stared at the spilled food. At the bread soaking in the stew. At the way they were all watching me. Waiting for me to break down. Waiting for me to cry or beg or show them I was weak.
I laughed instead.
It came out sharp and a little unhinged. I saw all three of them flinch.
“We’re all omegas here, aren’t we?” I said. My voice echoed off the stone walls. “Does treating me worse make you feel better about your own lives?”
The first omega’s face twisted. “You little shit.”
She reached through the bars. Her hand was going for my hair. For my face. I don’t know what she planned to do, but I didn’t give her the chance.
I grabbed her wrist and twisted. Hard. Against the bars.
She screamed. The sound was high and piercing and satisfying in a way that probably said terrible things about me. I held her there for another second. Let her feel it. Then I let go.
She stumbled back, cradling her wrist. The other two were staring at me like I’d grown fangs.
“We should get Timothy,” one of them hissed. “Get him to open the cage. Then we can teach her a real lesson.”
“Really?”
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