Chapter 230

The winter had given me time.

Time I had not asked for, time I had not wanted, but time, nonetheless. The snow had sealed us in, buried the paths, closed the world away, and left us with nothing to do but exist. Cooped up in the house, surrounded by children and noise and the endless chaos of family, I had been bored out of my mind.

Not that I hated it. I did not. There was something precious about being trapped together, about the closeness of it, about the way the days blurred into one long, warm, sticky stretch of togetherness. The children were happy. My mates were happy. And I, mostly, was happy too.

But bored.

So bored.

And so, somewhere in the middle of the second week, I had started meditating again. Not out of necessity, not out of danger, but simply to have something to do. Something for me, something quiet, something that belonged only to myself. It had started as a way to calm my mind, to escape the noise, to find a little peace. But it had become something more. Something deliberate. Something necessary.

It had been a long time since I had truly tapped into my power. A year since my pregnancy with the pearling, then with Veylan’s wolf pups. Since I had sat down with the deliberate intention of reaching for it, of shaping it, of learning it. I had used my gifts over the years, of course, in moments of crisis, in flashes of need. But using was not the same as mastering. Using was survival. Mastering was something else entirely.

And now, with nothing but time on my hands, I had decided to master it.

I had mastered the black bind.

It had taken months of patient practice. Of reaching for the power, holding it, shaping it, releasing it. Of failing and trying again. Of exhausting myself and recovering and trying once more. But now, finally, it obeyed me. The black tide came when I called and left when I dismissed it, and it no longer drained me to the point of collapse.

And now, there was only one thing left.

The blue bind.

My own bind. The one I had inherited when I came to this world, the one that lived in my blood, the one that had marked my daughters before they were even born. The fourth daughter’s gift, the voice had called it. The blessed bind. The azure sovereign.

It was a power that was not meant to be used carelessly. A power that demanded sacrifice, that took from your own life force to achieve its ends. And I had avoided learning it, mostly, because my mate had not wanted me to risk my life, and learning something like that can be more harmful than not.

But I did not want to leave it unlearned. If something unforeseen came, if the world threw another Khemari at us, another war, another disaster, I wanted to be ready. I wanted to be prepared for everything.

And so, one grey morning, while the snow fell soft and silent outside and the children slept and the house was still, I sat down, and I reached for the blue.

And the voice came.

It was the same as before, the same as the first time, the same as every time. Not a face. Not a body. Not a light. Just a voice, a presence, resonating everywhere and nowhere all at once, coming from the walls and the air and the space between my own heartbeats.

"My child," it said. "How have you been?"

"Well," I answered. "Busy. Tired. Happy."

"Good. That is good." A pause, warm and ancient. "You have reached the binding that is yours."

"I have."

"Then you know what it costs."

I did. The voice had mentioned it before, and I’m not going to lie, it scared and worried me a lot.

"To use this power," the voice continued, "you must lose something as well. If you only heal, if you mend what is broken, nothing will befall you. But if you choose to save a life that has already ended, five years of your life will be consumed. A sacrifice. The price to bring back a soul that has already departed."

Five years. For a single life.

"That is the only downfall," the voice said. "But you can also bless. You can bless the unfortunate. You can bless fertility, longevity, prosperity, strength. You can bless those with limited time, by sacrificing a year off your own life. It is a powerful gift. And you must use it wisely."

I sat with that. A power that could bring back the dead, at the cost of five years. A power that could bless, at the cost of one. A power to save someone with terminal illness at the cost of a year of my life. Everything had a price. Everything took something.

"Will my daughters inherit this power as well?" I asked.

"Yes."

My heart clenched.

"Will they face the backlash of this power as well?"

"Yes."

"Can I prevent them from having it?"

"No. It is a power passed on by your bloodline. If they choose not to use it, it is fine. But it is their choice. You cannot stop them."

I thought about my daughters. Levy, with her fierce heart. The serpent girls, with their grace. The pearlings, with their azure eyes. The wolf girls, with their blue-flecked eyes. Each of them carrying this power. Each of them one day facing the same choice.

"Can I keep them in the dark about it?" I asked, a little desperately.

The voice was quiet for a moment. And then, softly, "Nothing is a secret forever, my child."

And then it was gone.

I opened my eyes. The grey morning light had shifted, the snow still falling, the house still quiet. And then a small body landed on me, all warmth and silver hair and blue-flecked eyes.

"Mama," Vaeshira said, bouncing. "Let’s play a game."

I looked at her, at my daughter, at the power sleeping in her blood. And I pushed the worry aside, the way I always did, and I smiled.

"Yes," I said. "Let us go."

I would worry about it later. The bind, the price, the future. I would worry about it all, in time. But for now, I would focus on my children, on this moment, on the game they wanted to play.

I rose from my meditation and went to find my family.

They were all in the main room, gathered around the low table by the fire, the whole chaotic crowd of them hunched over my wooden cards. Aureon was playing with the intense, obsessive focus of a man who had decided that winning was a matter of personal honor, leaning over the table, his golden eyes narrowed, his whole body coiled. Soryn was playing smart, calm and quiet and ruthless, taking every card he could and giving nothing away. And Veylan, poor Veylan, was staring at Levy’s hand in open confusion, trying to understand how his daughter could be so impossibly lucky with every single deal.

"How do you keep doing that?" he demanded.

"Doing what?" Levy asked, innocent as anything.

"Winning."

"I am just good."

"You are not just good. You are unnaturally good. You must be cheating."

"I am not cheating, daddy."

"She is cheating," Jasper said.

"I am not!"

"She is definitely cheating," Ryder agreed.

"Look at her face," Chase added. "That is a cheating face."

"This is my normal face!"

"You do not have a normal face."

"Chase!"

I smiled, watching them. And I felt the worry loosen its grip, just a little. Yes. It could wait. All of it. The blue bind, the price, the future. My life was not doomed yet. My children were not in danger yet. And so, for now, I would simply prepare. I would prevent any injury to my family before it could become life threatening. I would save them before they could die. I would keep them safe, and keep myself safe, and let the rest come as it came.

"Let us play a new game," I announced.

"Another one?" Atlas asked, perking up.

"Gold fish."

"Gold fish?" Levy repeated. "Like the actual fish?"

"No. It is a card game. You ask the other players for cards."

"That makes no sense."

"Most games make no sense. That is the point."

Teaching them was a hassle. A glorious, chaotic, wonderful hassle. They argued over the rules, forgot them, remembered them wrong, accused each other of cheating, and somehow still managed to have the time of their lives. Aureon treated every request like a battle. Soryn won twice in a row and pretended not to be smug. Levy lost spectacularly and accused the cards of being rigged. And the little ones, who did not understand the game at all, simply took cards from the pile and handed them around at random, which somehow worked better than anyone expected.

It was loud. It was messy. It was perfect.

For now, I would enjoy the now.

Not what the future might bring.