Chapter 109: The Weight of Secrets

Claire’s POV

The evening sun painted the cottage walls in shades of honey and gold. I woke slowly, the familiar scent of herbs and lavender filling my senses, a fragrance I’d associated with safety since I was a child. For a precious moment, I was just a girl waking from an afternoon nap, warm and content. I stretched, feeling the pull of muscles I hadn’t used in days, then settled back into the pillows, eyes closed, drinking in the peace. I desperately wanted to stay there, cocooned in childhood bliss, but the world barged in anyway. Memories crashed over me like waves—M’s predatory smile, T’s howl of pain, the shocking truth of the life now growing inside me.

My hand drifted to my stomach, still flat, still mine. It was impossible to believe. I rolled onto my side, curling into a tight ball as my thoughts raced, each one more terrifying than the last. I tried to breathe, to focus on the safety of the cottage, but I knew the truth. The minute I stepped out of this bed, I would have to face everything.

A soft knock broke the silence. Marissa entered with a steaming cup in her hands. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers gently stroking my hair back from my forehead, just as she’d done when I was small and she brought me warm milk to chase away nightmares. I pushed myself up, my hands trembling slightly as I took the earthenware mug. The liquid was a light brown, and I blew on it before taking a cautious sip. Apples and cinnamon with honey—a taste as familiar as her touch. I focused on the warmth spreading through my hands, on the simple pleasure of the tea, anything to keep the darkness at bay.

Marissa said nothing, her gaze drifting toward the window where the evening breeze stirred the curtains. When I finished, I placed the mug on the small table beside the bed. The soft clink seemed to echo in the quiet room.

She turned at the sound, a small smile on her lips that quickly faded as we both realized it was time. The nanny sighed, taking one of my hands in hers. Her grip was firm, grounding.

"Your two hands used to fit in one of mine," she began, her voice soft. "And now they’re almost as big as mine, but thankfully still smooth from youth." She inhaled deeply, as if bracing herself. "I sent a message to your parents. I know the Master and Mistress are worried sick, so I told them you were with me. I also told them what happened." She rushed to add the last part when she saw my face fall. "Not the details, I swear. But I needed them to understand the circumstances so they could decide what to do. I told them you can stay with me. I would be happy to take care of you and the little one." She gently laid her other hand on my arm. "You will be safe here. I can use my magic to create a barrier so that only those we invite can find us."

Magic. The word hung in the air. I looked at her, truly looked at her, seeing the woman who had raised me in a new light. "Since when do you use magic? Are you a witch? You never said anything," I whispered, the hurt in my voice surprising me. "You always told me we were best of friends."

I sounded like a petulant child, and the older woman laughed, the sound light and real. She pinched my cheek gently. "I’m not a full witch, but half. My father was a great wizard, and he fell in love with a mortal woman. I am their only child. Witches and wizards usually begin to show their magic at five, but I didn’t. They waited two years, and when nothing appeared, my parents were actually glad. At that time, those with magic were under threat of death and torture." Her voice grew distant. "My powers showed up when I was twelve. My father taught me everything he could for three years before he was captured and thrown in prison. My mother ran away with me; it was his last request. We wandered until she got sick from hiding in a cold country and from working too hard." She looked down at her hands, curled them as if feeling the cold earth again. "I dug her grave with my own two hands."

Grief thickened her voice, and I covered her hands with mine, my own pain momentarily forgotten.

"How did you end up as my nanny?" I asked softly.

Marissa shook her head, as if physically pushing the memory back into a locked box in her mind. "I left the next spring, as soon as the roads cleared. I did odd jobs—cooking, cleaning. I even assisted a midwife for a few months, learning all I could. One day, I heard your parents were looking for workers, and I knocked on their door that very evening. They took one look at me and hired me as a maid. A few months later, the Mistress was with child, and then you were born. I helped with the delivery. The first time I held you, I felt something... a bond. A few days later, it was clear you only wanted to be held by me and your parents. So, I became your nanny."

"Nanny," I whispered, my throat tight. "I’m sorry you lost your parents. But I am so, so glad your journey led you to me."

We embraced, tears flowing freely between us. Marissa finally pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Enough of that. How about you come to the kitchen and we make dinner? While the bread bakes, we can take a little walk. It would be good for you to stretch your legs."

The simple routine felt like a lifeline. In the kitchen, we fell into an easy rhythm, kneading dough together. The walk through the surrounding woods was quiet, but the comfortable kind, the kind that doesn’t need words. It gave me an appetite I didn’t know I had. Dinner was simple—rabbit stew with fresh bread—and we ate in companionable silence. I offered to clean up, needing the task to keep my hands busy.

When everything was dried and put away, I settled on the small sofa, while Marissa sat in her rocking chair near the window. The moon played peek-a-boo with the clouds, and an owl hooted in the distance. Marissa kept her eyes on her knitting as she spoke.

"So, my little one," she said, her voice calm. "What are you going to do?"

I took a deep breath, knowing I couldn’t run from this question. "I’m going back home," I said, the words feeling both terrifying and right. "I’m going to face my parents, my mate, and that bastard who ruined me."

Marissa nodded, her knitting needles never stopping. "We’ll leave in a few days. My powers will be restored by then."

At my confused look, she chuckled. "Half witch, remember? My powers may be great, but they run out quickly. I only use large spells when I absolutely need to."

I nodded, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over me. I yawned, covering my mouth. Marissa smiled and nodded toward the bedroom. "Goodnight, little one. Tomorrow, we will face it together."