9. Ada
9
ADA
I spread out the worn alphabet cards on the floor of the sitting room, watching Rose arrange them with careful concentration. Her tiny fingers trace each letter, violet eyes narrowed in focus.
"A is for apple, B is for..." She scrunches her nose. "Bubble?"
"That's right, sweetheart." I smooth a stray curl behind her ear. "You're picking this up so quickly."
Rose beams, rearranging the cards into new patterns. The morning sun streams through the window, catching the gold in her hair. These quiet moments feel precious after years of running.
"Mama, look! I can spell my name!" She points to the cards she's lined up. "R-O-S..."
"Almost." I guide her hand to the E card. "Don't forget this one at the end."
"R-O-S-E." Her face lights up. "Rose! That's me!"
Movement catches my eye. Dezoth stands in his study doorway, arms crossed but expression softer than usual. His intimidating height is somewhat diminished by the way he leans against the frame, watching Rose with unveiled interest.
"Would you like to see what I learned?" Rose scrambles up, gathering her cards. She practically bounces over to him, unafraid of his imposing presence.
"Show me." His deep voice carries across the room, but lacks its usual edge.
Rose spreads the cards at his feet. "This one's A, like apple. And this is B like bubble. And these spell my name!" Her small fingers point to each letter with pride.
"Impressive." Dezoth crouches down, bringing himself closer to her level, and I try to ignore how my heart flips at his soft smile. "You've learned all these already?"
"Mama's a good teacher." Rose picks up the R card, holding it up. "This one's my favorite because it starts my name."
I watch them interact, struck by how gentle the demon Captain becomes around her. His golden eyes catch mine for a moment, and I quickly look away, focusing on gathering the remaining cards. My fingers tremble slightly, old fears warring with the reality before me.
"Perhaps tomorrow we can practice writing them," Dezoth suggests, his attention back on Rose.
"Can we use the sparkly ink?" Rose clasps her hands together hopefully.
A hint of amusement crosses his face. "I suppose we could manage that."
I gather up the remaining alphabet cards, trying to steady my hands. Even after weeks in Dezoth's home, my instincts still scream danger whenever he's near. But Rose gravitates to him like a flower to sunlight.
"Show me the sparkly ink, please?" Rose tugs at Dezoth's sleeve, completely unfazed by his towering height. "The silver one you use for your special letters?"
"That ink is for official documents." His stern tone softens at her crestfallen expression. "But I may have some blue ink with shimmer powder that would suit your lessons better."
"Blue is pretty too!" She twirls, her worn dress spinning out. "Can we practice now?"
I clear my throat. "Rose, Captain Dezoth has work to do. We shouldn't disturb him."
"I have time." Dezoth straightens, his golden eyes meeting mine. "Unless you object?"
The question hangs between us. I bite my lip, wrestling with the familiar tangle of fear and gratitude. He's given us sanctuary, kept us hidden from those who hunt us. Yet every time he looks at me with those predator's eyes, I remember another demon who once seemed kind.
Rose's hopeful face decides me. "As long as you're certain we're not imposing."
"Yay!" Rose darts into his study, already climbing onto the chair at his desk.
"She needs to learn demon script eventually." Dezoth's voice drops lower, meant only for my ears. "Better in safety than necessity."
The truth of his words stings. I nod stiffly and follow them into the study, where Rose already has her hands wrapped around an ornate quill nearly as long as her forearm. Dezoth adjusts her grip with surprising patience, his large hands gentle as they guide her smaller ones.
"Like this," he demonstrates, helping her dip the quill. "Careful not to press too hard."
Rose's tongue pokes out in concentration as she makes her first wobbly letter. "Look Mama, it's sparkly!"
I lean against the doorframe, watching my daughter leave glittering trails across the parchment. Her joy is infectious, even as my heart aches with memories of another demon teaching me to write, before everything went wrong.
After lunch, Rose settles in for her nap, and I find myself wandering the halls of Dezoth's home. A glass door catches my attention, sunlight filtering through its clean panes. The handle turns easily under my touch.
The garden sprawls before me, wild and untamed. It's the only thing in the home that doesn't seem to be well taken care of.
Climbing vines twist up trellises, their flowers closed tight against neglect. Weeds choke out what might have once been neat beds of herbs and flowers. But underneath the chaos, I spot the careful planning that went into its creation – raised beds arranged in a spiral pattern, stone pathways now half-hidden by overgrowth.
Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm on my knees in the soil. My fingers work through familiar motions, distinguishing plants from unwanted growth. Unlike the one I'm used to working in, there are no herbs here. These were once someone's passion.
"You don't need to do that." Dezoth's voice startles me.
I whirl around, dirt streaking my skirts. He fills the doorway, expression unreadable.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have presumed–" My hands twist in my lap.
"That's not what I meant." He steps into the garden, boots crunching on the gravel path. "This place hasn't seen proper care since..." He trails off, jaw tightening. "It was…someone else's project. A long time ago."
Longing hangs heavy in the air as he says it, and I'm not sure how to interpret that - or the way it makes my heart sink a little. I return to pulling weeds, giving my hands something to do. "Gardens need tending. Like people, they thrive on care."
"Well, these aren't herbs." He moves closer, examining the plants I've uncovered.
"I like flowers all the same." I separate the useful plants from the weeds. "Sometimes it's nice to just see beauty thriving."
"Keep it then." His words come quick, almost harsh. "The garden. Make what you will of it."
I look up, surprised by the offer. The sun catches his obsidian hair, highlighting the strands of until they look more deep blue than black. His golden eyes avoid mine.
"Thank you," I say softly, turning back to the tangled plants. My fingers find their purpose in the soil, and for a moment, I feel grounded in a way I haven't since we started running.
I work until it's time for Rose to get up. I decide not to take her into that garden, not yet. Instead, we spend the afternoon in the herb garden, me teaching her everything I know. I can't help wanting to savor being outside, soaking in the warmth until the sun goes down.
Dezoth joins us for dinner, entertaining Rose's many questions. And I realize that tonight, I don't tremble near him. I just watch them, noting how good he is with her.
It makes me wonder, when he looks at her with that sad smile, what he's thinking. Why he's so keen on helping her.
After dinner, I help Rose change into her nightgown, her eyelids already heavy from a day of learning letters and playing in the garden. She clutches her batlaz pillow - of which there are now three thanks to Dezoth - close as I tuck her into bed.
"Mama, did you see how pretty my letters were? All blue and shiny?" Rose yawns, snuggling deeper into her pillow.
"They were beautiful, sweetheart." I brush her curls back, marveling at how much she looks like her father in the soft lamplight. The same violet eyes, though hers shine with an innocence his never had.
"I like when Cap’ain Dez teaches me. His hands are big but they're gentle." She traces invisible letters in the air. "Like when he showed me how to hold the quill."
My throat tightens. I've noticed that too – how carefully he handles her, as if she's made of glass. How his intimidating presence softens around her edges, like steel turning to silk.
"And did you see him at dinner? He looked sad." Rose's perception catches me off guard. "Maybe I can write him sparkly leaders and make him happy."
I kiss her forehead, buying time to steady my voice. "Maybe you can."
"Will you tell me a story? The one about the thalivern princess again."
As I weave the familiar tale, my mind drifts to Dezoth standing in that overgrown garden. The pain in his eyes when he mentioned it was someone else's burden before. The way he'd offered me the space without hesitation, though it clearly held memories he'd rather forget.
Rose's breathing deepens into sleep, but I remain perched on her bed, lost in thought. Every day reveals another crack in Dezoth's stern facade – the gentleness with which he guides Rose's letters, his quiet respect for my boundaries, the flickers of vulnerability when he thinks no one's watching.
My fingers dig into the bedsheet. This dangerous warmth spreading through my chest needs to stop. I've learned the hard way that a demon's kindness can turn to cruelty in an instant. But watching him with Rose, seeing the loneliness etched in his features when he thought I wasn't looking...
I press my palms against my eyes. I can't afford to trust him. Can't risk being wrong about another demon, no matter how much my heart aches to ease the sadness in his golden eyes.