17. The Wound She Left #6
Then, with careful hands, Leira reached down and straightened the blanket over Allora's lap.
"You want to know the truth?" Leira's voice was quieter now, almost conversational.
"I didn't do this to hurt you. I didn't even do it to torment Malec, though watching him squirm has been delicious.
" She paused, smoothing a wrinkle in the blanket with precise fingers.
"My son is a stubborn child who thinks he can take whatever he wants.
Your fight is good for him. He needs someone to tell him no. "
Allora's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her exhausted face.
Leira’s smile turned cold and sickeningly victorious. “But the real reason, the one that matters?” She straightened, meeting Allora’s eyes with a rare hint of honesty. “I wanted to hurt Surin.”
The confession arrived without fanfare, but its weight was undeniable.
"Malec's father," Leira continued, her voice smooth as silk over broken glass. "My true target. Always has been. This entire game, every move, every manipulation. It was never really about you or even my dramatic son. It was about watching Surin suffer through watching his son destroy himself."
Allora opened her mouth, questions forming. "What do you?—"
"Ah, ah." Leira lifted one elegant hand slipping back into her Leira toned antagonistic mannerisms, cutting her off with a gesture that was both dismissive and final. "I've already said far too much. Consider it a parting gift, something to ponder while you wait for the storm."
She turned toward the door, her red scarf trailing behind her like spilled blood.
"He is on his way," Leira said, her voice calm and final.
"I've lowered the wards that were shielding you from the tether.
He'll find you now, easily. Malec will do what he will do, and I will let him.
Because at the end of the day, despite my temporary fascination with a Canariae I find somewhat respectable, he is my son.
" She paused at the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder.
"And my son matters more than you ever will. "
The door swung wide, and in poured a line of Awyan maids and physicians, all draped in immaculate layers of cream and slate.
They carried basins of steaming water, folded linens, and surgical instruments wrapped in velvet cloth.
Their entrance was swift, efficient, unnervingly quiet.
Within moments, her bed was surrounded. Cushions were stripped and replaced, the fire stoked higher.
A low birthing chair was unfolded in the corner, lined with silken pads and brass stirrups that gleamed in the candlelight.
It was happening. Whether she was ready or not.
Allora's throat burned as her chest heaved, fighting to sit up, only to be pressed back by gentle but unyielding hands. "Leira," she rasped, her voice cracking.
Leira stood by the hearth, her posture elegant and severe, arms folded behind her back. The red scarf that once hung loose now cinched her waist like a sash of blood. Her expression was unreadable.
"What will you do if Malec kills this child?" Allora whispered.
The air stilled. Even the servants hesitated, their movements slowing under the weight of the words. Leira’s jaw flexed. She looked at Allora, the look devoid of cruelty, only colder.
"Then I will do the only thing left to me." She crossed the room with unhurried grace, boots silent against the stone floor, until she stood at the edge of the bed. "I will watch."
The horror sank into Allora's bones. Her lips trembled. "You're a monster."
Leira did not flinch, offered no denial. "I'm worse, I’m a mother." Her gaze turned toward the fire, where sparks hissed and spat. Her eyes shone, glassy but unshaken. "My son is the last thread of my bloodline worth anything. If that child threatens him, then so be it."
Behind them, a physician whispered to a steward and slipped through the doorway, the quiet sound of quills scratching orders just beyond the hall. Leira adjusted her gloves and walked toward the door.
"You lied to me," Allora said hoarsely, fury and grief scraping her throat raw. "You made me believe you cared."
Leira paused at the threshold, hand on the handle. "I did care," she said softly. "But never more than I care for him." She pulled the door open.
Allora shouted after her, voice breaking into a sob, stark with fury: "I will never trust another Awyan again!"
Leira froze, hand hovering over the bolt. For a moment, silence pressed against the room. Then she whispered, barely audible but cutting clean as glass: "It's about time you learned that lesson."
The door shut with a click. A heartbeat later, the bolt slid into place.
Allora sagged back against the pillows, her chest heaving. She was alone. Alone in a room full of strangers. A birthing station prepared like a battlefield. A dozen hands waiting to hold her down. No Kalemon.
Leaving Allora alone with the weight of those words and the sound of her own racing heartbeat. And the stark reminder that she could never trust a being with pointed ears.