Chapter 40
The first thing I feel is warmth flowing through my veins, knitting torn flesh back together. The pain in my chest fades from agony to a dull ache, then to nothing at all.
The second thing I feel is familiar fingers checking my pulse.
“Pulse is steady, breathing normal,” a voice says – not speaking to me, but about me. “The healing took hold properly.”
I force my eyes open to find Mother leaning over me, her crescent moon sigil glowing faintly on her chest. She’s working, not simply comforting. Silver streaks thread through her hair – more than I remember – and exhaustion lines her face, but her green eyes are sharp with concentration.
“Mother?” My voice comes out as a croak.
“Hello, little moon.” Her hand presses gently against my shoulder. “Don’t try to sit up yet. The magical healing was extensive. You need time to adjust.”
I’m in a medical chamber. The smell of healing herbs fills the air, and I can see bowls of prepared compounds on a nearby table. Soft light filters through high windows, casting the sterile white sheets of my bed in muted gold.
“How long was I unconscious?”
“Eighteen hours,” another voice answers.
Astrid emerges from behind a collection of medical equipment, her eyes bright with relief. Her usually neat braid is disheveled, her clothes stained with dried blood.
“We weren’t sure you’d wake up today,” she says quietly.
Eighteen hours. The last thing I remember is collapsing in that stone chamber, the Mercury token slipping from my fingers, the terrible certainty that I’d become exactly what I feared.
“Lord Zevran – the others,” I say, forcing the words past my dry throat. “The House leaders, are they—”
“Safe.” Astrid moves closer, perching on the edge of the bed. “Lord Zevran has been pacing outside this room the entire time, wanting updates by the hour. Lord Castor took some debris damage but he’s fine. Everyone made it out of the lockdown – they’re shaken, but alive.”
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by grief. “Except Lord Evander.”
The image flashes through my mind – Lord Evander crushed beneath stone and rubble, blood pooling around him. I close my eyes against it.
“And Ren?” I ask. “Where’s Ren?”
“Recovering in a nearby room.” Astrid’s expression darkens. “We found her unconscious in a service corridor near the parliamentary chamber. She was attacked – fought three of them before they got her down. She’s been ... she blames herself.”
Of course she does. Ren would see it as a failure, even though she was ambushed by trained operatives specifically to keep her away from me.
“And the Cardinals?”
Mother continues to pat my shoulder. “Some survived. Cardinals Benedict, Maria, and Marcus made it out before the main explosion. A few others. Most didn’t.
” She pauses. “They want to call an emergency Conclave vote as soon as they hear you’re awake to install a sovereign before anything else happens. ”
I try to absorb all of this information, but my mind is scattered in so many directions. “Mother, how did you—”
“Lord Lucien.” Mother’s voice carries a weight I don’t understand yet. “He knew where I was and shadow-walked us across the entire solar system. Somehow he knew you would need my healing magic.”
I stare at her. “I don’t understand…”
“Neither do we.” Astrid’s expression is grim.
“But if he shadow-walked, it must have been important – that kind of magic isn’t meant for living beings, especially not across star systems. The strain nearly killed him.
Your mother said he collapsed the moment they arrived, bleeding from his eyes and nose.
No one’s seen him since – he disappeared before anyone could stop him. ”
I take a moment to process this.
“He simply appeared and said you needed me. That you were dying and I was the only one who could heal you in time.” Mother adds.
“The Mercury token,” I say, remembering. “Did it – did anyone—”
“Lady Tavia’s people received everything,” Astrid confirms. “Mercury’s communication network recorded the entire confrontation, up until the static interference.”
“Static interference?” I ask sharply.
“Yes.” Astrid nods solemnly. “They have Lady Isolde’s full confession.
Her admission about the Architects, the attacks she orchestrated, her faction’s infiltration of every major institution.
It’s all there, up until the moment we assume she interfered with the signal and it cuts to static, and she made her escape. ”
Relief and shame war in my chest. They heard Isolde confess – but they didn’t hear what I became in those final moments, didn’t record me torturing her with my father’s magic while I enjoyed every second of it.
I’m saved by omission, protected by an assumed technical failure.
The thought makes me sick.
“Where is she now?” I ask. “Lady Isolde?”
“Gone without a trace.” Astrid’s voice hardens. “There’s a manhunt, but...” She shakes her head. “She could be anywhere.”
Mother’s hand tightens slightly on my shoulder. “Little moon,” she says gently. “How do you feel?”
The question is more than physical. I can hear it in her tone, see it in the way she’s watching me. She’s asking about more than my injuries.
“Confused,” I admit. “And angry.”
Her expression shifts – something vulnerable crossing her face before the healer’s mask returns.
“At me?” she asks quietly.
“Yes.” The word comes out sharper than I intend, all the hurt and confusion from the past months bleeding through.
“Where were you? I needed you. I’ve been facing all of this alone, and you were – where?
Where were you while I nearly died? Where were you when assassins attacked?
Where were you when everyone found out who my father was and I had to stand in front of the entire system and pretend I wasn’t terrified? ”
My voice breaks on the last word. Tears burn hot behind my eyes, months of suppressed emotion finally finding escape.
Mother’s composure cracks. I see tears gathering in her own eyes, her hand trembling slightly against my shoulder.
“You’re right. You deserve the truth. All of it.”
She sits on the edge of the bed, both hands now gripping mine. Astrid moves closer, settling on my other side.
“You know I was your father’s advisor,” Mother begins. “You know Daughters of the Moon were trusted counsellors, valued for our wisdom and foresight. But there’s more to the story. More than I’ve ever told you.”
“Foresight,” I repeat. “So it’s true? Daughters of the Moon can see the future?”
“Some of us, yes. Not all.” Mother’s eyes meet mine. “I have the gift. It’s inconsistent – sometimes I can read the visions, other times I get it wrong…”
My heart pounds. “What did you see?”
“Many things. Possible futures, branching timelines, consequences of choices not yet made.” She takes a shaky breath. “Some time ago, I had a vision that changed everything. I saw the Conclave. I saw you revealed as the Sun King’s daughter. And I saw you die.”
The words hang in the air between us.
“In every timeline I could see, your identity was eventually discovered. In most futures, you died within days of the revelation. Assassinated, executed, killed by people who feared what you represented.”
“But … not all futures,” I say slowly.
“Not all.” Mother’s grip tightens on my hands. “There was one path – narrow, precarious, but possible – that branched out into possibilities where you survived. Where you not only survived but thrived – built alliances, changed the system, became something your father never could.”
“What made that one path special?”
“Lord Zevran.” She says his name carefully, watching my reaction. “In the futures where you lived, you were close to him when your identity was revealed – you were under his protection.”
Understanding crashes over me. “That’s why you mentioned me to him. Why you told him about your daughter with healing powers.”
“Yes.” Mother doesn’t look away. “I planted the seed months before the Conclave was even called. Made sure he knew I had a daughter, that she could help with his condition if he ever needed it. I knew he’d remember when the time came.”
“You manipulated him into bringing me.”
“I did, to save you.” Mother corrects gently. “The choice was still his. But yes, I … influenced events to create the possibility.”
“And the note you left? That I shouldn’t trust anyone at court?”
I watch as the corners of my mother’s mouth tighten. “I needed to make sure you wouldn’t tell anyone about your heritage too soon. If you had confided in anyone at the palace … you wouldn’t be here.”
Astrid makes a small sound beside me. When I glance at her, her expression is complicated – hurt and understanding warring on her face.
“And me?” Astrid asks quietly. “Was I part of your plan too?”
Mother’s gaze shifts to her, and I see guilt written across every line of her face.
“Your mother sent you to me before she died,” Mother says. “She had foresight too – stronger than mine, actually. She knew what was coming, and that she wouldn’t survive. She knew I’d need help raising Cyra. She sent you to me because she trusted me to keep you both safe.”
“And you did,” Astrid says, but there’s an edge to her voice. “You kept us safe. You trained me. You made sure I could protect Cyra. But you never told me why. You never explained that you were preparing me for this.”
“I couldn’t.” Mother’s voice breaks slightly. “If I’d told you what I saw, you would have tried to change it. Would have made different choices. The future I needed to create was so specific, so precise – any deviation could have led to Cyra’s death.”
The revelation sits heavy in the medical chamber. All those years of training, of preparation, of Mother guiding us both toward specific skills and knowledge. None of it was random. All of it was orchestrated.
The logic makes sense, but it doesn’t erase the hurt. Doesn’t fill the hollow ache of all those nights wondering if she was dead, if she’d abandoned me, if I’d ever see her again.
“Lord Lucien,” I suddenly remember. “He somehow knew where to find you. He told me you were gathering supporters…”
Mother’s eyes soften. “Eventually, after I had hid for some time, I knew it was safe to start reaching out to my networks. I knew you would need support from the people, not just the House Leaders.” Her grip on my shoulder tightens slightly.
“I had worked for years and years to gain favours, building loyalty and trust with nobles and peasants and everyone in between. I called in those favours and asked for their support.” Mother’s voice cracks.
“I’m sorry, little moon. I wanted to come to you every day.
Wanted to hold you and tell you everything would be okay.
But I couldn’t risk changing the path that led to your survival.
Even if it meant you hated me for leaving. ”
“I don’t hate you,” I whisper, and it’s true. I’m angry, hurt, confused – but I don’t hate her. “I just ... I needed you. I still need you.”
“I know.” She pulls me into an embrace, careful of my injuries. “I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
I let myself sink into her arms, breathing in the familiar scent of healing herbs and lavender. For a moment, I’m six years old again, seeking comfort after a nightmare.
But the moment can’t last.
When I pull back, I notice the way Mother’s shoulders are still tense. The way her eyes don’t quite meet mine.
There’s something else – something she’s not telling me.
“Mother,” I start. “Is there—”
“You need to get ready,” she says, standing quickly. “The Conclave vote. You don’t have much time.”
I don’t have time to push. Astrid helps me stand, steadying me as my legs threaten to give out. She catches my eye, and I see the same awareness there. She noticed it too.
Whatever Mother is hiding, it’s not small. But it will have to wait.