7. Ivy
IVY
Sunlight dances across my skin, luring me back to the land of the living, making my eyelids flutter as I sigh.
Clearly, I forgot to close the curtains last night, but I’m not mad at myself. I was so consumed by exhaustion, sealed with a kiss from Baron, that my brain short-circuited on anything else.
I sigh, snuggling deeper into my pillow as an air of serenity ghosts over me.
I already know it’s the next day. My stomach feels hollow, but I slept hard, plunged into one dream after another.
Not a single nightmare.
My chest tightens as a reminder flickers across the backs of my eyelids, and my fingers curl around my pillow.
I dreamt of hope, of alternative moments in my life where no one shouted reject that fateful night, where I was held, cherished, and seen for who I am, not what I am, be it the Angel or the phoenix.
Knowing that isn’t reality doesn’t come with a sharp pain to the gut, and it catches me off guard. For the first morning ever, I’m waking up with the whole view on life, every angle, and I hate that I don’t hate it.
I should.
I should burn with anger that others made decisions for me, but there’s something about the four of them wanting to protect me, someone they didn’t truly know at the time, without a second thought. That level of care and selflessness is overwhelming, to say the least.
They could have told me when they came to collect me, or when I arrived on campus, but they didn’t, and there’s nothing I can do to change that. Besides, I can’t imagine knowing how to clear my throat and declare such truths either.
Would I have even believed them?
Another thing I’ll never know.
There’s still uncertainty about the fact that their magic became enhanced from grounding me, which hasn’t been discussed yet, but I couldn’t process that on top of everything else I absorbed yesterday.
One thing is for sure: I feel different. I can’t quite decipher how, but I almost feel… lighter.
All I have to do now is pry my eyes open, wrangle my limbs out of bed, and find the strength to get my butt over to the dining hall to eat, then I can consider what the rest of my day looks like.
Regardless, I’m in charge today. Of my thoughts, my feelings, my actions.
All of it.
The sound of a throat clearing yanks me from the final tendrils of sleep.
My eyes snap open, my gaze swinging to find the source of the sound as my heart ricochets in my chest and fear spikes through my veins. The feeling doesn't subside as my gaze settles on a familiar silhouette.
Sapphira Hayworth.
My mother.
She stands at the foot of my bed, hands on her hips as she heaves every breath.
I blink at her in disbelief. First, at the mere sight of her, followed swiftly by the condition she’s in.
This woman has always been so poised, so pristinely put together, not even a single strand of hair out of place.
That's all I remember of her from my childhood. Every memory I have of her is the same. She’s always been manicured to perfection, right up until the day of my not-wedding. Technically, right up until the night I was killed, but thinking about that threatens to send me into a spiral.
Instead, I recall the last time she invaded my personal space. She looked completely disheveled then too, but somehow, this is worse. Especially by her standards.
Her hair is twisted into a messy bun, precariously balanced on top of her head, and she wears a thin-thread sweater and worn-in jeans. To anybody else, she would be unrecognizable, but me? Those narrowed eyes are imprinted on my soul.
I press my lips in a thin line as I watch her fingers steeple on her hips as she glares at me. All of her decorum is gone.
Her lips purse as she sniffs. “I hear you had a run-in with Leonardo,” she states. “Was your father beside him?”
I need a moment to compose myself. Dragging a hand down my face, shuffling to sit, leaning back against the headboard. She’s jittery, shuffling from foot to foot as she waits expectantly for my answer.
Instead of gracing her with what she wants, I cock a brow at her. “Why haven't you been with him?” I ask, wiping the remaining sleep from my eyes.
“With who?” she barks back, and I fight the desire to roll my eyes.
“Father.”
She sniffs again, her gaze darting to the window for a moment. “We’re waiting to relocate,” she answers, her finger tapping growing more incessant.
“In what sense?” I push, and her gaze returns to mine, eyes as narrowed as ever.
“It's none of your business.”
I run my tongue along my bottom lip, refusing to give up. “Why haven't you gone home?” I ask, the state of her confirming my assumption, and she scoffs.
“Still none of your business.”
Irritation coils inside of me. “Then why are you here? Why are you in my space? Again?”
She slams her hand against the bottom beam of my four-poster bed, making the whole thing rattle with a level of strength I didn't know she had.
“Stop asking so many questions,” she snarls, her nostrils flared as desperation seeps from her bones.
This time, it’s not fear that threads through my limbs, but sadness. Pure sadness. It’s all I can feel as I stare at the woman who shares my blood, who plays such a monumental part in my origin, my heritage, my magic. Yet she stands there without a single care or maternal instinct.
Before I can find my next words, a flash of red darts through the door, eyes wide with panic.
“What was that bang?” Ember yelps, speeding toward me, but before I can answer, my mother moves with a sense of speed that steals my breath.
I can’t even comprehend what’s happening before it’s too late as my mother extends her hand, capturing Ember in her grasp.
Fear burns down my spine, stiffening my muscles. “Let go of her,” I bark, hands curling into the sheets beside me as my mother’s mouth curls with a sneer.
“Shut your mouth.” Her voice is like ice, a contrast to the rest of her.
That’s when I see it.
A familiar ring of orange sits around her irises.
Is that what I look like with my eyes rimmed orange, all disheveled and jittery?
I shake my head. That's the least of my concern when she has my sprite in her grasp.
Lifting my hands in surrender, I take a deep breath. “Let go of her,” I state calmly before pulling the sheets from my body and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
The second I stand, a whimper falls from Ember’s lips as my mother squeezes.
“Stay exactly where you are,” my mother commands, and for the sake of my sprite, I do as she says, but that doesn’t mean I’ve given up.
My gaze darts around the room, searching for answers, but there's no sense of hope. My inability to control my magic is hazardous in comparison to my mother's, or I assume, at least, and I don't want to make the situation worse and cause any more harm to Ember.
“Release her,” I command, attempting to keep my magic at bay as I talk as calmly and as firmly as possible.
My mother's pupils dilate, an unamused smile tainting her lips as she peers at Ember. “Why do you care so much?” She twists her in her grasp, looking at her from every angle as if she’s an object.
It makes me hate her more.
“Because she hasn't done anything to you,” I bite back, and she purses her lips. “Why are you even here?” I snap, and my mother shakes her head.
There’s an air of distrust consuming her, enhanced by her clear distress, but she’s too messy for me to figure out the best way to approach her without making the situation worse. Especially since I’ve never seen her like this.
Not only was she always composed physically, but mentally too. Her commands came with a sigh, her orders unwavering as she held power over me, but this…
It’s something else entirely, and she seems lost to it.
“Let her go,” I repeat.
“Then do as I say,” my mother retorts, and I throw my hands out wide at my sides.
“What is it you want from me?”
She hasn’t even gotten to the point since she got here, and she's already holding someone captive for no reason.
“I want you to tell me everything Leonardo has said to you,” she demands, and I scoff.
“He spent more time killing than speaking,” I clarify, and my mother exhales sharply, irritation tightening her jaw as her gaze returns to the window for a moment.
“Classic Leonardo,” she mumbles, her distress intensifying as Ember whimpers in her grasp.
I clench my hands together at my sides, trying to contain my emotions as worry seeps through me, when a thought comes to mind. One that threatens to make this worse, but it slips from my lips before I can consider it.
“Why didn't he just take you?” I blurt, and her withering stare returns to mine.
“Pardon?”
I shrug, trying to downplay my question, but I can tell I’m already under her skin.
“I’m assuming he knows you are a phoenix. Why fixate on me?”
“He's not fixated on you,” she snarls back, her entire face scrunching in disgust, and I huff.
“Of course,” I mutter, shaking my head.
I’m not wrong, though. Why did I have to die for Leonardo to have a phoenix when there is already one right here in the form of my mother?
“Why would you say that?” she presses, taking a step toward me.
“Why would I say what?”
“Don't play games with me,” she snarls, baring her teeth as her eyes widen. She looks maniacal.
“You're talking in riddles,” I state calmly, my gaze fixed on my sprite in her hand, but my mother talks with her hands, waving Ember around and rattling her in her grasp.
“Did he show you a relic?”
“A what?” I clarify, earning a huff.
“Don't lie; I know his games. Did he show you one?” Her eyebrows rise as she takes another step toward me.
“Yes.”
I thought the truth might ease the tension in the air, but it only seems to make it worse.
“What was it?” Her tone is thick with rage, and I gulp.
What was it? Is there more than one?
My stomach twists with worry.
I can’t bring myself to answer, so I push for control.
“Where are the other phoenixes?” I push back, but she doesn't take my redirection.
“What did he show you?”