Chapter 18 Esther
Esther
How to listen carefully: pretend you understand everything while understanding nothing.
Dusk settled over the street in muted lavender, lantern light catching on the cobblestones as Esther and her companions approached Luna’s tavern. The warm glow did little to calm the nerves coiling in her stomach.
They walked like a unit, whether they meant to or not. And yet, she had never felt more singular. Everyone around her had a role they understood—scout, shield, blade. Esther carried something heavier than a weapon and less defined than a crown. No one had trained her for this kind of walking.
Lyssara scanned for threats. Vorrik stayed close enough to block a blow meant for her. Nythir hovered at her side like a drawn blade pretending to be a person.
No one told her what to do. The absence of instruction should have felt freeing. Instead, it left her unmoored. The palace had taught her how to obey, not how to choose. Choice felt like standing at the edge of a high place without rails.
“You could at least consider letting me accompany you inside,” he said for the seventh time, voice low and edged with frustration. “You don’t know what Luna wants.”
Esther kept her gaze forward. “I do. She wants answers. And I’m not giving them while everyone watches me squirm.”
He scoffed softly. “Essie—”
“No.” Her tone left little room for argument. Nythir recognized it instantly, though he still looked ready to argue on principle alone. His shoulders tightened in a sulky sort of way that was absolutely not subtle.
The others walked behind them, unusually quiet. It wasn't too quiet. It was heavy, uncomfortable, silent—the kind that made the air hard to breathe.
When they reached the tavern door, Vorrik stepped forward, clearing his throat.
“We know Luna knows something about you,” he said gently. It was much different than his usual gruffness.
Gentle Vorrik made Essie feel more anxious. It felt strange—like when a teacher scolded you, afraid to be too harsh on royalty. She hated that feeling.
Lyssara crossed her arms, her expression somewhere between vexed and protective. “And we know you’re not ready to tell us. So we’re not pushing.” She sighed. “Doesn’t mean we’re not worried, though.”
Nythir nodded, though his scowl remained firmly in place. Esther worried his face would get stuck like that.
Sable opened the door from inside, her smile bright—until she caught the tension in the group. Her expression softened, quickly replaced by a frown.
“What the hell did Luna do now? You all look ready to burn a castle down.”
“Careful. You just had your jowls magically removed,” Vorrik said, back to his usual tone.
Nythir glanced at Esther, brushing his hand lightly against hers. “We respect your privacy. We’ll wait for you to tell us in your own time.”
The words hit her harder than expected—soft and warm and a little painful.
Wait. She wasn’t going to be able to lie forever. She knew this, but didn’t know when to reveal her secret.
“Thank you,” she murmured, anxiety spiraling. She felt that when she told them, it would be the end of this chapter of their journey. She didn’t want it to end.
She regretted lying. The web was spun, and she was a bug stuck in it, waiting for its demise.
Lying had never been part of her lessons. Silence, yes. Deflection, certainly. But this—carrying truth alone while people stood close enough to catch her if she fell—made her chest ache. Secrets were easier when no one cared.
Luna appeared behind Sable, gorgeous as ever. “Essie. Upstairs. Now.”
The entire group stiffened as if someone had just threatened their collective mother. Luna had a lot of practice ordering adults around, and for a moment, Esther felt as if she were back in her etiquette lessons.
Silently, she followed Luna up the narrow staircase, heart thudding and head hung.
Upstairs, the room was small and warm, filled with the smell of spiced tea and candles. Esther scowled at her worst enemy. Luna shut the door with a quiet finality that made Esther’s heart skip a beat.
“You’ve grown,” Luna said softly, her voice tinged with memories Esther couldn’t quite place.
The words landed strangely.
Luna looked young—unfairly so—but her eyes carried a depth Esther had only seen in people who had lived through things they never spoke about. For the first time, Esther wondered if Luna had known her mother not as a queen… but as a woman.
The thought tightened something in her chest.
Before Esther could ask what she meant, Luna moved to a desk and opened a drawer. She pulled out a thin gold bracelet etched with delicate vine-like lines. At first glance, it looked like a runespire, but something about it felt different. It radiated a soft, warm hum.
“Your mother left this with me when you were just a baby,” Luna said, stepping close. “She said I’d know when to give it to you.”
Esther’s breath hitched. “My mother?”
Luna gently took Esther’s wrist and fastened the bracelet around it. The metal hummed faintly, warm against her skin. It pulsed softly, in rhythm with her heartbeat.
Controlling her emotional sparks.
The steadiness was comforting—and unsettling. Control had always been imposed on her, not offered with her consent. Esther couldn’t tell yet whether this was protection or another kind of cage.
“It will help steady your magic,” Luna explained. “Not suppress it. Just control the overflow when your emotions run too hot.”
Esther swallowed hard. “She knew I’d need this?”
Luna nodded. “Your mother had foresight magic. No grand prophecies—nothing like that. She saw fragments of others’ futures, never her own.”
Esther’s chest tightened. “So she knew she wouldn’t—”
“Be with you as long as she wished?” Luna finished softly. “Yes. She knew her time was short. And she knew you’d have a journey she couldn’t guide you through.”
Esther had been told foresight was a gift. Luna said it like a burden. Seeing fragments of other people’s futures meant living surrounded by endings you could never soften—only prepare for. Esther wondered how many of her mother’s smiles had been shaped by knowledge she wasn’t allowed to share.
Her mother had always been spoken of as gentle. Wise. Beloved. No one ever spoke of her as deliberate. This—leaving artifacts behind, planting people like seeds—felt intentional in a way that made Esther’s breath hitch.
Esther stared down at the bracelet, vision blurring at the edges.
“Your mother used what time she had to set things in motion,” Luna continued. “Quiet protections. Allies in unexpected places.”
Esther had grown up believing loyalty was loud—oaths, banners, visible devotion.
Her mother’s loyalty had been quieter. Distributed. Hidden in ordinary people who smiled politely and waited decades to matter.
It was terrifying.
And brilliant.
Esther’s life unfolded in a new pattern—not a line, but a web. Each person who had stepped forward, each kindness she had mistaken for coincidence, had been placed with care. Her mother had not trusted one safeguard. She had trusted many.
Sable, leaning in the doorway, added, “We owe the Queen everything. Her charity kept our families alive when no one else cared.”
The words landed heavier than praise. Gratitude implied debt. And debts, Esther knew, were never collected gently.
Luna’s eyes softened. “People like Sir Basil. Baroness Levon. Myself. Sable. All given small tasks meant to guide or protect you when the time came. There are others, loyal to the queen, who saved us all. We know of each other, but we are not to involve ourselves until our time.”
The names rang like bells, loud and demanding. Pieces Esther hadn’t known were missing began clicking into place—softly, painfully, inevitably.
The Baroness’s refusal to end lessons and her daily visits to the palace. Basil’s return to guide her after his early retirement due to injury. And why hadn’t he abandoned her even after all the grueling lessons that grayed his hair?
None of it had been random. Esther felt foolish for never questioning it—and small for realizing how protected she had been without knowing it.
Luna squeezed her shoulder. “You’re not alone, Esther. Not now. Not ever. Your mother made sure of it.”
Something warm and fragile bloomed in Esther’s chest at hearing her name. Even her magic seemed to understand the moment; the candles didn’t flare, her fingers didn’t spark. Only the bracelet shone gold.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “But I’ve never heard of such a runespire. Why didn’t my father or teachers ever try to use it?”
“This is the only one ever made, by your mother. As you know, mages are rare. Powerful ones? Even rarer. And one strong enough to make this?” Luna grazed her finger across Esther’s wrist. “There was only one who could make it.”
“Then why didn’t she leave it with—”
“It wasn’t time,” Luna interrupted. “Your mother left a letter as well.”
She held out a small, yellowed envelope. Dust clung to it, and it smelled faintly of roses.
Esther hesitated. Letters carried finality. Once read, they could not be unread. She had survived so long on unanswered questions that the idea of clarity frightened her more than ignorance.
Esther slowly reached for it, fingers shaking. She carefully peeled off the red wax seal stamped with the royal phoenix. Tears sprang to her eyes at the familiar, elegant letters:
My beloved Essie,
You must remember: Magic mirrors your heart.
A mirror cannot reflect a broken heart. One day, when your heart is no longer caged, your mirror will reflect with great beauty.
When that time comes, you will no longer need this runespire.
It is merely a stepping stone. Learn to be free.
To love and despair without constraints or fear. To be all that you are.
I love you so much, my darling child.
Tears dampened the paper in Esther’s trembling hands.
Her mother had not written instructions. She had written permission. To feel. To fail. To love without containment. Esther pressed the letter to her chest like a promise she didn’t yet know how to keep.
She didn’t know how much her mother had seen in her prophecies—or that such magic existed beyond myth. But she knew one thing: her mother had given her a blessing for the unroyal adventuring she was now undertaking, and it warmed her chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered, wiping her tears. For the first time, she felt she was truly on the path to something extraordinary—a path she would pave, master, and follow with her mother’s unseen guidance.
The bracelet was warm. Steady.
Esther realized, distantly, that this wasn’t just protection. It was an expectation. Her mother hadn’t only prepared the world for Esther—she had prepared Esther for the world.
Expectation did not ask whether she was ready. It simply waited. Esther had spent her life being prepared for things. This was the first time something had been prepared for her.
Luna opened the door, smiling knowingly. “Come. Before that brooding shadow you travel with decides to break my door down.”
Sable huffed. “He absolutely would.”
Esther sighed. Yes, he absolutely would. She followed them down the stairs, bracelet warm against her skin, toward her worried companions, toward the path her mother had foreseen long before her first step.
Esther followed into the future, layered with expectation, watched by people who remembered her mother’s choices. Whatever came next would not be simple. Her mother had never prepared her for simplicity.
She had so many questions—about her mother, everyone involved, and even the woman guiding her now. Exactly how old was Luna?
Esther winced at the phantom pain from etiquette lessons. No matter how curious, some questions were forbidden.