Chapter 32
Esther
How to Survive a Reunion: prepare for bone-crushing hugs.
Vorrik hit her like a runaway boulder.
One moment, Esther was standing, trying to breathe normally after the emotional avalanche under the elm. Next, her feet were off the ground, her torso trapped in a bear hug, and her ribs screaming in protest.
“Essie!” Vorrik roared, spinning her once like she was a particularly beloved sack of flour.
“Vorrik—Vorrik—lungs—” she wheezed.
He froze mid-spin. “Oh! Sorry!”
He set her down so fast her knees wobbled. Nythir’s hands immediately steadied her shoulders, warm and grounding.
Lyssara slapped Vorrik’s arm. “You absolute mountain! You can’t just break the princess!”
Then, ignoring her own words, she did the exact same thing Vorrik did.
“Essie! I’m so sorry!”
“What?” Esther croaked, her face buried in Lyssara’s chest.
“I—” Lyssara nuzzled her. “I was so used to you being… you, I forgot who you are. You look exactly like her. The Queen. Except shorter. And without the dignity.”
“Lyssara,” Nythir warned.
“She knows I love her,” Lyssara said, releasing Esther so she could breathe once more. “But Charon saw it too. Of course she did. I should’ve realized she’d recognize the resemblance. But I didn’t know the Queen left a message. For you.” Her voice cracked, eyes full of tears.
“Hey—hey—don’t—” Esther reached out, only for Lyssara to grab her hand and squeeze it so tightly Esther thought the bones might fuse together.
“You were just this tiny runaway girl with terrible balance and worse survival instincts,” Lyssara said, voice wobbling.
“I didn’t want to scare you away. But I was also selfish.
I wanted to be a protector to the daughter of the woman who saved our entire town.
The Queen who helped me walk again. The reason half the people in Greyhollow survived the plague. ”
Vorrik nodded, tears falling freely. “When I saw Lyssara running at me on two legs with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen… I thought I was dreaming. It was like a goddess appeared just to protect us orphans. Give us a chance to not just survive, but to live.”
“We couldn’t offer her anything in return.” Lyssara’s arms trembled, but she still held firm against Esther. “But she didn’t care. She made sure to visit often. Not just the orphanage. She visited everyone in need. Healed them. Listened to them. She was Greyhollow’s saint.”
Esther’s heart twisted sharply. “I didn’t know any of that.” She paused, voice small. “Do you only see me as her shadow?”
Lyssara sniffed loudly. “She was the best. And you—gods, Essie—” She pulled her into a crushing hug that made Essie squeak. “You’re not her, but you’re you. And that’s just as good.”
“The way you argued with a man twice your size this morning was amazing,” Vorrik added. Earlier that morning, she had confronted a drunken man harassing a younger woman. It had escalated quickly—yelling, shoving, and finally a kick to the shin—until Vorrik intervened.
“I never knew the Queen,” Nythir said softly, “but I do know you have the makings to be your own goddess. Not just the shadow of one.”
Esther didn’t know how to respond except to melt into them, hands gripping their shirts, eyes stinging.
Vorrik wrapped his arms around both of them, making a Lyssara–Esther sandwich and sobbing into Lyssara’s shoulder.
Nythir stood at her side, expression soft and warm in a way that made Esther’s chest fold in on itself. She leaned into him without thinking. His hand slid to her back, anchoring her.
Then, in classic Vorrik fashion, he ruined the moment.
“So… does this mean Nythir’s gonna be king now?”
Lyssara choked on her own spit. “Oh fuck—”
Vorrik gasped. “We’ll have all the power!”
Lyssara covered her face. “No. No power. No crowns. No—whatever the hell kings do. Absolutely not. We are not responsible enough.”
Nythir blinked slowly. “I do not want a crown.”
“Good,” Lyssara snapped. “Because you’d lose it within a week.”
Vorrik nodded enthusiastically. “Or Essie’s magic would explode it!”
Esther groaned into her hands. “Please. Stop talking.”
They did not.
But they closed in around her again—a chaotic, loud, tear-soaked knot of arms, warmth, and affection—until her throat ached from holding back more tears. Nythir gently placed his arm around her shoulder and guided her back toward the orphanage.
The orphanage quieted once the children fell asleep in a tangle of limbs, patched blankets, and stuffed animals that were well past their years. Vorrik and Lyssara snored in opposite corners of the tiny guest room, one on a pile of quilts, the other on the floor with a borrowed pillow.
Nythir sat at the end of the hallway, keeping watch. He was always keeping watch.
Esther found Charon in the front room, sipping tea while the last lantern flickered low. She looked tired—not from the lateness of the night, but from having too many mouths to feed, too many children to care for, too much stress for a single woman to bear.
“You wanted to know about her,” Charon said. “Your mother.”
Esther sat across from her, hands tightening in her lap. “Yes. Please.”
Charon nodded once, motion slow with memory.
“She wasn’t born noble,” she began. “She was born in this very town. She garnered attention for being exceptionally gifted. Her magic healed where others failed. It soothed storms. It calmed children.”
She smiled faintly. “She became queen not through politics, but through kindness.”
Esther swallowed. “I never knew.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Charon said softly. “The court liked rewriting her story. But we remember her. The poor. The sick. The orphans. The forgotten.”
She gestured toward the sleeping children. “Many of them live because she cared. But when she died, so did those in power who cared.”
A tear slipped down Esther’s cheek before she could stop it.
“She left something for you,” Charon said gently, reaching into a small wooden box. “She told me that when her daughter found her way to me, to give it to her.”
She handed her a folded letter, sealed with wax imprinted with a tiny sun.
Esther’s breath hitched. Her mother’s seal. Her mother’s handwriting. A letter in the hands of someone she had just met—yet again.
Her fingertips trembled as she broke the wax and unfolded the paper. The ink had faded, but the words glowed in her eyes like gold:
My dearest Essie,
If you are reading this, then fate has guided you farther than fear could ever hold you. I cannot know the life you grew into beside this one path I saw, but I know your heart.
Lead like a queen, my love—Not with the crown, but with compassion, not with power, but with purpose.
Never forget your heart. It is your most extraordinary magic.
My love is always with you.
Esther pressed the paper to her chest. Her fingers sparked, as if they were responding to the trace of magic left in her mother’s words.
“I didn’t know her,” she whispered. “Not really.”
“But she knew you,” Charon said. “Before you were born, she spoke about you like you were the sunrise.”
Esther covered her mouth to keep from breaking. Footsteps moved quietly behind her. Nythir’s hand landed softly on her shoulder, kissing the top of her head. She didn’t turn around—not yet. She just let herself feel it:
The love she had lost.
The love she had found.
And the love she didn’t fully understand yet, warming her from where he stood.