Chapter 131
Chapter One Hundred Thirty-One
Faylinn
“Mama, mama!” Fia’s little voice squealed, interrupting the manic scratching of my pen as I desperately tried to transcribe as many words as possible in my free morning. I groaned, realizing I’d only succeeded in writing half of a chapter in two hours.
This is going to take fifty years at this rate.
I sighed and blew on the ink to dry it before closing the golden book and pushing it away from the edge of the desk, out of reach of prying hands.
I smiled as the pattering of little feet grew louder, abandoned giggles and squeals bouncing off the corridors.
My children breezed into our study, all wild hair and bare feet, chocolate or some other substance smooshed across their faces and down their tunics.
Laughing, I stood up from the chair and swung Fia into my arms, spinning her in a circle as I laid countless kisses against her soft neck.
She giggled and screamed before I set her down, only to pick up the two-year-old twins and repeat the action.
Their little bodies shook with their mirth, toddler giggles warming my heart and chasing away any previous ire.
“Mama, mama!” all three of them chanted, out of breath as they jumped on tiptoes.
“What! What!” I exclaimed back, squatting to kneel at their eye level.
Fia’s hazel eyes, just this side of green—so like Ben’s—glittered with unrestrained excitement as she brandished a slightly crumpled and more than a little chocolate-stained letter in my face.
I reared back with a laugh at her exuberance.
“Uncle Torin and Aunt Ellowyn wrote us again!” she screamed.
Letters from her aunt and uncle were the highlight of any day. The younger two nodded along with her, though they had little idea what they were agreeing to.
“Hmmm,” I said, tapping my chin lightly. “And I suppose you’d like me to read it to you?”
“Yes!” the twins said, their little lisps making the word sound more like ‘yesh.’
“Wetter, peas.”
Noor pointed one little chubby finger at the letter, saying, “Dis dis,” while Ayla sucked her thumb and watched.
It was amazing that two children who shared one womb could be so different—like the sun and moon.
Ayla looked like Rohak, with her deep emerald eyes and light-brown skin, but was much more like me; quiet but personable, and took great enjoyment in picture books and coloring.
She was also Cotton’s favorite of the three children, and I often saw the grey cat curled up on her lap, purring contentedly while my daughter absently stroked his fur with sticky fingers.
Noor, however, was nearly my carbon copy in appearance but all Rohak in action. His brown curls bounced around his ears, green and gold-flecked hazel eyes boring into mine as he grumpily demanded that I “wead dis.”
I loved them both endlessly.
Sinking to the ground, I held my arms out so all three kids could tumble onto my lap. Fia sat first, pulling Noor onto her lap as Ayla cuddled into my side.
“Dear d’Alvey’s,” I started, but could continue no further when the door swung open, revealing my happy and smiling husband.
“Daddy!” Fia shrieked, carefully placing Noor to the side so she could run to my husband. He enveloped her in a tight hug before opening his arms a second time for the twins.
“What have you got on your mouths?” he asked, licking the pad of his thumb to rub at the chocolate plastered on their cheeks. They giggled and squirmed as he wiped, desperately trying to escape their confines.
“Cook gave us chocolate! Then told us to ‘shoo,’” Fia said gravely.
She was even more of a law-abider than my stoic husband and was the source of tales I told Ben and Asha at their headstone each month.
It was a trait she must have inherited from Asha, which was only reinforced by Rohak.
Gods knew Ben and I were terrible at following rules.
“Is that so?” Rohak said, his eyes flicking to mine, a silent conversation between the two of us. I had no doubt that at the end of the day, Rohak would be having a very strongly worded conversation with Cook. My husband was tolerant of much, but you absolutely did not fuck with his children.
“Were you bothering Cook?” I asked, trying to talk my husband off the ledge and show him perhaps the other side of it without directly calling attention to his intentions.
It was a tactic that had worked well for us ever since Fia started walking and talking, getting into heaps of trouble when our backs were turned for a few seconds.
“Welllll,” Fia started, twirling her fire-red hair around one pale finger while she chewed her lip. Both were surefire signs that she was about to invent a story, and I bit back a snort. Rohak sighed, shoulders slumping as he shook his greying head.
“Fia,” he admonished, tiredly.
“Aunt Ellowyn and Uncle Torin sent us a letter!” she said suddenly, trying to distract her father from the life lesson he was about to impart. I stifled a second laugh as she bounded over to me, the toddlers following close behind.
Rohak smiled when her back was turned, his gaze full of affection and love.
I never knew I could love him more than when we first Bonded, but with the devotion he showed me and our children each day, my affection only grew.
“Come and sit, Daddy,” I said, gesturing to the floor. Heat flared in Rohak’s eyes for a moment before he shook his head, reminding himself of the little ears in our presence.
“Dear d’Alvey’s,” I began again once everyone was settled.
“It was so nice to receive your pictures, they are all hanging in our living space so we can see them every day. Fia, your artistic talent has only grown; it’s clear you take after your mother.
” Our little girl preened at the compliment.
“We would love to have you over and see how much you and the twins have grown. How about next month? We’re working on the plans for the new university and would like your mother and father’s input on a few things, especially the books in the catacombs.
Stay out of trouble and don’t antagonize Cook”—Fia’s face flushed scarlet—“love, Ellowyn and Torin.”
“We get to go see them? Can we, Mama?” Fia pleaded, her eyes round and lip jutting. I laughed, poking her lip with my finger.
“You know that face doesn’t work on me”—instantly the lip retracted—“but, yes, we can visit next month. Your dad and I will arrange it.”
The kids cheered, jumping from my lap to spin together in a circle. Rohak moved across the rug toward me, away from the careening children, and pulled me into his lap. I rested my head against his chest, breathing in his smoky scent, simply reveling in the life we created together.
“Did you make any progress?” he whispered in my ear, his chest vibrating with the motion.
I shook my head. “No. It’ll take years to finish,” I said with a small laugh.
Rohak kissed the top of my head, burying his nose in my curls.
I probed the Bond, happy to only feel contentment.
Relinquishing his responsibility as “King” of Elyria was the best decision possible.
He’d kept the mantle long enough for the Council of Eight to be established, but then removed himself completely.
While Rohak was still a representative on the council, he shared the burden of ruling and reforming Elyria with seven others.
He was made to lead, made to help, but it eased his load when there were others who cared just as much as him.
“You’ll get there, my love,” he said, kissing my head once more. “It takes a while to comb through everyone’s stories and create the correct timeline. Give yourself some grace.”
Years ago, we’d sent word across Elyria, asking for letters and stories from the war.
I’d expected only a few but, roughly a week after the announcement, our home was inundated with replies, and the pile continued to grow.
Some were short paragraphs, others pages and pages of depictions.
I read through each one, regardless of their level of involvement in the war.
Everyone had a place in Elyria’s history, everyone was affected in some way or other, and it was important to document it all.
Something kept pulling me toward that book, to write this story, as if someone down the line would need it.
“Even if it takes fifty years?” I asked, gently rubbing circles in the hair on his arm. He squeezed me once.
“It won’t. But yes. Even if it takes fifty years.”