Chapter 70 Faylinn #2
I frowned at him. “Filter?”
Torin chuckled at my bemused expression and ran a hand down his face.
“You’re supposed to filter it so that the liquid portion stays separate from the grounds. You’re not actually supposed to consume those,” he laughed.
“Oh.” I felt embarrassment rising in my cheeks before forcing it down. “Maybe that’s why my coffee always tasted . . . different.”
Torin laughed again—it was a nice sound, free of worries and full of humor. “Hmm, I’d say that’s probably why.”
I chuckled lightly with him before dumping both of our cups in the fire and stacking them on the table near the door.
I really need to clean this place.
“So why do you have so many books in here? Isn’t there a library in the Academy?”
I nodded. “Yes, but something about it sets me on edge—like there’s always someone watching from the shadows that I can’t see.”
“That sounds ominous and terrifying,” Torin admitted dryly, and I nodded my head in agreement.
“Yes. I much prefer the chaos and solitude of my room over whatever is happening there.” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the Academy.
“What are you researching?” he asked, but at my hesitation, he held his hands up. “I don’t mean to pry, I’m just interested.”
I bit my lip, debating how much to actually tell him. There was an openness in his expression that I trusted, and I had a vague sense that I’d seen him before. Narrowing my eyes, I studied his face.
“I’ve seen you before,” I hedged, avoiding the question about my research entirely.
Torin grimaced slightly before dropping his hands to his lap and blowing out a breath.
“Yes, you have.” His response was curt and laced with exhaustion, and I cocked my head in interest.
“How?”
“You don’t remember?”
I sucked at my teeth as I reluctantly shook my head.
Torin sighed. “You should read that letter”—he nodded to Sharol’s letter tucked into my belt—“then I’ll tell you everything.”
“How do you know about my letter?” Instantly my hackles raised, and Torin put his hands up in a placating gesture again.
“Just . . . trust me?”
My instinct was to say “no,” but Cotton was so relaxed on his lap, so eased in his presence that it calmed some of my defensiveness.
My hands shakily pulled the letter from my belt, and I raised my eyebrows slightly to see that Sharol’s scrawling handwriting now adorned the outside of the letter rather than the two runes that indicated “time” and “place.”
Apparently this is the time and place.
That, more than anything, bolstered my confidence. There was no reason for me not to trust Sharol—up until the point where she fled Isrun, she was always honest and trustworthy.
I opened the letter and began to read.
My dearest daughter; my Faylinn,
You’ll have to forgive me for a number of things after you read this letter, the first of which is for telling you this information in a letter rather than face-to-face.
I struck a bargain with Fate years ago and there are certain parameters with that bargain.
There are things I cannot say, and can really only write about so much.
Eventually, I hope to see you in person, but this time as my daughter, not as my student.
Maybe then I’ll be able to answer whatever questions you have.
First, as I hope your new companion has now made clear, I am your mother.
Sharol is the name I took when I moved to Isrun as a way to adapt to life in the Borderlands; life with you and your father, even if you never knew me as your mother, or Holt as your father.
As I said, we were under a bargain and could only tell you so much.
But we loved you—oh, do we love you—as much as we could without it seeming odd to anyone else. Anonymity was, and still is, paramount.
By now you’ve learned my real name. I am the Bondsmith—natural daughter of Fate and a mortal woman.
I’m sure you understand the need for secrecy now, though I did what I could to ensure that you were trained to use the power that flows through your veins.
I hope that one day we can continue our training together—as the Bondsmith and her demigod daughter. Oh the things we could do together!
Second, I cannot give you all the answers here, though I wish I could.
Yes, Holt is your father. His death broke the part of the bargain that allows me to speak freely about him once more.
I loved him with the force of a thousand suns and know that he loved you even more—you were his pride and joy, Faylinn.
The very best of both of us. Knowing you loved him the same was all he ever desired, and I know he felt it in his final moments.
Third, keep Holt’s necklace safe and out of the hands of the Warlord. My brother is hunting for it, and it is paramount that it stay hidden until the time is right. Wearing it on your neck at all times should conceal its signature enough.
Fourth, part of the bargain that another struck with Fate was for the removal of your memories. They’re there, just hidden. If you wish to have them restored, either go ask Sirak or wait for him to come to you with a journal. The timing does not matter, it is when you are ready to receive it.
I need you to trust Torin. I need you to help him rescue Ellowyn from Vespera—she doesn’t it see it right now, but she is in grave danger and I fear for Elyria if the Warlord truly discovers what she is. Aid him as best as you can and I will see you soon.
I love you, my sweet girl.
I stopped, gasped. Read it a second time. Then a third, my hands shaking so badly that it caused the paper to rustle and crackle in the quiet of my sitting room.
“What. The. Fuck?” I cried, letting the letter float to the ground at my feet, and pushed my hands through my hair.
Torin said nothing, just silently stroked Cotton while I had a complete breakdown over the truths written in Sharol’s—my mother’s, the Bondsmith’s—hand.
“I know it’s a lot to absorb,” Torin said quietly, and I scoffed in response.
“A lot to absorb?” I exclaimed manically, my hands flying from my hair to each side of my body.
“I had both a father and a mother—grew up with both of them for as long as I can remember because my memories are also gone because she gave me away when I was a young girl and then she and someone else made some deal with Fate—my grandfather—who wiped my memory. Oh, then I had to watch my father die and never fucking told him that I loved him and he had to pretend he wasn’t actually my father.
AND THEN to top it all off, the woman who was training me in runes is actually my mother, who is THE BONDSMITH.
Who also pretended like she didn’t know I was her daughter for the entirety of my adult life before she just up and left without saying anything to me!
So, yes, Torin d’Eshu, it’s a lot to fucking absorb! ”
My arms fell to my sides as I rubbed the scars on my skin. Pieces of my memory were restored through that letter, but it seemed even my mother wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell me how I got these scars.
Go ask Sirak, her letter stated.
“There’s just more questions than answers now,” I admitted quietly, the reality of the situation sitting like a ton of bricks on my shoulders. “If my mother is a goddess, what does that make me?” I wondered.
“She’s half-goddess,” Torin supplied, and I shot him a dry look. “Her father was Fate, her mother a mortal. So that would make you a quarter-goddess at most.”
He shrugged as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I blinked at him.
“I, uh, also may know the Bondsmith,” he admitted with a wince.
I blinked again.
“You what?!” I screeched, and Cotton sprang from Torin’s lap with a hiss at the sudden noise. Uncaring of my present company, I hissed in return.
Torin took one look at the manic look on my face and burst into laughter.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh,” he chuckled, but instantly sobered when I shot him what I hoped was a death glare.
“Goddess, you look like her when you do that,” he said, and I softened slightly before retreating to my corner of the couch.
“All I ever wanted was to know my mother and father—to know what was missing from my memories and how I got these.” I brandished my scars in his direction. “But it seems I’ve gotten a bit more than I bargained for.”
I blew a stray curl out of my eyes before leaning my head against the back of the couch.
We were silent for another moment.
“So tell me how it is that you know my mother—gods, that’s still weird to say. Last I knew, she fled Isrun when the rebels occupied it—right before Rohak came to our rescue.” How that felt like a lifetime ago.
Torin hummed something, but I sat suddenly straight up.
“Hold on,” I said, turning slowly to face him again. “I remember you now.”
Torin flinched at my words, turning his face slightly from me, and I instantly knew I was right.
“You were there! With the rebels! One of their generals.” I frowned. “But how are you here? How do you know her?”
“The short version is that I was always working covertly in the Last Matriarch’s army.
It was a . . . means to an end. We both had similar goals, so it made sense to work together.
She created a loyal following that I would eventually be able to take once I left.
I never wanted to kill the people in Isrun, or any village for that matter.
My issue has always been with the gods and those who would carry out their will. ”
“Like Alois,” I supplied, and Torin nodded his head curtly.
“Exactly. But I also had to pretend to be her lackey for years. She wanted you captured, actually”—I blanched at that—“but your mother offered herself instead. Once Solace and Kaos came to the Stepstones and demanded allegiance, I took over half of our fighting force and fled north to a contact I had in Lishahl. I made sure to free your mother and take her with us. Nothing good would have come from staying there . . . for either one of us.”
I sat with his words for a moment. “She’s here? In the north?”
Torin nodded his head with a small smile.
“Yes. And she sent me to you for help. The second Sundering is here.”
“Yes, I read that in her letter.” I waved the offending document at Torin, much to his amusement. “She wants me to help you get Ellowyn out of Vespera.”
Torin’s eyebrows hit his golden hairline and he barked a laugh.
“Goddess really knows everything,” he mused.
“Half-goddess,” I corrected. “She wrote this months ago, Torin. How did she—you know what, I don’t care how she knew.” I shook my head. I did care, but didn’t have the mental capacity to think about how she knew Torin would be here.
“Point still stands,” Torin said, and I rolled my eyes.
“So . . . Ellowyn?” I prodded.
“Yes. We—I—need to get her out of Vespera.”
“She’s a godling,” I deadpanned, and Torin’s lips quirked slightly.
“Yes, Rune Master. I’m aware.”
I rolled my lips. “I feel like I’m missing something important.”
“Something tells me you’ve got a large enough brain to put everything together, if given the chance.”
I hummed slightly, but didn’t disagree.
“One of my generals is in Samyr collecting . . . information. I’d be willing to share that with you in exchange for helping me with Ellowyn.”
My gaze flung to his, and I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know I’m interested in Samyr?”
“An envoy just appeared today, and your General took a Force Bonded from that group.”
“He’s not my General,” I grumbled under my breath, much to Torin’s amusement. “And how do you know all of this anyway?”
“My roommate has a proclivity to discover information that should probably be kept hidden.”
I cracked my neck and folded my mother’s letter in a small square before sticking it in my belt.
“Fine. I accept your bargain.” My eyes widened as I felt something twist in my chest. Torin’s laugh was part amusement, part disbelief.
“Granddaughter of Fate. Seems you like bargains just as much as he and your mother.”
I shook my head, not wanting to dissect that statement.
“Tell me of Samyr.”