It’s filth.

My stomach twists at the sight, not out of disgust, but because of what I’m afraid it means.

When my father leads me to the back room, my fears are realized.

There’s a lump in the bed, though I recognize immediately by her breathing patterns that my mother is not asleep. Far from it. The sun has only just set, an abnormal time for anyone to be in bed, but something about the way the closed curtains collect dust tells me this isn’t an unusual occurrence.

“Merida,” my father calls, and my chest constricts again at hearing my mother’s name on my father’s lips. I don’t think I expected to hear that again. “Merida. We have a visitor.”

No one answers, though I can’t help but notice my mother halts her breathing. As if she can make herself unnoticeable if only she goes completely still.

“Merida.” My father takes a deep breath, biting the inside of his cheek like he’s afraid of telling her the truth. Not the truth that I’m alive, but of the inevitable question that will follow.

“Maybe I should just go.” I’m panicking now, realizing what our loss has done to our mother. Our mother, who used to tend to the wounded who’d been robbed on the Serpentine. Our mother, who used to give too many wares for free to those upon whom she took pity.

I destroyed her by leaving, and then I took Zora away from her too. Not that I knew the consequences of my actions at the time.

You did this, a voice whispers to me in the back of my mind.

It’s strange. I would have thought I blamed Abra for this. I suppose now that she’s dead, there’s no one left to blame but me.

The hurt in Blaise’s eyes when I betrayed her flashes across my memory. At the time, I didn’t think I had a choice. I entered into a fae bargain with Abra the night Blaise Turned. Vowed to be her servant eternally if she would do what she could to bring Blaise back. I’d felt good about that not being a problem as soon as I realized the parasite was the one in control, not Abra.

But then Abra had pushed through.

She was so distraught over Farin, but I knew if I didn’t take my chance then, it wouldn’t be long before she remembered her command over me.

I couldn’t be a slave to Abra. Not again.

Still.

The hurt in Blaise’s eyes scalds my soul, even if it’s true that I don’t love her anymore.

Blaise has haunted me since the day I left her. It doesn’t seem love is a requirement for her to have burrowed inside my soul.

Because I remember loving her. Not how it felt—at least, I can’t feel it in real time. But I remember there was a time when I would have clawed through heaven and earth to get to her. I remember cradling her dead body and being willing to give all of myself away just to get her back.

I push the thought of Blaise away.

“No.” My father’s hand grasps my shoulder as I turn to leave. “Just… just go to her. I think it will do her good.”

He doesn’t sound convinced of his own words, but I can’t walk out on my father. So I draw near to the bed, the shadows in the pitch-black room gaping, as if they’ll swallow me whole.

“Mother,” I say. “It’s me. Nox.”

“My son is dead,” she croaks out from underneath the quilt pulled over her face.

It’s true. Her son died a long time ago.

I take in a deep breath. “I’m here, Mother. It’s me, Nox. I’m back. And I’m…” I can’t bring myself to say safe or alright or alive, so I leave it be.

“No…” She weeps from under the blanket. I frown, hesitating as I try to move it, pull it back from her face, but she flinches and hunkers down instead.

Ice spikes my heart as she does.

What have I done to her?

What have I done to my mother?

I freeze, and I don’t know what to do, but then the warmth of my father’s hand clasps at my shoulder. “She often dreams that you return. She has these moments when she first wakes when she’s thrilled, shaking me with excitement because our children are back. I think she thinks this is another dream. Another dream that will break her when she wakes.”

“What can we do?”

My father sighs. “We’ll try again tomorrow. Nighttime is difficult, and first thing in the morning is the worst, but midday is usually some better.”

Some better.

That isn’t encouraging.

But I follow my father out of the room regardless, my chest caving in as he shuts the door behind him.

My father has to go to town in the morning to pick up supplies, and because I’m a child and can’t bear the thought of staying alone at the house with my mother who isn’t my mother, I offer to come along with him.

Normally, I wouldn’t be able to go along with him during the day hours, but it’s reached the time of year in Mystral when the sun only shines for a few hours midday. Since my father is an early riser, it gives us plenty of time to walk to town and back before I have to worry about being scorched to death.

My father is chatty on the way to town, which surprises me. Talkative isn’t a quality I remember about my father. I almost find it enjoyable, except I soon realize it stems from having no one to converse with at home anymore.

When we finally reach town, I try to wait for my father in the streets. I don’t really have any desire to speak to the people I haven’t seen since I was a child. Most of the residents avoided Zora and me, believing fae twins to be cursed to destroy one another. Though now that I consider it, I suppose their superstitions weren’t so far off after all.

My father looks disappointed though, and I realize he wants to share his excitement over my return with someone, given my mother hasn’t been emotionally available. I finally give in and enter the general store with him.

It’s rather empty at this hour anyway. This must be the time my father always comes, because the store owner, a female by the name of Jean with long crimson hair that’s as straight as a board, purrs, “You’re two minutes late, Ronan.” She stares down at her ledgers from behind the counter, not bothering to look up. “I was beginning to worry I’d have to wait until tomorrow to see that handsome face of yours again.”

I clear my throat, and Jean glances up, clearly startled to see my father has brought company.

That level of startled doesn’t begin to match what creeps over her face when she sees me. “Nox,” she whispers, her voice breathy. “You’re alive.”

She looks back and forth between my father and me and bites her lip, measuring her words.

Then a stunning smile curves on her full, red lips. “Why, this is wonderful, Ronan,”

Something in the way her eyes don’t take part tells me it’s not. For her, at least.

My father offers her a friendly smile that I find quite naïve. He puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. “Showed up on my doorstep late last night. Back from the dead.”

“That’s delightful for you,” Jean says, though she’s having difficulty maintaining the levity in her tone. “I’m sure Merida is delighted.”

I feel my limbs go stiff, but my father clearly doesn’t see it as the fishing attempt that it is, because he answers, “I’m afraid Merida was too ill last night to recognize him, but we’re hopeful that she’ll feel better once the sun rises.”