I dreamed of my mother.
Not a memory. I'd never known her, never seen her face except in the one painting my grandmother had kept hidden in a trunk.
But in the dream, she was vivid. Real.
She stood in a temple I'd never seen, wearing robes of gold and white. The amulet — my amulet — hung around her neck, glowing softly.
And she was crying.
"I'm sorry," she said, though I couldn't tell if she was speaking to me or someone else. "I'm so sorry. But I can't. I can't be what they want me to be."
A man stepped into view beside her. Tall, dark-skinned like me, with kind eyes and a warrior's bearing.
My father. Had to be.
"Then we leave," he said. "Tonight. Before they can stop us."
"They'll hunt us." My mother's voice was shaking. "They'll never stop hunting us."
"Then we run. And we keep running. And maybe, someday, we find a place where we can just... be."
She touched her stomach, and I realized she was pregnant.
With me.
"He'll be a bastard," she whispered. "Born outside of everything. Never knowing where he came from. Never belonging anywhere."
"He'll be free." My father took her hand. "Isn't that worth more than belonging?"
"I don't know." She looked at the amulet, at the weight of it. "I don't know if anything is worth this."
The dream shifted.
My mother, older now, thinner, holding a baby. Holding me.
She was dying. I could see it in her grey skin, her labored breathing.
"Esira." She was speaking to my grandmother, who looked younger but no less hard. "Promise me. Promise me you'll keep him safe. Away from them. Away from all of this."
"You're asking me to raise the child of your betrayal." My grandmother's voice was cold. "The living proof of your cowardice."
"I'm asking you to raise my son." My mother's voice cracked. "Please. He's innocent. He didn't choose this."
"Neither did you. But you made your choices anyway."
"And I'd make them again." My mother's eyes blazed with sudden fire. "Every single one. Because he deserves to live. To choose his own path. Not to be chained to a destiny he never wanted."
She pressed the amulet into my grandmother's hands, then the baby — me — into her arms.
"Tell him I loved him. That I chose him. That everything I did was to give him a chance at freedom."
"What if he doesn't want freedom?" My grandmother's voice was bitter. "What if he wants to belong? To have a place? To not be alone?"
"Then he'll have to make his own choices. Just like I did."
My mother's eyes closed.
And didn't open again.
The dream dissolved.
---
I woke to grey dawn light filtering through the shutters and Sebtenius's steady breathing beside me.
The journal was clutched against my chest. I didn't remember grabbing it before I fell asleep, but there it was.
My mother's words. Her truth.
I wanted to open it. Wanted to read what she'd written, understand who she'd been.
But I was also terrified. Because what if I didn't like what I found? What if she really was a coward and a thief, like Rables said? What if all her talk of love and choice was just justification for running away?
The door opened softly, and Tet's face appeared in the gap.
"You're awake. Good. We need to talk. All of us."
I slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to wake Sebtenius, and followed Tet to the kitchen.
Aret was already there, looking like he hadn't slept at all. A map was spread across the table, marked with routes and locations I didn't recognize.
"Here's the situation," Aret said without preamble. "By now, the nobles know you killed one of their assassins. They know you can use the amulet. They'll be hunting you with everything they have."
"Reassuring," I muttered.
"It gets worse." Aret pointed to a mark on the map. "This is where we are. This" — he traced a line — "is the fastest route out of Arazon. But it's also the most obvious. They'll have patrols on every main road by midday."
"So we don't take the main roads," Tet said.
"The back routes are slower. More dangerous. And they'll still be looking." Aret's expression was grim. "Our best bet is to head north, toward Kushna. There are old Serpent outposts there. People who might help."
"Might," I said. "That word again."
"It's all I can give you." Aret met my eyes. "The truth is, most of the Serpents are dead or in hiding. The nobles have been systematically hunting us for years. Since before Awsar was killed. They've been planning this for a long time."
"Planning what, exactly?"
"A return to the old ways." Tet's voice was heavy. "When nobles ruled as god-kings. Before the covenant. Before the sun holders. They want absolute power, and the only thing standing in their way is the proof that divine choosing is real."
"The amulet," I said.
"You," Aret corrected. "The amulet is just metal. But you — a bastard who can channel sun magic, who carries the mark of Kii Hore — you're proof that the choosing isn't about bloodlines or nobility. That anyone can be called. That power doesn't belong to them by right of birth."
"So they have to kill me."
"They have to kill you," Aret confirmed. "Or turn you. Make you work for them. Prove that the sun chose wrong, or that the choosing was a lie all along."
The weight of it settled over me like a shroud.
"What if they're right?" The words came out before I could stop them. "What if I'm not chosen? What if my mother just stole the amulet and I'm nobody? Just a bastard playing with magic I don't understand?"
"Then you'll die," Aret said bluntly. "But at least you'll die on your feet instead of on your knees."
"Aret..." Tet's voice held a warning.
"What? You want me to lie to the boy? Fill his head with destiny and purpose?" Aret laughed, sharp and bitter. "He's old enough for the truth. The truth is, we don't know if he's chosen. Don't know if the sun gives a damn about any of us. All we know is that he has the amulet, and he can use it, and that makes him either a weapon or a target."
"Or both," I said quietly.
"Or both." Aret nodded. "So the question is: what are you going to do about it?"
I looked at the map. At the routes leading away from everything I'd ever known. At the marks indicating danger, uncertainty, possible death.
Then I looked at my hands. The hands that had held the amulet. That had killed a man. That had touched my grandmother's cooling skin.
"I want to read the journal first," I said. "My mother's words. Before I decide anything, I need to know what she thought. What she knew."
"We don't have time..." Aret started.
"Make time." My voice was harder than I expected. "You want me to make life and death decisions? Fine. But I'm doing it with all the information I can get. And that starts with understanding who my mother was and why she ran."
Tet and Aret exchanged glances.
"One hour," Aret said finally. "You get one hour to read. Then we move, whether you're ready or not."
"Deal."
I went back to Sebtenius's room. He was awake now, sitting on the edge of the bed, and he looked up when I entered.
"They're planning to move me," I said. "Out of Arazon. Away from everything."
"I'm coming with you." It wasn't a question.
"Sebtenius..."
"Don't." He stood, and his face was set. Determined. "Don't tell me it's too dangerous. Don't tell me to stay here where it's safe. You're my brother. Where you go, I go."
"Your father..."
"My father lied to me for seventeen years. He doesn't get to make decisions for me anymore." There was hurt in his voice, but also steel. "I'm not a child. And I'm not staying behind while you walk into danger alone."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he was being stupid, that this wasn't his fight, that he'd just get hurt.
But I also didn't want to face this alone.
"Okay," I said. "Okay. You can come."
Relief flooded his face. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. You might regret it."
"Probably." He smiled, small and sad. "But at least I'll regret it with you."
I sat on the bed and opened the journal.
My mother's handwriting was elegant, careful. The writing of someone who'd been educated, who valued words.
The first entry was dated seventeen years and nine months before I was born.
Today I was chosen. The sun spoke to me in dreams and visions, and the priests say I am marked. I don't feel marked. I feel terrified. How am I supposed to lead a kingdom when I can barely lead myself?
I turned the page, and Sebtenius sat beside me, reading over my shoulder.
Together, we began to learn who my mother had been.
And what she'd given up to give me life.