Page 31 of Dark Master's Redemption

As we near the actual farmstead rather than riding through the woodlands, I hear the whinny of horses. A casual farm, my father keeps hounds and horses that he breeds for sale, while my mother obsesses about her herbs and has made a business of being the local herbalist for the nearby villages.

Never in my life had I suspected my parents of having serious military and fighting careers for the Summer Fae; though looking back on it now, it should have been clear. With all the Fae sigildry and fighting-adjacent arts they taught me, I basically learned everything they knew about warfare, only in an artistic, highly codified form.

I’m lost in those memories now as we pass the large stone and stucco barn for the horses, and the smaller hound-house beside that. We’re on a white gravel path now, one I’ve walked thousands of times from the barn to the house. As we round a stand of cypress trees, the path opens up into the wide, circular gravel drive of the Summers household.

And the massive villa of my young life, where my parents still live.

I rein up now, staring at it as a thousand emotions cascade through me. I glow with good memories of childhood running wild and free here; I twist at hard memories of going to school with humans in the nearby village, and finding out I was different from them.

Even though I didn’t know then that I had magic, I’ve learned my parents lied to me about who they were, and who I am. It casts my memories in a strange light now as I stare at the sprawling Italian manor, done in traditional villa-style with stone and stucco walls, gables full of wrought-iron balconies and large picture windows, with a red, clay-tiled roof.

Herbs and flowers drip from pots all over the large stone front veranda and porch; more spill down from the balconies, blooming in a heady late-summer riot thanks to my mother’s care with plants. I wonder now how much of that riot was created with careful use of her magic, in a way that even I would never sense nor feel growing up. She always had the perfect healing salve for any injury and the best tincture for any malady.

Another use of magic, probably, that went under my radar all these years.

I see Fae wards on the house glimmer now in beams of early sunshine that lance through the trees, cascading across the sunny porch, walls, and balconies. My father’s design, I can read many of them now in the rising light, full of complex Summer Fae incantations for protection, invisibility to danger, and to repel any human or Fae authorities who might come sniffing around.

Complex wards are written around the property also, specifically mentioning the Summer Fae King, keeping this entire place invisible to him and his people. I watch Lucca frown now as he reads those sigils, illuminated by my magic pouring over them in a dark cascade of rainbows in the morning. Quinn’s onyx gaze just peruses them.

As if they surprise him not at all.

Just then, the front door of the manor is thrown open. As my mother Illyria Amati hustles out, wiping her busy hands on her dirty formulating apron, I see how her dark eyes widen in shock to see us. Quinn, Lucca, and Alleno dismount; my mother’s dark brown eyes rove them swiftly, wide as her bright red-copper hair is tousled by the wind in its messy bun.

She’s wearing her regular ankle boots and gardening jeans, plus a blousy shirt embroidered with flowers. Though she’s always been a kind cuddle and a good time in the garden for me, plus bubbling laughter in the kitchen, I see now how her dark eyes go flinty with war to see her ex-prince Valerio Incendari before her.

And her new one, Lucca Bellari, beside him.

Her gaze pins me next, however, and stays, as she finishes wiping her hands on her apron. I watch as a thousand emotions cascade through my mother—sorrow and hardship honing her lean body and high-cheeked face, though a loving smile lifts her lips. Ignoring her princes now, she strides to me, brisk. As she comes to my horse, taking the reins and gazing up at me, I pause in the saddle.

And then the deepest feeling of truth swamps me.

I slide fast from the saddle—embracing my mother in a wave of love.

We hold each other for a long moment. I breathe her in as we embrace; as scents of camphor and rosemary swamp me, along with lavender and sage, her wild, curly red hair tickling my face, I feel myself come home.

Her arms are like loving iron as they wrap around me; I know now that her lean, strong body was honed by centuries of war—which she gave up to save Dark Fae like me from certain death at the hands of her Summer Fae King, Archivolio Bellari.

My mother was a war general, and it makes me understand now why she was always so brisk, stern, and impeccable. She loved all things bright and good, too, though. It’s this side of her I’ve loved all my life, as I feel now how incredible her heart is.

And all the love she’s saved in the world—by saving Dark Fae like me.

“Figlia mia! Mia carissima.” My mother always speaks her native Italian when emotions overcome her; though English is the dominant language in both the Twilight Realm and the human world now, my mother comes from an older time in Fae culture.

It was a time when Italian was created for its musical beauty and later made its way into the human world. She pulls back now to cup my face in her hands, always soft thanks to her ointments, kissing me sweetly on the lips and cheeks. “Welcome home.”

“Mamma,” I say as joy fills me, despite everything, and I kiss her cheeks as well. “I missed you.”

“How I’ve missed you, too, Aria!” Illyria breaks into her dramatic nature now as her dark eyes fill with unshed tears. She kisses me again, shaking my face like a bad puppy for being gone from her. But I see now her deep worry for me while I was away; heartbreak and overpowering joy fill her as I feel her emotions cascade through her in a riot, thanks to my magic.

Her magic spills out of her now, in an inundating wave I’ve never felt before. My mother’s Summer Fae power scalds me as it pours through me, lighting up the air in rose and gold rainbows all around.

It blasts through the morning in a sudden wave of heat. I feel the blare of war horns in it, and the deep peace of the morning garden also, as it showers me in an intense radiance I’ve never felt from her. It’s fighting, and it’s harmony, and all things in-between as she hauls me into a hard hug again, holding on now like she’s never going to let me go. I feel my magic resonate with it, now that the charm to hide my Dark Fae energy is finally broken.

And realize I’ve felt my mother’s power in her strong, indomitable energy—all this time.

As she laughs in our embrace now, raspy like a war general and happy as the sun, I laugh, too. I grip her harder and hear her hitch a sob as I do, as well.

Never have I felt so complete as I do now, understanding my mother and who she’s been, who she’s had to be all these years. She did it for me, I know now. She gave up using her magic for nearly thirty years, all to keep me safe. And though not my birth mother, I know no one in all the universe could have raised me better as I feel in my heart that she’s my true mother, no matter who birthed me.

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