Page 22 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
The simple words pierce through my defenses deeper than I expect. Of course they noticed our absence—we've spent every day together for weeks now, our routines intertwining until their presence has become as natural as breathing. The fact that Brynn cared enough to seek us out, that she noticed when we disappeared from their daily orbit, makes something tight in my chest loosen just slightly.
I manage a weak smile, falling back on humor because it's easier than admitting how grateful I am to see them. "You missed us."
Brynn rolls her eyes, but the faint color that rises in her cheeks betrays her, and under different circumstances, I might tease her more about it. Instead, I step aside to let them in, and immediately see the moment when Brynn's gaze finds Nya curled on the bed.
Her expression shifts instantly, all traces of playful embarrassment vanishing as maternal concern takes over. Rhea pushes past both of us without hesitation, her young face serious as she approaches the bed.
"Hey, Nya," she says softly, settling cross-legged on the floor beside the bed so she's at eye level with her friend. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," Nya manages, but she turns her head toward Rhea's voice, and I catch the faint smile that touches her lips despite her obvious discomfort.
Brynn steps closer to me, close enough that I catch the familiar scent of ink and parchment that always clings to her hair, mixed with something warmer—the soap she uses, maybe, or just her own natural sweetness. For one inappropriatemoment, I find myself thinking about kissing her, about burying my face in her neck and letting her warmth chase away the cold fear that's been eating at me all day.
I shake off the thought immediately. My daughter is sick, possibly getting sicker, and I'm thinking about kissing a woman who's made it clear she doesn't trust me. The guilt of it burns almost as hot as Nya's fever.
"Is she okay?" Brynn asks quietly, her voice pitched low so the girls won't overhear.
I rub a hand over my face, feeling the rough scratch of stubble I haven't bothered to shave in two days. "This is part of her sickness," I admit, the words tasting bitter. "She has episodes like this sometimes."
Brynn's brow furrows, and I see the questions forming in her eyes. Questions I've been avoiding, truths I've been carefully dancing around since we arrived in Eryndral. But looking at Nya's pale face, at the way Rhea gently brushes her fingers through Nya's dark hair while murmuring something too soft for me to catch, I realize I can't keep hiding the truth from Brynn, telling her selective bits.
Not when she's looking at my daughter with such fierce, protective concern. Not when her presence here feels like a lifeline I didn't know I needed.
"Syrelle used a lot of drugs while she was pregnant," I confess, the words coming out rougher than I intended. "Aviid powder, especially. She partied constantly, and the drugs..." I swallow hard, forcing myself to continue. "They weakened Nya. Gave her what the healers call magic sickness. Sometimes her body can't process mana properly, and it builds up until she has an episode like this."
Brynn's face goes through a series of expressions—shock, understanding, and then a blazing anger that takes me by surprise.
"She did that to her own child?" The words come out as a whisper, but there's steel beneath them, a mother's rage at the thought of someone harming an innocent child. "While she was pregnant?"
The protective fury in her voice touches something deep in my chest, something I didn't realize was still raw after all these years. Syrelle never showed that kind of fierce concern for Nya, not once in the six years she lived after our daughter's birth. She treated Nya like an inconvenience at best, a burden that interfered with her pursuit of pleasure and status.
But here's Brynn, barely knowing us for a few weeks, ready to fight anyone who would hurt my daughter.
"I need to get her a remedy," I say, pushing down the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. "The apothecary should have something that can help."
"I'll stay with her," Brynn says immediately, and the certainty in her voice makes my throat tight. "You shouldn't leave her alone."
I want to argue, to insist that I can handle this myself the way I've handled everything else for the past two years. But looking at Brynn's determined expression, at the way she's already moving toward the bed where Rhea continues to comfort Nya with quiet words and gentle touches, I realize I don't want to refuse her offer.
I don't want to face this alone anymore.
"Thank you," I manage, and the words feel inadequate for what she's offering.
There's a small apothecary shop in the center of town. I rush there as fast as I can, magic thrumming beneath my steps to keep me from slipping on the ice. I've spent so many years in shops like this that I know exactly what I need to get.
In less than half an hour, I return from Thalen's shop with a small vial of pale blue liquid, a packet of herbs that shouldhelp ease Nya's breathing, and the ground powder that's always helped. But when I push the door open, I stop in the doorway of our room and feel my world shift on its axis.
Rhea has somehow convinced Nya to let her climb onto the bed, and now she's curled up beside my daughter, her wild curls mixing with Nya's straight dark hair on the pillow. Brynn sits on the edge of the bed between them, one hand resting protectively on Nya's forehead while she tells some story that makes Nya's lips curve into a weak but genuine laugh.
The scene doesn't even feel ready. Not painful, but overwhelming in its rightness. Brynn's voice is soft and warm as she weaves her tale, something about a mischievous iypin who steals honey from a baker's kitchen, and Nya's violet eyes are bright with interest despite her fever. Rhea adds dramatic sound effects at appropriate moments, making Nya giggle in a way that eases the tight knot of fear that’s been choking me.
They look like a family. Not the cold, brittle arrangement I had with Syrelle, full of sharp edges and careful distances, but something warm and real and effortless. Brynn's ink-stained fingers stroke Nya's hair with the kind of gentle confidence that speaks of natural maternal instinct, while Rhea's presence seems to give Nya strength just by being near.
This is what I've been searching for without even knowing it—not just a place for Nya to be safe and healthy, but a place where she can be loved. Where we can both be loved, completely and without reservation.
A place where people care about my daughter enough to stay once I'm back. Who sit next to her as the medicine finally helps. Who curl around her little frame like Rhea does or brushes her hair back Brynn after she falls asleep. Who are with me as I try to calm my racing heart and make myself see she's going to be alright.
I cannot imagine giving this up. Cannot imagine walking away from the woman who looks at my daughter like she's precious, who dropped everything to stay with her when she was sick, who blazes with protective fury at the thought of anyone hurting her.
