The Vampire & Her Witch

Maela’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched the flame-haired knight pull open the heavy wooden door of the Gilded Horns.

The sounds of the merchant quarter of Lothian City fell away, and Maela’s head felt light, like it had been stuffed with cotton, as she crossed the threshold. The sounds of her footsteps on the polished wooden floors seemed muffled, or drowned out by the thudding in her chest.

They were here.

Right in front of her, standing side by side, they were both here.

Ashlynn had dressed simply for the occasion in a well-made, cream-colored blouse with billowing sleeves tied at her wrists that paired with a flowing brown skirt to give the impression that she was a successful merchant or the housewife of one rather than a mighty witch or empress. Her pale blond hair had been gathered into a simple ponytail, tied with a wide green silk ribbon that matched her emerald eyes, and every bit of her seemed comfortable as she was.

Next to her, Jocelynn was dressed more plainly than Maela could remember seeing her daughter in years. The deep blue dress she wore looked comfortable, made of fine wool rather than silk, with only a trace of embroidery around the modest neckline to give the suggestion of crashing waves.

Maela froze just three steps into the foyer of the Gilded Horns, taking in the sight of her girls while feeling like she was drifting in a dream.

Ashlynn looked like she was well, better, perhaps, than Maela had ever seen her at their home in Blackwell. Jocelynn, on the other hand, looked like she’d lost something precious, and in her misty seafoam eyes, Maela saw a heartbreaking spectre of fear that had never once belonged to her youngest child.

Somewhere in the back of Maela’s mind, a sinister wave rose up in response to the look of fear she saw in Jocelynn’s eyes. The wave carried with it a deep satisfaction at seeing her daughter looking so frightened and a strong desire to lash out at Jocelynn for what she had done to Ashlynn and how her stupid, petty jealousy had all but destroyed their family.

Maela had never once struck her children, but the instant she saw Jocelynn, part of her very much wanted to.

The dark wave crashed over her heart, and Maela stood firm, refusing to budge from the spot where she stood while she let those cruel impulses fade away.

They were here.

She was here.

They were only separated by a few paces of polished wooden floor.

After all these months...

”My little sanderlings...” Maela said as tears filled her eyes, giving her a momentary vision of two younger girls who had chased each other across the dunes in the tall sea-grass of Blackwell Bay under Maela’s watchful eye.

Together again.

Whatever had happened, they were together again.

Without conscious thought, Maela’s arms drifted upward, and her body moved half a step forward, breaking the fragile stillness that kept her and her daughters apart.

That moment of movement was all Ashlynn needed. Her left hand slid behind Jocelynn’s back, tapping her lightly before gently pulling her forward as Ashlynn threw her right arm wide to wrap around their mother.

In the blink of an eye, Maela had both daughters in her arms as all three of them clung to each other. No one spoke because none of them had words for the waves of feeling crashing through their hearts... But none of them needed words to feel the impact of those waves through the bodies they held close.

Ashlynn had changed, Maela realized as a mother’s instincts cataloged the feeling of the daughter she’d wrapped her left arm around.

Growing up, Ashlynn had always been a touch soft in all the ways that would normally fill a mother’s heart with worry while filling the hearts of young lords with an abundance of desire. Her sheltered life in Blackwell Manor meant she spent little time riding, sailing among the isles or attending the countless dances her younger sister had. The withdrawn, bookish life she’d led had never been one that would imbue a body with great strength.

Clearly, in the months since her tragic wedding day, much had changed for Maela’s eldest daughter. Beneath the loose blouse and flowing skirt, Maela felt a strength and firmness that rivaled that of the fishermen’s wives and working women of Blackwell Bay. The arm that Ashlynn wrapped around her held tight and firm, and there were calluses on her hand that had never been there before.

More than anything, there was a core of strength and resilience in Ashlynn’s embrace that Maela had never felt from her eldest before, as if she were hugging a mighty tree that could withstand the fiercest winds and rain.

In that moment of embrace, Maela felt a safety and serenity that no amount of prayer in the convent had ever brought her, no matter how hard she worked to open her heart to the Holy Lord of Light.

”Ash...” she whispered around a choked-off sob.

”Mother...” Ashlynn said softly as she leaned her head into her mother’s shoulder, crying openly the way she had as a child. ”I missed you...”

”I missed you too...” Maela said, reaching up to stroke Ashlynn’s pale blonde hair and gently kissing the crown of her head.

But while she felt strength, resilience, and deep, unrestrained love from the daughter in her left arm, the daughter she held with her right felt as fragile as blown glass.

The thick wool of Jocelynn’s dress couldn’t conceal how thin she felt in her mother’s embrace, and Maela’s hand trembled as she felt her daughter’s ribs distinctly through the soft fabric.

Jocelynn’s embrace was light and delicate, restrained in a way that spoke of fear and hurt. Maela’s arm tightened around her youngest daughter, clinging to her as if she was afraid the waves of emotion crashing over them would sweep Jocelynn away like a piece of driftwood on the shore.

”Jocey,” Maela said, reaching up to cup her daughter’s cheek and gently pulling Jocelynn’s face forward so she could bestow a light kiss on her daughter’s brow.

”Mother’s here now,” Maela whispered. ”Everything’s going to be all right...”