#promiseofinheritance

“I was so overjoyed to meet you,” she’d say with that intense, almost manic, look in her green-brown eyes that Moira reserved just for her daughter. 

When Moira looks at Sorcha like that she can see the years of struggle and anguish that had come before her birth reflected in the depths of her mother’s eyes. Her brother looks at her that way too sometimes, but his look is sadder and tastes like grief on her tongue. The memory of six lost siblings between them. 

When her daughter is placed in Sorcha’s arms it is not joy that she feels. Warmth doesn’t blossom in her chest like it had with her sons. Love does not come to overwhelm her, at least not at first. Holding her daughter for the first time tastes to Sorcha like nothing so much as relief. Two sons and a daughter. She has done her duty. It is finally enough. 

There will be no more prayers for fertility, no more promises to herself that this man, this man shall be the last. Finally her yearly midsummer promise to herself will not be a lie to be broken in a year’s time. Finally her body is her own. 

“Are you alright darling? You look pale,” her mother interupts her thoughts coming in to take the baby from her arms and looking at her with concern. “Do you need something for the pain?” 

“I am well,” Sorcha says, attempting a smile. “Just nauseous.” 

“I’ll bring you peppermint root tea.” 

Moira made her own sacrifices as First Daughter before her. Sorcha will not make her mother feel guilty for asking the same of her. ‘

Oriana

Daughter of House Eleebha. Magi of Sarae. Master Healer. Shapeshifter. Scholar. Survivor. 

For the first time in her life, Oriana, Daughter of House Eleebha, Magi of Sarae, Master of Healing and Anatomy, feels a stab of doubt. All around her is ashes. She is the last Magi of Eleebha, and one of the last Magi of Sarae. They must flee, abandon their pride and their home for a hope of survival. She was born into this life, her family celebrated her gift instead of mourning it. It was her mother who taught Oriana the words of the blood oath she must make to the Duc of Sarae. Now the roar of the oath in her blood is nothing more than a whisper and she knows that for the first time since she was seven years old she has a choice. 

Lillia

Prince. Lady. Commander. Woman. Warrior. Blessed and cursed by the gods. Heir to the throne. 

She hates him for his incompetence,and the danger it puts their family and people in. She hates him for his arrogance. She hates that he will not step down. That he thinks it’s his right to rule, rather than his duty. She hates that she cannot make him understand. But despite all, she cannot forget that for many years he was the only one in their family to call her by her true name and acknowledge her as a woman. She cannot forget that he has always scoffed at those who insist if she is a woman she should give up her command and lay down her sword; and she cannot help but love him for it.