I should knock when I reach the old house, but I don’t. The door slams with the force of my entrance, the resulting thud loud enough to shake the walls. I pay it no mind, aiming straight for the cabinet where Mom keeps the bottles of stuff strong enough to start forest fires.

  A creak from the couch tells me someone sits up, but I don’t turn.

  “Who in the seven realms—Vitani?”

  Mama’s voice laps at my back. I ignore her, raising onto tiptoe and snagging the neck of a bottle still half-full after this year’s Solstice Festival.

  The floors groan as Mama finds her feet. “Honey, what are you doing?”

  I don’t know, but I’m not about to think about it, either. I pull the cork and drink deep, stopping only when the burn scorches my throat.

  “Vitani!”

  I turn at last, finding Mama’s hulking form standing listlessly in front of our old, faded couch. Her hands clench at her sides, the orcish tattoos along her biceps rippling with concern. Her eyes find mine, so full of the kind of love I don’t deserve that the liquor threatens to come right back up.

  I wipe my mouth on a sleeve. “I didn’t mean to barge in like that. I just…I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Mama’s mouth pulls down around her tusks. She looks like she found me all over again, an infant pulled off the scorching remains of her family’s ruins. “Oonga! Can you come out here, please?”

  Heavy footsteps thunder towards us. Mom appears, a half-orc like Mama and every bit as sturdy. “Burgg, is everything—Vitani?”

  “Hi.” I sag against the cabinet. “Sorry to drop in on you like this.”

  Mom and Mama share a glance, one I’ve seen too many times in the past year.

  “Don’t,” I say before one of them can start. “I’m fine and no one is hurt. I’m just going to be moving back in for a while. If that’s okay.”

  Mama crosses her arms over her muscled chest. “Of course it is, but what about Kaith? Did you two have a fight?”

  I burst out laughing, then take another swig before his face can invade my mind’s eye. Before I see the pain I caused scrawl across his expression all over again. “I wish we had a fight. That would make me feel so much better.”

  “Okay, so what happened?”

  I glance towards the windows, at the early summer day and the sun that coats the grass outside. Wrong, all of it so wrong. There should be storms and rain, howling winds so strong the trees protest. Something to reflect the tightness in my chest, an ache so acute I can hardly stand it.

  Both Mom and Mama stare, waiting for my answer. They’re going to learn the truth sooner or later, especially if Kaith decides to stay in the village of his own accord and not because of me, as I’ve long suspected.

  So I square my shoulders and fight the turning in my stomach. “He told me he loved me. And I couldn’t take lying to him anymore, so I broke his fucking heart instead.”

  The bottle sloshes as I drink deep. Mom opens her mouth, probably ready with words of comfort, but I don’t want them. I don’t want another speech about how I’ll move on eventually, return to something like myself even in the wake of the yawning absence I was never meant to feel.

  It didn’t work last time, and it certainly won’t work now.

  I shove off the cabinet and aim down the hall, towards the bedroom that used to be mine. Mama watches me go, and Mom turns aside to let me pass. Panic flares in their eyes, no doubt seeing all of the people I used to numb the pain before Kaith came along. So many faces they couldn’t keep count, Mama said, but that’s not true. Because she hurled it at me not two weeks later: eight people in two months isn’t like you, Vitani. Let us help.

  I didn’t want their help then and I certainly don’t want it now. So I duck my head and take the bottle with me, shutting the door before anyone can say what I already know.

  #

  I don’t get out of bed for three days. Don’t leave my room for another two and by the time I wander into the kitchen with a blanket over my head, a week has passed. Both Mom and Mama sit on the couch when I emerge, but they keep whatever thoughts they may have to themselves. They simply watch as I walk up to our big dining table, glance at the dinner plate left out for me, and decide I want nothing to do with food.

  “Vitani.”

  Mama’s tone has me considering jumping out the kitchen window. It’s straight from my childhood, one that says I know you weren’t at the schoolhouse this late, or how did you think eating so many blackberries you threw up was a good idea?

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  I spin on my toes. Mama points at the chair closest to the fireplace.

  It’s not a question. And though I haven’t lived at home for months, though I’ve been old enough to make my own decisions for years, there’s no room for disagreement in her expression.

  I bow my head, walk into the living room, and flop into the chair.

  Mom settles a hand on Mama’s knee. The gesture looks comforting, but I know them too well to believe that. It’s a cautionary touch, a reminder not to be too gruff with me. Because I’m breakable now, and she’s terrified of sending me into another spiral.

  “Vitani,” Mom starts. “How are you feeling today?”

  I look down at myself, still in the same clothes I put on three days ago. A red oval discolors the shirt halfway down, courtesy of a tomato that split between my teeth, and the seam of my pants is fraying something awful.

  I lift my head. “How do I look like I’m feeling?”

  “Don’t be funny,” Mama says. “Not when you haven’t seen sunlight since you got home.”

  My jaw snaps shut with a click.

  Mom sighs. “What she’s trying to say is that you can’t keep going like this. You’re not okay, and more than that—you’re not getting better. We’ve been talking, and we think—we’ve decided—that the village isn’t a healthy place for you anymore.”

  A flush heats my cheeks, the sensation unpleasant. “You’re kicking me out?”

  Mama shakes her head. “No. You’re always welcome here, you know that. But we couldn’t say we loved you if we let you carry on this way. I know how bad things got after—”

  A hiss slides between my teeth, cutting her off. Rushing erupts in my head, what I think might be my very soul protesting this conversation.

  Mom lets the silence sit for a long moment. “We didn’t say anything two years ago, and we kept our thoughts to ourselves while you healed in whatever way made the most sense to you. But now you’re right where you started, and I for one am not going to watch you slide back into a person that you’re not.”

  Tingling in my fingers alerts me to the pull of magic. I shove it down, instead letting my gaze slide from Mom to Mama and back again.

  It’s Mama who continues. “There’s a city several weeks to the north called Whirris. I think it would do you some good to spend time there. You can decide what you want to do moving forward, rather than take the least painful option that floats through the village. Gods know there’s nothing left for you here, and what does come along is unlikely to be worthy of you, anyway.”

  It’s such a them solution I can’t believe I didn’t see it coming. Of course they think leaving is best for me; they spent years of their lives doing what good they could for complete strangers. In fact, they made something of a name for themselves before they left it all in favor of a devil-child with no family and no one to care for her.

  Mama lifts a pack from between her feet and sets it on the rug between us. It’s her old travel bag, the leather worn and the cloth scuffed. From the way the fabric moves, I can tell she’s packed it already.

  My throat constricts. I think of her painstakingly setting things in the bag, sealing rations the way she used to do for schoolyard lunches and rolling clothes so I can have my pick of outfits when I reach the city. There’s love in the act, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t flinch from the blatant display of affection.

  “I put your dancing things inside.” Mama’s nose moves like she’s trying not to sniff, and I wonder if I can’t read her as well as I used to. If this is harder for her than her stone expression and steeled eyes lets me believe. “I know you haven’t touched an instrument since—I mean, it’s been a while, but I hope you can find joy in it again. Maybe you can use someone else’s music to bring you back to your own.”

  “Mama…” I’m going to cry, and I clench my teeth to keep the tears back. I’ve shed too many of them in the last year to waste them now.

  Mom smiles, the expression sad. She reaches for the floor beside the couch and pulls out my old sword belt. With gentle hands, she sets it beside the pack. “I know you haven’t trained much lately, but you’re strong and you’re capable. I don’t imagine you’ll have much trouble getting yourself back home when you’re ready.”

  I can’t speak, the lump in my throat too thick. So I simply nod, and hope they understand.

  Mama takes a deep breath. “We sent some letters. Tuuliki has agreed to go with you, as has your Aunt Grogg.”

  Every nerve in my body stands at attention—at the thought of not diving headlong into the unknown alone, yes, but at the names, too. “I thought Tuuliki was following the wind, or whatever it is that wood elves do when we’re not looking.”

  Mama chuckles. “She’s family. She comes around when she needs to.”

  “And Grogg?”

  The expression falls. “Grogg might need a new beginning as much as you do.”

  I nod, knowing better than to push her for more. The subject of Mama’s sister has been a sore one as long as I can remember, even if my memories of her are full of laughter and shouted songs, rides on her massive shoulders and games played beneath the trees.

  “There’s a ranger who has agreed to lead you to Whirris,” Mama continues. “You leave tomorrow.”

  “So soon?”

  She shrugs. “How much longer do you want to wear a blanket as a cloak and refuse to eat?”

  The jab lands, and I sink further into the chair. “I’ll get my things, then.”

  I stand and start back towards the hall. Mom rises, taking a step to plant herself in front of me. “This isn’t farewell forever. Just for now.”

  I crane my head to look up at her, a full foot and then some taller than I am. “I know. You only want what’s best for me.”

  “We want you happy.” Mama rises too, moving to stand beside Mom. She wraps one arm around Mom’s shoulders and squeezes. “And I don’t think it’s a secret that you haven’t been in a long time.”

  I shake my head. “It feels like running.”

  “Sometimes running is the only option.”

  “Just until you get to a place where you can regroup.” Mom reaches for me, placing her hand on my head like she used to do when I was little. “You can’t catch your breath while still in the fight. You need to make space and try again.”

  I nod, and suddenly I’m in the sparring ring at seven years old, sweat dripping into my eyes and my muscles aching. I’ve been fighting for so long, I don’t know how to stop it, to dance around the bone-crushing ache or kick away from memory.

  But both Mom and Mama have something like hope in their eyes, and I’ll throw myself into the fireplace before I crush it again.