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“I won’t let this get in the way of carrying out my duties.” She couldn’t keep all the bitterness out of her voice. She knew what her grandmother’s priorities were.

“I’m not—”

“I need to sleep. I have to deal with all this tomorrow on top of everything else.” Iryana's voice was pulled taut as a tightrope, but brittle and ready to break if the First pushed at all.

Her grandmother stared at her, ready to push until Iryana yielded. But as a tear slid down Iryana’s cheek, she sagged against the cushions of her chair.

“Alright, good night.”

She left her grandmother there, sitting in the dark once again, and slipped out of the room.

But she didn’t go back to bed.

Iryana slipped into her sister’s workshop, shawl wrapped tight around her nightgown against the cold. The room smelled as her sister often did: of herbs and medicine. It was comforting. The metal candle holder clanked against the table and her tea sloshed over the lip of the mug as she quickly sat them down. Her hands moved to grip the edge of the table as she tried to catch her breath.

She would be fine. This would all be fine.

But Iryana didn’t really believe it.

Sometimes she wished she could just be twenty years old. Unsure of the world and her place in it. Able to hurt and to make poor decisions. To have the room to make mistakes without knowing it would destroy her entire clan. She didn’t have that luxury.

She was a guardian. Her duty was to her people, then her clan, and then the crown—which likely didn’t even exist anymore. And duty to herself? Perhaps after everyone else was satisfied.

Iryana sank down on her haunches, arms shaking as she held onto the table like a lifeline.

She was hurting—worse than any wound she’d sustained. Her chest was tight, a heavy weight compressing her lungs, and her head pounded. The room tilted around her, like being on a rocking boat at sea. Her magics seemed to sense her turmoil, roiling inside her like they’d use the opportunity to rip themselves out. Her stomach cramped.

One breath at a time. She just needed to calm down. Lock it all away.

“Get a hold of yourself.” Her voice cracked and trembled.

She didn’t have the strength to hold herself anymore, fingers slipping off the table and scraping down the drawers of the worktable. She slid onto her butt, feet sprawling to her side.

Her mother’s words were like a song that wouldn’t stop repeating in her mind. Like a whip that wouldn’t stop slicing her.

Little owl, you’re still a child. You can’t lead the clan. You can’t take responsibility for them all. You have to see this can only go one way.

Iryana let out a pained sound, half moan and half growl.

Her mother was so sure she’d fail. So sure that Iryana wasn’t enough.

She tried to keep her breaths coming evenly, tried to focus on the worn wood beneath her hands. Tried to stay in the present.

It’s fear, she told herself. This is just fear. But she couldn’t push it down, couldn’t lock it up in a cage and brush it aside.

“Why isn’t it working!” Iryana sobbed, head hanging against her chest.

Why did she have to be so weak? So unworthy? Moving forward despite the fear, not letting her anxiety keep her from doing what needed done, was supposed to fix her. The fears were meant to get smaller, less powerful. To help her change into the heir she needed to be. But it was all an illusion of someone she would never be.

Iryana fell to her side, holding her knees to her chest as she cried.

Why was she so small?

Her eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the pain. But all it did was bring her back ten years.

“Where’s your mother?” Her father growled, his voice slurred from the remnants of his last dose of poppy. “Where is she!”

Iryana shrank, clutching the basket of potatoes she’d harvested. She was supposed to do it that morning, but she had been so frustrated that she’d climbed trees for a few hours first, watching Misha play with the flowers beneath.