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“I just realized I don’t know anything about your childhood or family,” I said. “Except that Anka is your aunt. Given both of you are strong mages, I’m assuming your family is a mage family based in the capital?”
She took a moment to answer, my curiosity rising further with each second of silence. Was I wrong? Was it possible that two powerful mages had come by chance from the same weak family?
“Yes,” she said at last. “I come from Tarona.”
I nodded, examining her face for any hint as to why that history gave her pause. It was the most common story for mages, especially master mages.
“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” I asked. It was the one part of her childhood I would envy her, if so.
She shook her head. “My mother wasn’t the maternal sort.”
I frowned, trying to parse out the layers of meaning in the statement. Did she have a bad relationship with her mother?
“She was an elements mage, like me, but not a master. She resented that.”
“Did she resent your passing the exam, then?” I asked in a small voice.
“Resent it?” Amara laughed. “Quite the opposite. I only took it so early at her endless insistence. She was convinced I could achieve everything she had failed to achieve herself.”
From her expression of distaste, it was obvious a young Amara hadn’t appreciated the pressure.
“You keep sayingwas,” I said tentatively. “Has she changed, or is she…?”
“She passed away many years ago,” Amara said, matter-of-factly.
I blinked, trying to process that information. It was rare for a mage to die so young given their access to powerful healers. Even the regular populace rarely passed away so young unless they had a sudden accident or a chronic condition that required constant healing.
“I’m sorry,” I ventured at last.
She closed her eyes for a moment, but when she opened them, there was no sign of moisture.
“It was a tragic waste of both a life and a gift that could have helped so many.” She sighed. “But my mother was never interested in helping others. Her whole life was consumed by bitterness at the status and power she wasn’t able to achieve. She married my father, a healing mage—despite looking down on healers—because he was a master. Something he didn’t realize until after they were married.”
She shook her head, whether at her mother’s coldness or her father’s foolishness in falling for it, I wasn’t sure.
She gazed ahead, her eyes fixed on Acorn’s ears as she continued her story. “When he first tested me and discovered I had her affinity and his strength, she was triumphant—she’d achieved her aim, and she was determined I would be her pass to power and influence.”
“That’s awful,” I whispered.
I knew what it was like to have a parent who twisted themselves with bitterness, but at least my father had always treated me with affection. Even his betrayal had been because he wanted to keep me with him.
Almost against my will, I felt a crack in the wall of my own bitterness and resentment. My father had done something terrible, but did that mean I had to poison all my memories of the good moments?
Amara looked sideways at me, a wry smile twisting her mouth. “You can see why I don’t talk about my parents much. My father, at least, is warm and loving, but he never knew how to stand up to her. I’ve been telling him for years that he should marry again, but I think he’s lost trust in himself after making such a terrible first choice.”
I nodded, not sure what to say. Everything she was describing was entirely outside my experience.
“Since you’re too polite to ask, I’ll just tell you how she died,” Amara said after a protracted silence. “It was after I’d left Tarona, so I only heard about it afterward. I wasn’t surprised, though. She was always pushing her ability, convinced she was capable of more than she really was. She knew she couldn’t win renown by being the strongest, so she was always attempting experiments, trying to discover something new.”
She paused to shake her head, and I thought uncomfortably of the strange way I used my healing ability. It had never been my intention to win any sort of renown by being different.
“She was out on the Viridian River, apparently,” Amara continued. “I don’t know exactly what she was attempting, but she pushed herself too far and lost consciousness. When she toppled into the water, some fishermen saw her, but by the time they fished out her body and got it to a healer, it was too late for resuscitation.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeated again, and she merely nodded in reply.
Amara had clearly had a complicated and acrimonious relationship with her mother, but that didn’t mean she’d wanted her to die. How had she felt when she got the news? I didn’t dare ask.
“So now you know why I’ve never had any interest in politics,” Amara said in a lighter voice after the silence had lengthened and softened. “Being hungry for power doesn’t serve anyone—not even yourself in the long run.”
