Page 171 of First Ritual

Shame.

Lost experiences.

My mother was crouched on the ground. She’d emptied her stomach again. “I’m pregnant.”

Rowaness rested a hand on her back. “I see that. But what has caused your anguish, daughter.”

Hazeluna sobbed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Good thing that I always know what to do then,” was the reply.

That yielded a soft laugh from Huxley and my mother.

“Not this time,” she said sadly, sitting back on her haunches. “He came here, nearly to this exact spot, one year ago.”

Grandmother sat on a nearby rock, and I picked another to do the same.

“His name was not in a language I could understand, but he spoke mine. He said his name meant Without Hope, and he was dying.” She shook her head. “He had one year to live. There was something to him, Mother… I—

“Is he dead?” my grandmother gritted out. “Or do I need to kill him?”

My mother’s shoulders shook. “He’s dead.” She covered her mouth. “He would be here if he was not dead. I had hoped—but he warned me the last visit was his end.”

A shocked silence filled the ravine.

“You loved him,” my grandmother whispered.

“I did, and he is gone now. Gone when I need him most. How will I protect my daughters?”

I watched as a power seized my grandmother. I’d never experienced my grandmother without that power when she was alive, but now I saw how it came to be.

I saw the moment Rowaness decided she would die to protect her grandchildren.

“You needn’t worry about that,” she said with a savage grin. It faded as she watched her sobbing daughter. “Tell me about him, Hazel.”

“He was the ruler of his lands,” she said after taking a breath. “In his culture, only the strongest can rule. There was one born stronger than him. He knew his end was coming for two decades. He would laugh that only in his final breaths had he been allowed to love. Mother, he was the only one for me.”

Rowaness twitched as though physically struck. “Time can heal all manner of things. But do not seek to heal now. Yield to grief’s power, for it will always be more powerful than our will.”

Hazeluna nodded.

“How far along are you?” Rowaness asked.

“Nearly four months, I believe. I didn’t expect to get this far through the pregnancy. Neither did Hope.”

“Hope?”

My mother smiled. “That’s what I began to call him after a time. When he tried to stop it, I argued that we never could have met in a world of despair. Not two like us.” She stood, taking a breath. “And even if he’s gone, I gave him hope in the end. I saw it grow in tandem with my babies. I saw his wonder when he was able to tell they were both girls. Hope died with a legacy in his grasp, love in his heart, and awe in his mind.” She took a breath. “That is all I could have wanted to gift him, knowing at the onset that he would not always walk beside me in life. I knew, I—I think I knew the last time was really the end. He set both hands on my stomach and… did something. I felt his surrender. He surrendered to our children. A custom from where he ruled, perhaps. It weakened him and Hope barely made it to the gate.”

Rowaness blinked. “What gate?”

My mother looked at her, blue eyes so damn weary. “Through this ravine is a gate. I wouldn’t have known it existed, if not for him. There are gates all around us, through the rifts. They press closer each year, as their power seeps out.”

“What power, daughter?” My grandmother rose and approached my mother.

They looked into each other’s eyes, and I saw the question there that was beating in my chest. Because I had a feeling about where this was going.

Call me a fool, but this theory never once occurred to me. It was impossible.