The Matriarch's Daughter

Chapter Fifteen: Her Worst Enemy

Four days later, Thepa stumbled off the ship, well past the setting of the sun, thoroughly inebriated. Somehow, she had made it back to her office despite the fact she was completely sloshed. If anyone had crossed her path or spoken to her, she had no recollection of it. What she did remember, in fragmented flashes, was stripping off her clothes at the door, dragging out the small cot she kept hidden under her desk, and collapsing onto it. Sleep took her before she had the chance to think, pulling her into its dark, unforgiving embrace.

For the fourth night in a row, Rory haunted her dreams.

This time, the dream took the form of a memory, almost cruel in how it replayed before her eyes. She watched from a distance as her younger self sat under a familiar tree, side by side with a younger Rory, both of them engrossed in their studies. The daylight was dim, a setting sun casting darkening everything around them, yet Thepa recognized the place immediately. It was their sanctuary, a tree they'd meet at almost every day back in training.

"Do you ever think about right and wrong Thepa?" Rory asked, carrying a bit of softness in her voice.

The younger Thepa didn't look up from her book. "Not really, no."

Rory turned back to pressed her, pleading in her green eyes. "Well why not?"

With a sigh, Young Thepa finally set the book aside, marking her place with a casual crease at the corner. "I'd like to think I'm a good judge of character. Unless you're telling me I'm not, and I should rethink our friendship."

Rory gave her a playful nudge. "No, that would be terrible," before her voice grew serious again. "But how do we know we're on the right side of the war? Sure, we're more civilized, but maybe the beasts just want to live their lives too."

Thepa could still remember how absurd the question had seemed back then, how she had brushed it off as youthful idealism. Of course, were on the right side, she thought. She thought it then and she still thought it now. But that wasn't what she told Rory. Instead, her out-of-body self-mimicked the same words she spoke to Rory long ago.

"Where are you going with this?"

Rory hesitated, her gaze drifting to the horizon. It was the look she got when she was second-guessing herself. Thepa had come to know it well, though she hadn't understood it in the moment. It was one of the things the two of them actually had in common. "Even if we're right about the beasts, why are we so bent on killing them? Two wrongs don't make a right. The Goddess is right..."

"Actions have consequences," came another voice—Rory's, but older, harsher. Thepa turned to see a second version of Rory, the one that haunted her nightmares, standing beside her. The memory scene dissolved, leaving Thepa face-to-face with her tormentor.

"Please," Thepa whispered, the words choking in her throat.

Rory's shade sneered, her green eyes burning with disdain. "What's the matter, little satyr? Bottle not enough for you anymore? Maybe your mother's teat is still available—unless you managed to kill that too."

Thepa tried to avert her gaze, but she was paralyzed, rooted in place by the weight of guilt and fear. Around her, the darkness seemed to pulse, growing thicker and more suffocating. "It's not my fault you died. I tried..."

"Oh, I see," said Rory rolling her green eyes with exaggeration. "Big satyr, wants to play. Unfortunately, youngling, grownups take responsibility for their actions. YOU DON'T GET TO RUN AWAY FROM THIS!"

Thepa felt herself shrink, her body physically diminishing until she was half Rory's size. When she finally spoke, her voice was that of her younger self, small and fragile. "Go away."