THE BASTARD, eren yeager

𝐱𝐥𝐢, but a mother

THE BASTARD
chapter forty-one

Name] was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace. The flames were so close they made her cheeks feel ablaze. She was so near that, if she simply raised her arm, it would catch on fire.

Sometimes she wondered if purification by fire was real. If she stepped into the flames, would she walk out reborn? Would her mistakes be cleansed?

She took a haphazard breath as Zeke's howls bled all the way into her old chambers. Her hands trembled as she pulled another card from her deck and laid it out on the ground before her.

Her tarot deck had once been precious to her, but she rarely pulled it out of its hiding place. So much so, that she'd forgotten it within her old chambers in the palace. And as she rummaged through her belongings looking for something—anything—that could help Eren, the cards rolled out from a silk scarf she'd yanked out from underneath her bed.

"The cards speak," her mother used to tell her. She didn't know as much as her mother about cards, about faith, about anything. Oh, how she missed her, how she wished she could be by her side. It had been nearly a decade since she last saw her.

Her fingers danced around the cards once more. The Tower had been pulled first. She remembered very little, but she could recall certain words her mother used to hum as she taught her the cards; it was a tower set on fire, crumbling at the seams: chaos.

Then the Ten of Swords. A painful end? A deep betrayal? She couldn't remember.

Finally, the Hanged Man reversed.

Her chest sunk all the way down to her stomach, and she shook her head. She reached for the deck once more, but a knock at the door came.

"Your highness," a guard's voice boomed through the room. "Lord Armin Arlert is requesting an audience."

Her fingers grazed past the Tower card for a moment before she spoke. "Let him through."

Her eyes locked onto the flames.

"Your grace," he bowed quickly as the doors closed behind him. "I came as swiftly as I could."

"Were you able to send it?" she asked, her eyes not straying from the fire.

"Yes," he nodded. "I sent it with a page, as well as three messenger pigeons. The message will reach Mikasa and Jean one way or another." There was a pause. His footsteps were getting closer, but still far, still wary. "You're too close to the fire, your grace."

Not close enough, she wanted to respond. She wanted to step into it, let it consume her. Let it wash away her pain and mistakes; then, perhaps, she could drown in her mother's womb once again.

Her eyes landed on the Hanged Man. Her lips parted.

"Do you believe in divination?"

"Divination?" he questioned, stepping behind her, his pretense foreign. A chill ran down her spine. "You're playing with such demonic things at a time like this?"