The Matriarch's Daughter

Chapter Thirteen: The Assassin

"What will you name her?"

Thepa tried to move, but struggled. Her limbs would not listen, pressing against her and weighing her down. The space around her stretched too wide, cold, and unfamiliar in every way. The warmth, the place where she had known only comfort, was gone. Flecks of light shimmered beyond the blur of her eyes, flickering like embers in a windstorm. They hurt. They were too bright. Everything about her new world was too much.

She did not like it.

She longed to return to the softness that had cradled her before. She squeezed her lids shut, but the brightness still pressed against them. In the distance, a sound broke through the discomfort, soft and familiar. It wove through the cold, pulling her close.

She knew this one. It was steady and calm, solid in the bright and scary world. Its hum wrapped around her like the warmth had, smoothing the jagged edges. It was a voice of love.

"I have some thoughts," the voice of love answered.

Thepa reached for the voice, though she did not know how in her new world. At least for the moment, her limbs still refused to move.

"It will have to be strong," said the first. This one was firm and weighty. Like most of everything in the new world, it was full of something she did not understand. 

"Stories and legends will be told about her someday. Her name must resonate among our people. They will follow her into battle. She will be an example for all the Sisterhood."

"Like me?" The voice of love grew tight. Thepa didn't like that. The wrongness of it twisted inside her, too much to contain. She tried to stop it, to make it better, but all that came was a thin and helpless cry.

At once, the voice responded. Movement. Shuffling. The light changed, and then warmth. Not the same as before, but real. Close. Hers. She pressed against it, small and trembling, and it filled her with something she could not name.

"Love makes us do dumb things."

"I don't regret her."

The warmth lifted and fell, a slow, steady rhythm beneath her. For a moment, the cold no longer mattered. She did not understand the words, but she felt them curled around her, sinking into her tiny bones.

"Nor should you." The weighty voice again. Thepa did not like this one. It spoke to the voice of love in tones that conveyed hurt.

"I have told you before, she was always meant to be. She was not your mistake."

Thepa whimpered, a small sound, but the warmth shifted, pressing something soft against her lips. A new instinct took over. Her small body surrendered to its invitation. She drank.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore. He's gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone," the voice of love confirmed. "Three days ago. I met him at the Goldale outpost, gave him all the gold I had, and pushed him onto a boat headed for the mainland."

"And he just left?"

"With protest."

Silence. Thepa drifted in the space between voices, half-listening, half-falling into sleep.

"It may be too late. I've heard whispers—"

"I've heard the whispers, too," the voice of love spoke again. "Sister Zelphina is gathering a following. The new Sister, Sister Vivian, seems eager to please."