She couldn’t wait to see how that went over with her band. A Talon summoning a stormwing right into their camp. Still, it relaxed her somewhat. Stormwings rode the thermals, so high above the ground they usually looked like specks in a clear sky. Vidal’s bird should be able to carry a message to Akeylah in no time. Assuming Mother had the answers they needed.

For a moment, Zofi just stood outside her mother’s tent. The tent she’d shared for weeks before her capture by the Talons. Before she’d been stolen away to a whole new life.

It looked smaller than she remembered. Dingier around the edges, like a faded painting.

When she drew back the flap, she found Mother crouched over a mug of mint brew, a crude hand-drawn map spread before her. Zofi watched, and her eyes began to sting.

I’m back, she wanted to say. The words stuck in her throat.

Mother bent closer to the page and spoke without looking up. “Either ask me for whatever you need, or close the flap. You’re letting all the vampyre flies in.”

Zofi stepped forward and let the tent flap shut. Cleared her throat. But the lump only grew, until it threatened to make the sting in her eyes spill over into tears.

Finally, Mother looked up.

“Oh, sands alive. Zofi.” Mother sprang to her feet, and Zofi barely had time to extend her arms before Mother pulled her into a hug so tight it was difficult to breathe.

That was fine. She didn’t need air. Not right now. She buried her face in Mother’s neck. Much to her embarrassment, a couple of tears escaped to wet Mother’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, baby.” Mother kissed her cheek once. Twice. A third time. Then she pulled back just far enough to start kissing her other cheek.

Zofi squirmed out of her arms. “Mother,” she groaned, even as she wiped her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“What are you doing here?” Mother kicked some stray camping supplies off her sitting mat and gestured at the pillow. Zofi sank onto it, and Mother sat so close their knees knocked.

The story poured out of Zofi. The blackmail, the heir, the threats. Her banishment. “I failed,” she finished in a whisper. “I couldn’t play their game. Not well enough to win.”

To her surprise, Mother laughed, albeit gently. “Nobody expected you to win, Zofi.”

She snorted, then accepted a handkerchief to press against her nose. “Gee, thank you, Mother. That makes me feel so much better.”

“What I mean is you had the deck stacked against you from the outset. You went to court, you met your father’s family, played the hand life dealt you. Now… I’m just glad to have you back home.”

Oh, right. Belatedly, she remembered she was mad at her mother. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this? My father, my bloodline, the throne…”