I cried out as Xaltorath’s hand closed around my neck. She dragged me as she turned around. A woman stood before us.

I stared.

She had brown-red skin and black hair, and her eyes looked like mine. No laevos, no horse markings, but those details seemed like minor differences. Unlike me, however, she was swathed head to toe in a beautiful gown of shifting colors: green, red, and violet.

I knew at once who it was. Who it had to be.

Tya, Goddess of Magic.

“Our arrangement is over, Xaltorath,” she said, “for you promised to keep her safe, and you have done anything but, haven’t you?”

Xaltorath laughed and lifted me up, ignoring my struggling. ***SHOULD I KILL HER NOW THEN, TYA?***

“You won’t,” Tya said as she walked forward, “or you’d have done it years ago. So shall we have a fight? A battle until your pride is satisfied?”

Xaltorath opened her fingers and let me fall from them. ***NOT LONG NOW. THE PROPHECIES WILL BE FULFILLED.***

“So you claim,” Tya said. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

***YES, WE WILL.***

I winced and rubbed my neck, then looked around for the sword shards. When I looked up, Xaltorath had vanished, and only the other woman remained.

Tya.

I sat on the ground and folded my legs under me.

The woman turned around. “Janel—”

“‘Our arrangement is over’?” I said. “And what arrangement would that be? How do you know me?”

“Janel, please let me explain.”

“That’s what I’m asking you to do.”

“I’m your mother,” Tya said. “Your real mother.”

I fought to keep calm. The furious rage didn’t help. “All my life, I’ve been told my mother’s name was Frena. Or more recently that my mother was a dancing girl. You don’t strike me as either.”

“Who would have said your mother was—oh. Let me guess. Relos Var?” She sighed and walked over to me. “I suppose that description held some accuracy once. It’s been a long time, however.” She sat down across from me, ignoring how her beautiful dress trailed through the muck.

I stared at her. “Do you have any idea what Xaltorath’s done to me, over the years?”

My mother looked away, her expression pained. “I … have some idea. None of this was supposed to happen.”

“What a comfort that is.”

She winced at my bitter tone. “I chose your parents carefully. They were good people who wanted a child and would have raised you well.”

“I loved them,” I admitted, feeling my throat tighten.