I rolled my eyes and turned my attention again to Mother.

“None of this really explains why you’re here,” I noted.

“Because you’re my daughter.”

“And?”

“And I love you and I wished to say how very sorry I am.”

“For what?”

This appeared to stymy her.

“I’m tiring of this,” Mars growled.

Truth be told, I was as well.

“She is a mighty witch, indeed, my little sister,” Jorie proclaimed.

I tipped my head back to look at him to see his silver gaze pinned to my mother.

He carried on.

“In your shame, you cursed her with her name.”

My attention jumped back to Mother.

The red was again in her face.

“But she broke your curse, did she not?” Jorie asked. “She made something weak into something strong. She took something void and made it into something beautiful. But this is often the way of things, is it not? A parent, so intent to make a child suffer for their own sins, certain in their hubris that these transfer to the next generation, and when the child doesn’t break under their parents’ guilt, in my estimation, that is mighty magic, indeed.”

Mother tore her gaze from Jorie and looked to me. “I did what your father—”

“You are not Airenzian,” Mars cut in. “You had a choice.”

“And if I made a different choice, you would not have the woman you so clearly love,” she retorted.

“And every time I have been around you, this surprises you,” Mars returned coldly. “That I love your daughter. I have always thought it was because you did not think the mindless, rutting Firenz could feel such emotion. But I must wonder if your surprise stemmed from the fact you wondered how your daughter earned it.”

Mother gasped.

Mars ignored it.

“Some time ago, Johan and I had a vexing conversation,” Mars went on. “I pointed out to him how he had not been a good father. This angered him to the point of action. I see now this was a mistake on my part. It earned me an enemy unworthy of me, which was a bother I did not need in having to deal with his mischiefs. I should have simply ignored him, and he would have gone away. This is what I will advise my wife to do with you.”

Mother’s head moved as if she’d been slapped.

“Mars,” I murmured.

“But my wife,” Mars continued, now ignoring me, “has her own mind. She knows that mind. She voices it. I listen to her. And I accede to her wishes, when they will not cause her harm. And this, I will do with what she decides about you.”

The room fell silent.

Mother had her eyes downcast and was looking beaten.

And my anger and grief at the loss of what I should have had but didn’t dissipated.