“You’re… thinking about taking Serel?” Vera asked.

  Elaria gave her a long, steady look. “Naturally. I expect you to be with her. I have no intention of separating you.”

  The way she said it made it sound like the question itself had been unnecessary.

  Vera blinked several times. “Oh.” She let out a short breath. “Right. Of course. Yeah. That’s obvious.”

  She felt stupid for even thinking it. There was no way Elaria would just show up and take Serel from her. She didn’t know why that idea had even crossed her mind.

  She rubbed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. She was tired, and exhaustion had a way of turning thoughts into nonsense. That’s why her head was lagging a bit.

  A trickle of Resonance moved through her, the familiar warmth of cinders spreading through her body and giving her a brief, much-needed jolt of clarity.

  When she opened her eyes again, Elaria was watching her closely.

  “…Are you alright?” the woman asked.

  “Yes. I’m fine,” Vera said, waving a hand. “Anyway—going back to what you said. You want to take Serel to Caer Virell?”

  Elaria’s gaze lingered on her for another moment before she nodded. “Yes.”

  “And me too?”

  “That is what I said.”

  “…You’re sure?”

  “I have considered this carefully, yes.”

  Vera fell silent for a few seconds. “So does that mean you’re taking us both there as, uh…” She gestured vaguely. “…you know.”

  Elaria’s brow furrowed immediately. “No.”

  “Oh. Thank God.”

  Vera released a small breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. For half a second, she’d thought she’d just stumbled into some sort of wildly heavy-handed confession, and she was absolutely not prepared for something like that.

  Still, her visible relief only seemed to harden Elaria’s expression further, making Vera regret showing it so clearly.

  “To be clear,” Elaria said, crossing her arms, dark sigilplate shifting softly. “I already expected you to travel to Caer Virell. You agreed to lend your strength against the Silence. And you cannot continue investigating Halstrad’s whereabouts from here.”

  “I mean, yeah,” Vera said, “but I could still do that while staying mostly in Marrowfen. I’ve got a Hearthbind Token.”

  Elaria’s eyes widened—just a fraction—before her expression settled again. “…True. I had forgotten you had one of those.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I do not.”

  “Huh. Ever thought about getting one?”

  “You very well know that I can’t, Mournvale.”

  “Right.”

  Vera supposed it really was just a player item, then. She had never quite figured out how that translated here. She’d asked Caldrin once, but he hadn’t known where she got hers. Elaria did seem to know something, and Vera was tempted to ask, but this didn’t feel like the time.

  “Anyway,” she said, “with that, it wouldn’t be a problem for me to move back and forth. I figured I’d help where I was needed, look for Mireya, and keep Serel here where it’s safe. Where she can make friends.”

  “Are you saying that you do not want me to take her to Caer Virell?” Elaria asked.

  “No—” Vera lifted her hands, then stopped. She hesitated, lips pressing together. “Actually… maybe, yeah?”

  Elaria gave her a sharp look. “Stop speaking in half-measures, Mournvale. You are not a child.”

  “That’s—okay, wow. That feels unnecessary.”

  “You have a habit of circling the point even when the matter is serious,” Elaria said. “There is little value in it. Say what you mean.”

  Vera frowned. “Sorry I’m not some polished keynote speaker.”

  “I do not know what that means.”

  “Yeah, I bet you don’t.”

  Elaria studied her for several seconds, then let out a measured breath. “Very well. I apologize. Say what you intended to say.”

  Vera blinked. She paused, taking a moment to recollect herself. “What I meant is… I’m not sure about taking her to Caer Virell. It’s safe here. I want Serel to have a chance to make friends, to not have to think about everything that’s happening. Taking her halfway across the continent, to somewhere so close to the front…”

  “The Silence remains far from Caer Virell and its dominion,” Elaria said.

  “Even so, it’s a big change.”

  Elaria was quiet.

  Vera watched her, trying to read her face.

  “…Can I ask why you want to bring her there?” she asked.

  Elaria raised both brows. “Because that seemed the most appropriate solution given your request?”

  “My request?”

  “You expressed that you did not want me to reject Serel. From what I have observed, she is deeply attached to both of us. Therefore, the most appropriate course is for you and her to accompany me to Caer Virell, where I can formally acknowledge her as my daughter, and we can both continue to be present in her life.”

  Vera’s thoughts slammed to a halt.

  Her heart might have also checked out briefly.

  She stared at Elaria for a long while. “You’re planning to openly acknowledge that Serel’s your daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Elaria looked at her, genuinely puzzled. “Because she is.”

  “I—yeah. I know that. But—”

  The woman kept watching her, eyes narrowing slightly. “Mournvale,” she said, tone firm but not sharp. “I have noticed that this is not the first time you hold certain assumptions about my willingness to accept Serel.”

  Vera swallowed, but didn’t respond.

  “When I first came to Marrowfen, I was angry,” Elaria continued. “I will not deny this. But that anger was never directed at Serel. And it was only partially directed at you. Whatever my feelings were, I largely set them aside after our conversation yesterday.”

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  “So… you’re just fine with everything?” Vera asked.

  Honestly, she’d already started to notice that.

  To be honest, she’d noticed that. That morning, she’d assumed Elaria might only be willing to involve herself in Serel’s life in a nominal way, and she’d been prepared to accept that. She had just been grateful for how mindful Elaria had been of Serel so far.

  Then she’d watched them together throughout the day, and it had gotten her thinking more.

  The woman was awkward around Serel, yes. But it was also clear that Elaria didn’t resent Serel, and she even seemed to care in a way similar to Vera.

  That made Vera happy.

  Genuinely.

  Anything that suggested Serel might have a more stable future did.

  And yet—

  “You do not want me to be fine with it?” Elaria asked, a faint edge entering her voice.

  Vera’s gaze dropped to the empty table in front of her.

  Somehow, Elaria had hit right at the center of it.

  Vera hadn’t fully understood why she’d been operating under the assumption that Elaria would be okay with just stepping back and leaving all the responsibility to her. She’d thought it might have come from the guilt of knowing she played a role in putting Elaria in this position. From not wanting to force something like that onto someone she respected. Someone she admired.

  She was fairly certain that much of it came from there.

  Now, though, she realized that there was something else, too.

  A quieter, uglier part.

  A part of her that felt… threatened.

  Because what had Elaria done, really, to deserve to simply step in and get this?

  What had she gone through to accept this?

  …Why could she accept Serel as her daughter so much more easily than Vera had?

  What if she managed to fill the role without second-guessing herself, without constantly worrying she’d say the wrong thing or push Serel toward some dark and waiting deity?

  What if Elaria was just better at being a mother than her?

  The thoughts sat heavy in Vera’s chest.

  It wasn’t anger or resentment. Just a sharp, mean twist of fear.

  Vera felt disappointed in herself for having thoughts like that at all.

  Disgusted, almost.

  And it was all magnified by a quiet gloom that had been hiding at the back of her mind ever since she got back from the vault.

  “Vera.”

  Elaria’s voice cut through, careful somehow, in a way that made it just slightly worse.

  Vera looked up, meeting her crimson eyes.

  “Do you not want me to interfere in Serel’s life?” Elaria asked.

  The question hit harder than Vera expected.

  Elaria waited a moment, then continued. “If that is the case, I will not press the matter. I will step back. I recognize that you are a far better mother than I could ever be, and I have no intention of intruding—”

  “Wait—hold on,” Vera blurted. “Don’t you start making assumptions, too. I never said—”

  She stopped.

  Her brain caught up with the words she’d just heard.

  She stared. “…You think I’m a good mother?”

  “Yes,” Elaria said simply. “It is obvious to anyone watching, even if certain aspects are alarming.”

  Warmth spread through Vera’s chest before she could stop it. “It… is?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed quietly, breath catching.

  That felt good to hear.

  Really, really good.

  Far better than it had any right to.

  It wasn’t even entirely true. She’d only been doing this for a couple of weeks, and she’d already made mistakes no proper parent should. Elaria was judging from the outside, from brief moments and impressions, mostly from how attached Serel was to her. That would be enough to make anyone misunderstand.

  But still.

  The darkness that had clouded Vera’s thoughts was practically banished in its entirety.

  When Vera realized she was sitting there with a stupid, unguarded smile under Elaria’s steady gaze, heat rushed to her cheeks. She shook her head sharply. “N—never mind. Forget that.”

  She drew a breath. “What I meant to say earlier was that… I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to step away from Serel. Not as long as you treat her well.”

  Elaria studied her, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Completely. A hundred percent. Anything that sounded like doubt was just me being stupid. You don’t have to listen to me when I’m being stupid.”

  The woman took a few seconds before responding. “I will remember that.”

  “Great. Please don’t.”

  Vera had the distinct sense that this would come back to haunt her. She ignored it.

  A certain silence settled between them. Elaria moved slightly, her armor scraping softly to fill the silence.

  “You’re really okay with openly acknowledging Serel as your daughter?” Vera eventually asked.

  “I am,” Elaria said. “If I bring her to Caer Virell, I can also guarantee that she will be safe. Caer Virell is more stable than Marrowfen at present. Any gaps in her education or training can be easily addressed, and there are members of the Pyric Oath with children close to her age.”

  “And how are you planning to explain her existence?” Vera asked. “It’s not like you had much time to secretly have a kid six or seven years ago.”

  “I do not see why an explanation is required,” Elaria replied. “If I declare her to be of my blood, that will be sufficient.”

  “And what about me? Am I supposed to pretend I’m her aunt or something?”

  “Then acknowledge her as your daughter as well.”

  Vera squinted at her. “You realize how that’s going to look to other people, right?”

  “You mean that they will assume we are romantically involved?”

  “…Among other things, yeah.”

  “That is of little concern to me,” Elaria said. “It has no bearing on my duties. For those who ask, I will clarify. If you wish, I can make an official statement. Otherwise, I do not care.”

  Vera considered that, then shrugged lightly. “Alright. Same.”

  She might care a little.

  But if Elaria could stand there that unbothered, then Vera could manage too.

  “Of course,” Elaria added, “none of this is necessary if you do not wish Serel to accompany me.”

  Vera thought about it. Her gaze drifted briefly to Elaria’s chestplate. “…When would you have to leave, if I say no?”

  “I intend to depart tomorrow.”

  “Mm. Makes sense.”

  Vera had kind of assumed that would be the case. It was also why she knew this conversation couldn’t be put off tonight, even though she’d wanted to.

  She turned away and rested her hand on the table, fingers drumming an old rhythm as she contemplated. Without thinking, a small hum left her lips.

  Elaria’s gaze moved to her hand.

  “Were you always interested in song?” the woman asked after a while.

  Vera glanced at her. “I was. You didn’t know?”

  Elaria’s expression shifted slightly, something softening near the corners of her eyes. “I can faintly recall some occasions where you might have sung. In the early days.”

  “Huh.” Vera leaned back. “Well, I gave most of it up years ago.”

  She was curious about the Veralyth Elaria remembered. How different she’d been. How much of her was still truly here.

  And what had brought her to becoming just ‘Vera’ in the end.

  But that was a mystery for another day.

  Vera stopped drumming and placed her palm flat on the table. She turned to face Elaria fully.

  The woman’s expression sharpened.

  “I think I might be okay with bringing Serel to Caer Virell,” Vera said. “For a while. But I want a compromise. I want to be able to bring her back here—Sablewatch, Marrowfen—whenever I need to. With the Hearthbind Token, that’s not exactly difficult.”

  “I do not see why that would be an issue,” Elaria replied.

  “It could become one. If you start feeling like I’m monopolizing her. Or like I’m taking away your rights to her.”

  “Rights…?” Elaria repeated, brow knitting.

  Vera hesitated, then waved it off. “Never mind the wording. But we need some ground rules.”

  “Ground rules…? Mournvale, you are being unnecessarily obscure again.”

  “I’m saying we should agree ahead of time on how we handle things. Who’s responsible for what. Who gets final say in which situations.”

  “Is it not enough to establish that we are both responsible for her?”

  “And then we start fighting over things like whose rules apply,” Vera said. “Like whether bedtime is actually bedtime, or whether skipping it ‘just this once’ somehow becomes a pattern that may or may not stick around for when she grows up.”

  Elaria frowned slightly. “Why would we fight over that?”

  “It happens. That’s not the point.” Vera shook her head. “Better example. Say I want to take Serel on a fun day-trip into the Gallowdeep Reliquary because I know she’ll love it to bits and I know I can keep her safe, but you think I’m being stupid. Who gets the final say?”

  Elaria paused. “According to you, I would not need to listen.”

  “We’re ignoring that,” Vera said quickly. “Hypothetical. Who decides?”

  “Unless you are being obtuse, we discuss it. Like adults.”

  “Sure. And discussions go a lot smoother if we’ve already agreed on some baseline rules.” Vera nodded to herself. “Hence. Ground rules.”

  She glanced around the room, then toward the cupboard where Serel kept her drawing things. Crossing over, she pulled out a sheet of parchment and a stick of charcoal from a drawer. Returning to the table, she dropped into her seat and leaned forward, writing a single line.

  Elaria read it. “‘Vera will not accept blame for any violently adventurous and possibly reckless tendencies Serel may develop.’” She looked up slowly, expression darkening. “These are your ground rules?”

  Vera twirled the charcoal between her fingers, unconcerned with the black dust smearing her skin. “Okay, full honesty? I couldn’t think of any good, serious ones on the spot. So I wrote the first thing that popped into my head.”

  Elaria’s stare did not ease.

  “I’m thinking we both take some time,” Vera went on. “Come up with rules we actually care about. Then we compare notes later and figure out what we’re willing to live with.”

  Elaria tapped the parchment. “And you believe I would be willing to agree to this?”

  Vera hesitated slightly. “…I wrote this one as a joke, but just so we’re clear, I won’t actually budge on it. That kid’s already a tiny, budding little warmonger gremlin, and I’m about two-thirds sure it’s only partially my fault. This is absolutely a future argument waiting to happen, so we might as well get ahead of it and nip it in the bud.”

  Elaria let out a short, humorless laugh. “I see.”

  Her gaze dropped to the charcoal.

  Vera nudged it toward her. “Want to write one of your own?”

  Elaria pushed it back. “No. Unlike you, if we are to formalize something like this, I intend to give my terms proper consideration. But I am starting to see why this is necessary.”

  “That’s good.”

  Vera said that, but it didn’t quite feel like a win.