Ashes of the Valdori

"Mama... Daddy..."

Rosalind kept pointing in the direction the man had gone.

The woman who'd been bringing my meals raised her brows, looking at me as though I were the most ungrateful creature alive.

"The Don brought Rosalind here the moment she arrived at the compound, all so you'd agree to leave this place. And you threw his kindness back in his face!"

I finally recognized her. She was Cassius's personal attendant, Margherita Solano.

Ten years ago, she'd come to the estate as part of the late Isabelle Valdori's dowry retinue. She bore a faint resemblance to Isabelle, and Eloise used to cling to her as a small child, calling her "Mother."

Margherita claimed she stayed by the Don's side to care for the people the late wife couldn't bear to leave behind. But her real feelings slipped through the cracks often enough.

I wasn't jealous. I wasn't even irritated.

I only said, quietly:

"Since you care so much about the Don, why don't you go comfort him on behalf of me and your beloved Isabelle?"

She smoothed the front of her dress with both palms, a slow downward stroke, and glared at me.

"I just can't stand the way you act, taking his affection for granted. You know perfectly well that the Don cares for you, yet you insist on playing these games!"

She stamped her foot and stormed out.

She called herself a servant to my face, but there wasn't an ounce of respect behind it.

It didn't matter. I'd already stopped caring about Cassius himself. The opinions of the people around him mattered even less.

I gathered Rosalind into my arms and held her close, savoring every second of this brief, borrowed time together.

The dark circles under her eyes were impossible to miss. She'd clearly been struggling to sleep for a long while.

My heart ached. I found the softest fabric I had and sewed a small sachet filled with lavender and rosemary for her, stitching it tight the way my mother had taught me.

I'd just started to rock her to sleep when the warped door of the Gate House was kicked open with a crash.

The bodyguard stationed outside didn't even flinch. Eloise Valdori was the Don's daughter. No one stopped the Don's daughter.

The moment Eloise saw Rosalind cradled in my arms, something wild flared in her eyes. She rushed forward, reaching to tear Rosalind away.

I frowned and raised my hand to block her. Her eyes rimmed red instantly.

"You haven't held me like that in so long. Why are you holding her?"

"I knew it. You only care about your own child. You never really loved me!"

Like a small, starving animal denied the one thing it craved, Eloise's tears fell in fat, heavy drops.

But I could only furrow my brow in confusion.

"Eloise, have you forgotten what you said to me?"

From the time Eloise was still in swaddling clothes, I'd held her in my arms every night and rocked her to sleep.

Then one day, when she was four and old enough to form memories, she suddenly burst into tears and accused me of pinching her.

She said she was afraid I'd pinch her to death in her sleep.

Someone in the household had clearly whispered those words into her ear. One of Isabelle's old retainers, filling a child's head with poison. But Cassius never investigated. He dismissed it as the fragile outburst of a child mourning her birth mother.

Worse, he blamed me for failing to raise Eloise well enough, claiming my negligence had made her so insecure.

After that, Eloise was no longer just a child to me. She was also the Don's daughter.

I never dared overstep again. Holding her was out of the question.

Eloise seemed to remember all of this too, but she doubled down regardless.

"Then you still can't hold her!"

Rosalind, startled awake by the noise, didn't cry. She just burrowed deeper into my arms, trembling.

The sight only enraged Eloise further. She lunged forward and grabbed at us.

I didn't see it coming. She shoved me, and I fell.

Rosalind screamed. I wrapped myself around her, shielding her with everything I had.

My arm struck the stone floor and I heard the crack before I felt it. The color drained from my face.

But Eloise acted as though she'd seized on some unforgivable offense. She ripped the sachet I'd sewn for Rosalind right off her clothes and held it up.

"Why does she get the same sachet as me?!"

I looked into Eloise's eyes, brimming with hatred, and let out a weary sigh.

"The sachet I made for you? You threw it into the fire a long time ago."

"Besides, she's my daughter. Is it so wrong for me to make something for her?"

If Eloise cared to remember, she would know that what I'd done for her went far beyond a single sachet.

Sewing her winter clothes through the bitter cold. Making ice for her in the sweltering heat.

I taught her music, chess, calligraphy, painting. I taught her needlework and embroidery. Every last skill I had, I poured into that child without reservation.

Yet she still glared at me with those hateful eyes. "I knew it. You only ever cared about your own daughter!"

She hurled the sachet to the ground and stamped on it, grinding it into the dirt until it was filthy and ruined. Only then did she whip around and storm off.

That rigid, retreating back was identical to her father's.

Rosalind had gone white with shock, but she still blinked back tears and helped me to my feet. Then, with careful fingers, she wiped the sachet clean and tucked it against her chest.

"Don't cry, Mama..."

My heart ached so badly I pulled her into my arms. Before I could say a single word, Cassius's men came and took her away.

As they led her off, Rosalind turned and waved, smiling.

"I'll come see you again tomorrow, Mama!"

Tomorrow never came. Wailing tore through the estate and ripped me from sleep.

My chest seized. I ran out without shoes, without a coat, without stopping.