1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of ... (#6)

Pardys Isles

winter: Year 535, New Calendar

The pebble scrapes her sole a little, and Wight picks it up by curling her toes. She's immediately back in the chair she was sitting in when the magic claimed her, and she's fortunately clothed.

"Mom!"

The armful of child tells her it's Nesil who jumps on her, though the speaker was Malor, her eldest. Her second-born, Solis, isn't here, instead at a special boarding school for children with unusual magic, and the toddler and baby (who are old enough that her calling them that is debatable) are napping in the brothel bedding to the side of the room that she'd made sure to clean thoroughly before using. Another baby, a little elf that's much of why and how everyone ended up here to begin with, is with them.

Truthfully, three of her five children here should be away at school, like her second-born, but there are reasons to keep them with her, right now.

Malor is recovering from a relationship that ended because his former boyfriend feels obligated to produce legitimate heirs, and the ex refuses to keep a lover on the side. (To be fair, that poor boy's family is a walking advertisement of the worst that can happen when people ignore the consequences of their own choices, and he probably was also considering Malor's safety when he broke things off.)

Paris visited his paternal aunt last summer, who sent him home two months early with an apology. He'd asked to go so he could see undine culture for himself before he was old enough for a visit to cause repercussions. Wight is certain they edited what they told her of what happened, but she's more concerned with how his previous dislike of crowds and magic has become outright terror. He can't even handle being in a room with most of the family for long, and he's doubtless in some solitary nook he's found for himself now.

Her fourth and last one old enough to go to school, Nesil, recently announced she's a girl, which isn't something Wight can trust strangers to handle without harming her. (Wight's unsure that Nesil understands what she's done, and she fears her expressed hope for a daughter has pushed Nesil into declaring that for Wight's sake, not her own, but that's something that'll be learned in time. If that proves the case, Nesil can always revert later.)

At least her children can read, and there are plenty of adults around here willing to teach when asked, for subjects the eldest and their father don't already know.

"I left, I take it?" she asks evenly. She hadn't known magic could do that, but she'll be cursed before she'll frighten her boys with her own disquiet.

Her children. She keeps forgetting to account for recent adjustments, and the baby looks to be neither (or both? how is that counted?).

"Not exactly," a quiet voice rumbles.

Both boys settle at the sound of their father, who approaches and warms her insides with a lovely kiss that has never faltered in intensity as she's softened with age. She's far from the skinny girl she was when they met, and despite how he's kept himself fit and hale and strong, he's never so much as asked her to seek to do the same.

Wight hands Nesil to Barun as he pulls away, and he holds his child with an ease she lacks.

"I'll be back shortly," she tells them all.

Her lord doesn't ask where she's going, though it would be in his rights to order her to stay. He never does, but she never lets herself forget that he's her owner, by the laws of her people, since that's also how she can be his wife by the laws of his. Males of his kind can't own property, in their own lands, but owning property is also the only way a male can have the autonomy to choose his own life.