I never knew just how much I was missing in life until the moment I take my first bite of mint-chocolate croissant. Aside from those, pitchers of chilled khavfe with lavender cream keep company at our breakfast table with platters of crusty bread, jellies, bacon, and heaps of scrambled eggs with goat cheese. I was nervous when I found out I'd be dining in Morovin Toan this morning. Now I'm just wondering when I'll get to do it again.

I'm the last of the Rhajia's children to arrive. My other siblings—those who haven't been back from fosterage for years—have all already had their welcome breakfasts, but I wish they would have joined us for this one nonetheless. It's overwhelming having all of my parents' attention focused solely on me. As the plates empty and the conversation begins to die down, a sudden grimness settles over the five of them.

For a few moments, we're all silent—waiting for someone else to speak first. Jezben looks around between the others quizzically before breaking the silence.

"Nikessa, love. We want you to make sure you know that your accident on the way here has absolutely no bearing on our feelings about you. We love you, and we trust you."

It's like an immense weight has just toppled off my shoulders. The weight of a fear I'd been trying my best to ignore.

Her expression shifts a bit, brows knitting briefly together. "But we do want ask something of you."

Suddenly I feel a little queasy. "Oh?"

My blood-father Gregor leans forward, resting his leather-clad arms on the table.

"We want you to promise us you won't use your abilities to control or influence other people, unless in the most dire of circumstances," he says.

"Like if someone's trying to murder you," supplies Tammeck, wincing as Maz slaps his shoulder with their fan.

I'm already nodding. "I promise. I don't want to use it on people. That's...that's wrong. I wouldn't."

I can tell from the look in their eyes and the feel of their embers that they believe me, that they really do trust me. A little spark of warmth glows to life in my chest. It's the nudge I needed to finally plead my case.

"Um, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you all about." My hand goes to my hair, twisting in the curls, and I stare down at my empty plate. "I...I don't want to be an Heir. I think you should give my place to someone else."

Silence.

I glance up, and they're all looking at each other, obviously communing in silence through the Link. Finally my blood-mother speaks.

"Nikessa. Love. We were up very, very late last night fighting for your right to keep your place as Heir. The last thing we want is to take it away from you."

"What? But I-"

There's a dark frown on Tammeck's face. His hand rubs at his short salt-and-pepper beard, eyes stormy. "There are some—" he says the last word with distaste, twisting a lip—"who think your ability makes you dangerous. Corruptible. They fear your power already."

"But they're wrong," Jezben says pointedly, fire in her eyes. "And in the end, they rescinded their objections."

Fabienne reaches over the table to grasp my hand, her golden-brown eyes catching mine. "They may not know you as we do, but even they had to admit that with your new guardians, their concern is moot. They will know if you're using your influence on anyone, and they're immune to it themselves."

"But I don't want—"

"Nikessa." My blood-father's voice cuts through everything, deep as the roots of an Ancient. "We know that you don't want it. Wanting power isn't the same as deserving it. Sometimes those who wield it best are the ones who are most reluctant to, as with a..."

"As with a sword," I finish his sentence along with him, and he glares at me from beneath the profusion of his eyebrows.

Jezben smiles and squeezes his arm. I try not to groan.

"I just really, really don't think I'd be good at it. Please, at least reconsider?"

I look around at them, but they practically beam fondness and esteem. How did this happen?

My blood-mother gets up from her cushion and comes over to embrace me. When she pulls away, she studies my face, still smiling. "Try to relax today, love. You have a big six days ahead of you."

That's when it hits me. This is really happening. I'm Heir for real...and the Revelry begins tomorrow.

I just nod, a little afraid that if I open my mouth to answer, I'll throw up. I want to argue more, to really make my case—but everything inside me is screaming to just get away, get alone, curl up in a fetal position.

~*~

Maybe I can write them a letter, explain all the reasons why I shouldn't be an Heir in a clear, objective way. One where they can't interrupt me or shower me with love.

Ideas for things I should have said and what I need to do to change their minds boil in my head as my guardian and I take our leave of Morovin's tower. It's Thrall's first shift with me this morning, and I can tell he still feels terrible about what happened back at the barracks. Pash assured me that when I saw him again, he'd be on an increased dose of the medicine she'd told me about, and that I'd have nothing to fear from him.

Looking at him now, I believe her. He hunches as though trying to diminish himself—a futile task for someone ten handspans tall, antlers not included. He's also back to avoiding eye contact, which is actually kind of nice. It's always uncomfortable with people I don't know well yet, and often even with those I do. Still, I want to make him feel better, but I don't know what to say.

Thrall skulks along behind me as I wander the tiny side-trails through the Wildgrove. Our footsteps barely make a sound—even the path itself is covered in soft, hearty moss. Something about the sheer greenness of this place soothes me.

When I finally get back to my room, Kai is sitting on my bed. Right next to him, Puka happily bundled up in their lap, is Rhetrien, Heir of Kolikai.