Since Esmera was abandoned on a stranger's doorstep as a baby, the only person who has looked out for her is herself.
Until a lark starts visiting her, leaving behind exotic flowers and iridescent pebbles that the internet doesn't recognise.
Esmera...
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It didn't surprise Esmera that Belaren was a lord. He dressed with the confident flamboyance of someone who didn't care what others thought because he knew their opinions didn't matter. What she wasn't expecting was for Tauram to be the Prince of the kingdom he had told her he was banished from.
She gave him a sideways glance. She supposed she could see it in his straight shoulders, in his foreign yet refined accent, in the privilege he seemed to take for granted, but she hadn't known what it was.
A Prince had given Esmera his coat in an art museum she had wandered into completely by chance. It sounded like the beginning of a fairy tale, but it was a true part of Esmera's story, some awkward middle section that fell into a greater plot that could turn out to be a horror story or a fantasy.
A thrill ran through Esmera as she replayed the goddess's greeting in her mind. So, this was Milatanur.
She looked around at the gleaming, camel-brown sofas adorned with dark brown cushions, at the glass coffee table with curved wooden legs, at the people she didn't recognise in the photographs decorating the walls. Then she looked out the window at the green-coated mountains interrupted by splotches of unmistakable white snow.
This was Milatanur, and she was Lady Esmera returned home.
In the thick of the long silence, the woman embraced by green light raised an eyebrow at Tauram. "Your clouded leopard got your tongue? You're more than familiar with my name when you're using it to embellish your creative curses."
At that, Lundas growled from where he lurked in the shadows at the edge of the room. Esmera started, but Jilhari didn't blink.
The goddess's eyes were as serene as ever. Her finger stroked over the stripe on Myresh's back as he reclined in front of her. Even so, the air tensed like an elastic band pulled tautly.
Tauram gulped and fell to his knees, gesturing for Esmera and Belaren to follow suit.
"Forgive my disrespect, Āmā Jilhari."
The name rang through Esmera with familiarity. Mother of bastard tigers.
Maybe it wasn't a curse so much as the truth. From the way Belaren's squirrel sat so comfortably in her lap, maybe Jilhari was the mother of other beings too. The family trees in mythology never branched out how one would expect.
"You may rise." Jilhari waved her hand with a flicker of amusement so subtle Esmera might've imagined it. "I am commanding and demanding, as my husband says, but I am not one of the tyrants of this land." She caught Esmera's eye. The power and knowledge in that gaze rendered her speechless as the goddess continued. "I am but the voice of the earth, and I have summoned you here in the name of the beings I protect."
Esmera and the men stood. She had heard Jilhari's words, but her mind spun as she attempted to comprehend its meaning.
Before she could succeed, the woman beside Jilhari, Ghallia, spoke.
