"No one has to do anything," Tressa said. She'd made hard decisions since leaving Hutton's Bridge. There were times she could have taken the easy way out. She could have stayed with Bastian in the forest, not seeking her own chance at revenge for what she believed was Connor's brutal death at Stacia’s hands. She could have left Malum without facing Fenn, leaving the children of Hutton's Bridge behind. Yet she had not. "She didn't have to poison me for years, leaving me barren."
"What if there was a good reason?" Fi pressed, not giving up. "If you'd just hear her out, maybe you'd change your mind."
Tressa stood and paced the room. Her feet felt light as she walked in a straight line. Her arms swung carelessly at her sides. Her heart beat out a familiar, steady beat. Knowing the dragon's blood worked calmed her anxiety. So they'd been telling the truth. She was healed.
"Okay." Tressa turned to face Fi. "I'll do it. I'll talk to her."
"You won't regret it, I promise." Fi jumped off the bed. "I'll tell her you're ready to talk. While I'm gone, there's food on the table. That will help you regain even more strength. In fact, I have a feeling that soon you'll be feeling better than you've ever felt in your whole life." Fi winked, then left the room.
Tressa smiled. Fi's attitude was contagious. Tressa sat at the table, digging into the food. A bowl of butter and garlic soaked mushrooms tempted her first. She stabbed the brown cap with her dagger and popped it in her mouth. The rich juices flowed down her throat. She hadn't had sautéed mushrooms since leaving Hutton's Bridge. No one knew how to make them like Granna.
Granna. She knew all of Tressa's favorites. Boiled eggs accompanied warm bread. She took a quick sip from the cup. Honeywine. Yes, Granna had definitely had a hand in choosing the food Fi brought.
A tentative knock interrupted Tressa's meal. "Come in," she said.
The door swung open and Granna walked in, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her black cotton gown. "I'm glad to hear you're feeling better, Tressa. I'm even happier you've agreed to see me."
Tressa set down her cup. "I feel it's the right thing to do. Fi swears you had a good reason for keeping me from getting pregnant all those years. I want to hear your story and form my own opinion."
Granna sat on the chair opposite Tressa, her hands resting on the damask-covered arms. Tressa remembered Granna’s hands in Hutton’s Bridge. Wrinkled, veined, and spotted with brown dots. Now they were smooth and soft. She would have to get used to this new version of the old woman she’d known.
"The day after the fog fell,” Granna said, “I wandered into it, wanting to lose myself forever. I wanted to die. I wasn't prepared to be the oldest in the village. How could I lead a town filled with children? But he found me in the fog and saved me from the beasts."
"He?" Tressa asked.
"Mestifito. The dragon king. Though he was not king then. He was a boy, only a bit older than me. One of the other beasts had confused me, calling out my name in the voice of my mother."
"Kilrothgi," Tressa said.
"Yes." Granna nodded. "I am sorry you also had to face them. They are hideous, deadly creatures." She poured herself a cup of honeywine and took a small sip. "Mestifito killed the kilrothgi. Then he carried me to safety outside the fog. He used a drop of his blood to heal me. You see, the kilrothgi had nearly killed me, and I hadn't bothered to fight back. I welcomed death and was on the brink of never opening my eyes again."
Tressa had questions, but she held her tongue. She knew Granna well enough to know the woman enjoyed telling her stories and didn't appreciate interruption.
"That was the day the blood of the dragon entered my system. Mestifito used his own blood to save me. It wasn’t enough to turn me. Just enough to save my life, but not to turn me. Eventually I gave birth to my children, and they did not show the mark of the dragon. The human blood had been stronger than the dragon. I had thought it died out with the first generation. I was certain with the second generation. But then you came and everything changed." Granna's hands trembled.
Tressa remembered how her hands shook the same way the day she thought Granna had died. She’d been scared. Uncertain. Tressa fought the urge to take Granna's hands in hers, to comfort her the same way she had all those moons ago.
"Why was I different?" Tressa asked.
"Your mother..." Granna's voice wavered.
"My mother died giving birth to me," Tressa said. "What about her?"
"She sacrificed her own life to give you yours." Granna placed a hand on Tressa's shoulder. "You must understand. She did not know what was going to happen. I only knew it was a possibility..."