When I finally spoke, my voice softly drifted through the kitchen like it was being carried on the scents of sweet confections wafting about. “It would be a Dueling Challenge. For the title of Huntscommander. The problem is… my mother forbade me to do it.”
I swallowed hard. Just mentioning it made my muscles in my throat seize and lock up. I exhaled through my nose. My hands trembled slightly as I started on the macarons. I was already thinking of how I could use the gold flakes to hide the most egregious of the crooked lines. As quickly as I could muster whileI piped, I explained to Byrd what a Dueling Challenge meant as well as what the law of the Huntscommander was.
At the end of it, Byrd sighed, a spark in her eyes of something I could discern as she said, almost to herself more than me. “Hunters are more alike to dragons than they think.”
“In what regard?”
“My mother did something similar to me when she was scared your father and his team would come after me before she died. There was something in her voice… It was so… Primal and maternal. It was a command I couldn’t resist following. At the time, I wanted to fight it, but it went deeper than a physical, emotional, or even psychological thing. It’s hard to explain, but I get it. Your mom and mine are the same: trying to do everything they can for their babies to thrive.”
I glanced at Byrd from my pipe work, not caring about lines or the cookies anymore. I shook my head in awe of the best woman this side of creation. “¿Ellos rompieron el molde haciéndote, eh, mi libélulita?You broke the mold, making you, huh, Sweets?”
Byrd giggled, preening from my compliment. Then, her smile faded slightly. I hated seeing it dim. “I understand where your mom is coming from. Especially after everything with my own mom. I get it. I really do. If there’s an option to avoid seeing you hurt, I would always choose that, too. I’m sure your mom will find a way. I just know it.”
I gave a quick nod while I added the finishing touches to the macarons. I wanted to believe her. I did trust my mom. And, I trusted Byrd. But, to have faith meant having hope, and that just wasn’t something that worked in the world I had always known. Itdefinitelydidn’t work with my father. Maybe this could be the one time where I felt one thing but knew another? Knowing and feeling were two different things, after all.
“Things always work out for us, babe,” Byrd said. Then, her voice took on a more playful lilt. “Until they do… How about a little distraction, my love?”
“From you? Always.” I smiled around the pit in my stomach that was now small enough for me to ignore.
A soft flutter of playfulness, mischief, and affection all swirled together found me through our bond. It made my smile grow to match Byrd’s. Her voice took on a sing-song tone as she said, “So… someone’s birthday’s coming up!”
I blinked, totally caught off guard. Something that was once a rare occurrence and a challenge always seemed to happen now with Byrd around.
I had completely forgotten my birthday. With everything going on, it had barely registered that it was approaching. Coincidentally, it was the week before the hearing, but that detail had escaped my notice. It wasn’t until Byrd had said something that I had even connected those dots.
Birthdays were…roughto say the least in the Garcia-Collier-Hesse family. None of us had ever had a good birthday until our adulthood. Even still, I had never had one at all. I didn’t remember most of my childhood aside from my training, trauma, and a few bright moments with Mama and the cousins. But birthdays? Those I remembered, if only for how bad theyalwayswere. Worse than our track record of putting the fun in dysfunctional when it came to our family dinners, every single birthday ended in a fight: a screaming match between my parents or my father and some other family member, or a literal brawl between me and my cousins in the backyard. If we weren’t fighting each other, we were fighting monsters because good ol’ dad thought it would be a great training exercise. Why wouldn’t you want the gift of being happy to be alive after you had to fend off a rogue orc clan atnineyears old?
I never felt special on my birthday, only stupid for believing I could ever have been treated that way.
To make matters worse, as rich as my parents were, they neveractedlike it. They didn’t believe in handouts. Everything had to be worked for and earned. I get the mentality, especially coming from my mom, who worked her ass off just like Grandma Jane did, to be taken seriously as a huntress. I also understood, having dated the poster child for the dangers of spoiling your kid. But I never asked for anything, growing up or even as an adult. I longed for things, sure, but I knew better than to voice that unless my mother asked. Normal birthday parties and gifts weren’t a Garcia-Collier-Hesse tradition. Instead, my father gave hunts. My mother gave lavish, often misdirected affection, gifting me things shethoughtI wanted but missing the mark every time, like giving me a new sparring vest or a garrote that doubled as a feminine necklace. I appreciated the effort, and I always expressed my gratitude to her, never letting her see a shred of disappointment. But, for once, I wished I could say how I wanted to go to the beach or a hockey game. I never got the useful, multi-tasking gifts I always wanted, like a magicked shield that was also a hoverboard, an enchanted Swiss Army knife, a simple woodcarving kit, or anything you would find in the Father’s Day gift aisle or a hardware store. There was nothing like using a gift someone gave me multiple times. My sentiment came from utility and practicality.
Hey, I was born with the soul of a dad, okay?
Birthdays, though, weren’t something I looked forward to outside of it being over. They were just reminders that I had survived another year in someone else’s story.
But, there was something about the curl of Byrd’s lips, that spark in her eyes, the effortless switch to pure infiltered joy in her expression, and adorable bounce in her seat that made meforget all of that immediately and just enjoy how precious she was.
A mischievous glint sparked in Byrd’s eyes. “So, how do we feel about… camping?”
I gave her a look that my smile couldn’t resist breaking. “You do know I’m a raging stereotypical butch lesbian, right? I literally have a carabiner on my keys, a wardrobe full of plaids and joggers, and a massive obsession with Harbor Freight and most hardware stores.”
Byrd threw her head back and laughed. It wasthatlaugh, the carefree and warm one like her contact photo, that lit up her whole face and made breathing hard from loving her so much.Fuck, I would never be able to get enough of that sound.“Hey, I still have to ask, okay?! I was raised that it was wrong to assume!”
“Well, I would love to takeyoucamping for my birthday.”
“Takeme? It wasmyidea!” She huffed.
Smirking, I arched a single eyebrow at her through the screen. “Do you have a tent?”
She blinked. “Well, no?—”
“Do you have sleeping bags?”
“Also, no.”
“What about lanterns or any kind of camping cookware?”
“Um… no, but?—”
