Altair loved her as he did most things: even when they did not love him in return.
He’d had years to reflect, to try to understand his mother. When he was young, he’d wished she had never existed. When he was older, he’d been angry when she’d died. When he’d learned the truth upon Sharr, that she had fabricated her death, breaking the soul of the one son she loved so deeply, he’d felt, well, sad.
Power begets pain. She wasn’t a cruel mother, or an evil one. Rather, she was ill-equipped for motherhood, too mired in her own mistakes and failings and their recompense, and both he and Nasir had paid the price.
Still, she was his mother. He was her son. There were some bonds that remained no matter how they were tested.
You’ve a heart of gold, she had once said.
Is that why it weighs so heavily? he had replied.
And so, when his mother screamed, every last drop of blood in his veins came to a halt.
