Cleora's lips twitched.
Child!
Johamma's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her teacup. "He is my grandson. My bloodline."
"But he doesn't see it that way," Cleora countered, her voice soft but unyielding.
The air between them crackled with unspoken tensions.
Two women, both possessive, both understanding the rare power that flowed through Jolthar's veins.
"You think you understand him," Johamma said, "because he fights for your land? He stays here?"
Cleora leaned forward, her eyes showing defiance. "I understand him because he has found something here he never had with your clan. Purpose. Belonging."
"Belonging?" Johamma's laugh was sharp. "The Kaezhlar blood runs deeper than any temporary allegiance."
"Temporary?" Now, Cleora's eyes blazed. "He has integrated himself into every aspect of this barony. The forge. The defence. People here, he had become the barony himself. At this point, it wouldn't be exaggerating to say that he is the lord of this region."
