Romancing The Crown: Drew and Samira: Her Lord Protector

The Gifts didn’t usually show up in babies, of course. But an empathic toddler still suffered. Even the most loving of mothers had moments of anger, exhaustion, frustration, times when she just wanted her screaming or whining darling to shut up and go away. Such perfectly normal feelings didn’t damage most children, and actually helped civilize the little monsters. They learned that temper fits didn’t get them what they wanted.

An empathic child, however, felt its mother’s anger and knew itself to be the object of that anger. This didn’t make for a healthy child, or a healthy adult.

It all depends, Rose reminded herself as she slipped her nightgown over her head, on when Drew’s Gift first appeared. The more powerful the Gift, the earlier its arrival—that was the maxim. But sometimes a Gift didn’t manifest fully for years. Unfortunately her family’s lore was confusing, even contradictory in places, about why or how a Gift’s full strength might be delayed.

Gemma’s cousin made that point quite adequately. Poor Pia. She’d been identified as a Water-Gifted soon after she was born, thanks to Rose’s mother. Elenore Giaberti had been Fire-Gifted, like her daughter, and so able to touch the baby’s èssere.

The members of Pia’s family had done everything they could. It hadn’t been enough. Oh, Pia wasn’t damaged in the way an empathic baby in an unaware family might have been. But her Gift had been so strong. Pia had never been able to process the welter of emotions she received when unshielded, so she spent most of her life cut off from her Gift—with decidedly peculiar results. She was a gentle soul, mildly paranoid and convinced she talked to aliens.

But at least she’d been guided in developing her shields. Some empaths developed shields naturally. And those who shielded too completely, from too young an age, felt no connection with their fellow humans. They became sociopaths.

Drew’s Gift couldn’t have shown up when he was still a baby, Rose thought as she sat on her bed and began brushing out her hair. If it had, he wouldn’t have such a strong sense of self. And she couldn’t, she wouldn’t, believe he was sociopathic. She’d touched his èssere…

Her hand stilled, the brush, her hair, the room and everything else forgotten as she remembered. Such a tiny slice of time…

‘‘Here’s your tea, dear.’’

Rose stirred and put the brush down. She hadn’t even noticed Gemma come in. ‘‘Yes. Thank you.’’ The woodsy scent of chamomile soothed her. She took a sip.

‘‘What are you going to do?’’

She found a reassuring smile. ‘‘I’m a big, soggy, confused mess right now, but I’ll be all right.’’