Page 115 of Feathers and Thorns

He turned his gaze downward as Soren’s arms locked around his waist, her cheek pressed tightly against his back.

“Whatever happens today, I’m here, okay?” she promised.

“I know,” he replied, turning to face her. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her softly. “I just don’t want to disrupt her life. I never had a mother; I can survive without one.”

Soren cupped his cheek, her eyes misting. “But you don’t have to.” She hugged him again, tighter this time, hoping to squeeze some confidence into him. “We don’t need to just survive anymore.”

She could feel him nod before he pressed a kiss to her head. He let her hold him until Enara returned from saddling the horses.

“You ready?” she asked.

“I don’t really have a choice, now do I?” he quipped, shrugging on his winter cloak.

“No, but I thought I would give you the illusion that you have a choice in the matter,” Enara poked.

He gave her a pointed look before heading out the door.

“Take care of him for me,” Soren said, grasping Enara’s hand.

“Only if he behaves,” she replied, smiling.

They said their goodbyes, and then Rook and Enara rode in silence the whole way to town. If there was one thing he appreciated about his half-sister, it was that she never felt the need to fill space with unnecessary interaction.

They might not be what he would call close, but they had an understanding for one another that no one else had. They were both stubborn, so opening up to each other was an elongated process. Though, he had no doubt they would get used to the idea that they were siblings over time.

As they crossed the threshold into town, Rook’s stomach tied itself into knots. Then they were dismounting their horses, giving them each a solid pat before Enara led the way to the front door of their mother’s new house.

Rook winced as his half-sister knocked on the lacquered wood. Then he clenched his fists nervously as they waited for Mrs. Montgrove to answer. It felt like an age had passed when the thin woman slid the wooden lock aside, embracing Enara before letting them in.

Enara had seen her mother a handful of times, working to reconcile everything that had happened with her father, and had informed her about Rook. From his understanding, she had fainted upon receiving the information and needed some time to process it. That had been a few weeks ago, and Enara had made the plan to introduce them shortly after he had returned from Thorncrest.

Rook’s posture was stiff as he entered his mother’s home, unsure of how he was supposed to act. What did one say when they showed up in their birth mother’s home after twenty-five years of life?

“Mom,” Enara started, “this is Rook. Rook, this is Beatrice Montgrove, our mother.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Rook said formally, holding out a hand for her to shake.

The breath was nearly knocked out of him when Beatrice rushed forward and embraced him in a rib-shattering hug. Before he knew it, his mother was sobbing against his chest while Enara gave him a sympathetic look.

Beatrice pulled away, wiping her face. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I told myself I would keep it together, but there has been so much loss … I just … I am glad you’re here.”

He took in the fine lines of her face, noting the similarities between them. Though the majority of his bone structure had come from his father, he could see where her genes had softened his hard exterior.

“You look so much like your grandmother,” Beatrice said, gesturing for him and Enara to join her at the dining table.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied. He wasn’t trying to be short; he just had no idea how to navigate this conversation.

“Enara tells me you grew up in Thorncrest?” she asked.

“Yes, I lived there my whole life,” he replied, resting his arms on the table.

“Well, I hope you know that I am happy that you have relocated to Vreburn. It will be nice to have both my children close,” she said softly, as though she were testing out the words.

Something inside him fractured. Hearing her acknowledge he was her son opened a dam on feelings he hadn’t realized he had hidden away. All of a sudden, his inner child screamed at him to run around the table and embrace this woman, whom he barely knew. To lie on the couch with his head in her lap as she told him stories of faraway places. To call on her in the middle of the night when the shadows seemed to be closing in on him. To spend the day baking and ruining their dinner by gorging on apple pie.

He pictured himself coming home from school, his white hair mussed from playing with the other boys, and her pulling him in for a hug. She would ask him how his day had been, and they would laugh and play, and all would be right in the world.

“It’s okay,” Beatrice said, reaching across the table to take his hand. To his own surprise, he let her. It was oddly comforting. “You don’t have to say anything. Neither of you do,” she continued, reaching her other hand over to grasp Enara’s.

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