Page 43 of Royal Ransom

Maverick

When people ask about your holiday plans, never respond with, “I’ll be spending them in the ICU.”

People either freak out or hang up the phone. Either way, the reply is rude, and I didn’t have time for it.

Tabitha Depraysie took the secret third option and perched like a vulture near my bedside during visiting hours, watching me through her beady little eyes until the nurse escorted her away. For the first few days, I was tired enough to ignore her presence. Being tortured for the second time in recent memory had drained me, mentally and physically. I was claiming partial amnesia for the sake of my doctors, and the concussion Cirro had given me before dragging me down to the decommissioned potions lab supported that story nicely. Now, if only my mother believed it.

The knitting needles made rhythmic clicks. If I hadn’t known better, I would have expected my sunbeam of a sister sitting at my elbow, knitting any number of ridiculously fluffy items for an upcoming Yule party. Astrid preferred to make her gifts instead of buying them. I’d never sent her a thank-you note, but the spelled scarves and sweaters were among my favorite items to wear daily. I knew, in my head, that Mother had taught Astrid to knit in the first place, but it hadn’t really clicked for me until Mother started doing it during visiting hours.

She hummed tunelessly as she knitted, a song I remembered from my childhood. Although she couldn’t carry a tune, I liked the song anyway. She was really laying it on thick this time around.

“I know you’re awake, Charmin,” she said when there was a lull in her stride. “You never were good at faking sleep.”

I almost squeezed my eyes shut tighter. She couldn’t prove Iwas ignoring her. Iwastired. The blade Cirro used to vivisect me had been infused with the harshest cold of winter. It had slowed everything, including my healing, and was resistant to the white magic treatments that Poppy kept trying on me. I’d been forced into a mundane hospital for care, with guests sneaking me potions every now and then. They projected I could leave the hospital sometime next week if I remained stable.

I rose on my elbows instead, glowering at my mother and wincing when the abrupt movement pulled at my stitches. “It’s Maverick, and you know it.”

She finally glanced up from the scarf she’d been working on, meeting my eyes squarely. Her mouth smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “I knew that would do the trick. I never understood why you hated the name.”

“Because it’s synonymous with toilet paper,Mom,” I drawled, putting emphasis on the title. She couldn’t miss the sneer in my tone. She had the decency not to act hurt by it. No, she knew she’d earned my ire.

“It wasn’t synonymous with toilet paper when I named you. Charmaine was the popular name then. It meant ‘little joy.’ I wanted to use the male variant when you arrived. I was so happy to be pregnant with you.”

But then I came out with all the wrong parts. That would have made me a disappointment to any expectant mother. And I had the gall to be aberrant too, developing power at the same time as all the other girls in the coven.

“I imagine you regret that now,” I said tightly. “I’ve turned out to be such a black sheep.”

The look she gave me in reply was sharp enough to neuter a man at fifty paces. A tiny part of her never grew up. That look had been enough to reduce me to a sullen pile when I’d been a teenager. It was still startlingly effective, even all these years later, gluing my tongue to the roof of my mouth without the aidof a hex.

“I regret many things,” she said quietly. “But my children and marriage are not among them.”

I stared at her, stunned into silence by the confession. “You were... married?”

Her gaze softened just a little. Her lips wobbled once before she pressed them into a line. It was the most emotion she’d allowed herself to show in front of me since the rescue in Newark.

“It wasn’t an official marriage, mind you. Just a spell we, your father and I, had fashioned. I knew it could never be what he wanted. I could be a concubine, but never a queen of Autumn. Neither one of us would have been able to stand it. So we made do. It was a connection that allowed us to always feel as though we were close to one another, even if we weren’t. I felt it when he... when he passed.”

My chest ached in sympathy. I loved Tally. But I also knew what her position meant—that I could lose her to any number of threats if I wasn’t vigilant enough. At least I had the knowledge that I had a family to go home to. Strange, small, and dysfunctional as it was, I’d found a home. But Mother had ousted anyone who could have offered her comfort.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. It was hard to swallow. Hard to realize that she’d loved Fennec, no matter how much she denied it.

“Me too,” she agreed with a sigh. “I did the best I could for you. Celestine didn’t leave me many options. Revealing the truth would have put your life in danger. I thought I was saving you from a fate worse than death. I just...” Tabitha sucked in a shaky breath. “There’s no excuse in the end. I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

My eyes burned fiercely. I turned away from her. The last time I’d cried was after discovering my sister had died, however temporarily. I didn’t trust my mother with my grief. Not yet.

“I’ll forgive you eventually. But... not yet. I can’t. There’s too much.”

“I’m your mother. I’m going to worry when I find you’ve undergone emergency surgery and I wasn’t notified.” A pause. Her voice sounded a little thicker than usual when she asked, “May I call you once a month? Or at least call Wanda to inquire after you?”

Oh. So that’s why she’d been hanging around. I hadn’t really considered it from her perspective, assuming she wanted something from me. That’s how it had always been in the past. Now, I could picture how I’d feel in her place. If Sybil had been in this bed, heads would have rolled. I’d killed to protect Sybil once. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do to keep her safe and happy. If Wanda had kept me out of the loop, I’d have been pissed.

“Once,” I agreed. “And you can call Wanda as often as she’ll tolerate you. Honestly, she deserves a little payback. She works my fingers to the bone at that shop of hers. It would serve her right.”

A startled laugh escaped Tabitha before she could stop it. She slapped a hand over her mouth, shocked by her own daring, which set me off. Laughing hurt, but it also scrubbed away some of the grime that had settled over my mood. I felt brighter, clearer after a good laugh. I had to stop laughing first, or I was going to pull something. But her eyes were still shining when she leaned away from my bed.

“Shall I spam-call her for a date night?” she asked conspiratorially.

I grinned, despite myself. “I think she’d hex us both.”

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