Page 67 of The Witch's Shifter
She sighs. “Of course you are.” The furrow in her brow softens, and she gestures to the empty seat at the table. “Join us?”
Just as I approach, the baby starts to fuss.
“I’ll take him upstairs,” Wyland says. He’s tall and lean, and when he stands from the table, his legs look long as tree boughs. Selene hands Fletcher to him, and then Wyland pats me on the shoulder before heading into the candlelit foyer and up the stairs to the second floor.
Now it’s just me, Selene, and a gently snoring Alden. I don’t know how he’s so relaxed about all this. Does it really not bother him that Aurora is out there in the dark, in therain, with a shifter?
With Faolan, I remind myself.
Heaving a sigh, I sink into the chair across from Selene. It squeaks beneath my weight.
“Sugar?” she asks, already pouring me a cup of tea from a dark blue teapot.
“No, thank you.”
I take the cup, and the calming scent of chamomile washes over me. It doesn’t smell nearly so good as what Aurora brews, but it’ll do.
We lapse into silence. Selene watches the fire and fiddles with the vial around her neck. Finally, I clear my throat.
“May I ask you something?”
Her gaze is soft when she meets my eyes. “Of course.”
After taking a sip of tea, I shift in my chair and lean forward, bracing one arm against the table. “Your mother... Why does she treat Aurora so coldly? I knew they didn’t have the best of relationships, but watching them, I can’t help but to feel something is amiss.”
Across from me, Selene averts her blue eyes. Her hair, silver like moonlight, absorbs the firelight and looks almost orange as the flames flicker. “I don’t claim to know everything that goes through my mother’s head, but I believe it has something to do with this place.” She looks around the inn’s comfortable sitting room and draws her shawl closer. “She’s never liked it here, but Aurora...” Her quiet laugh dances between us. “Aurora has always been drawn to Faunwood. She was made for these trees. Though I’m sure you know that by now.”
Despite my dark mood, I smile. “That I do.”
“Even as a girl, she wanted to behere, with Auntie. And my mother couldn’t stand that. She and Auntie Lilith didn’t get along, even up to the very end.” Crystalline tears brim along her lower lashes, but she dabs them quickly away with the end of her shawl. “Forgive me. It’s still painful, talking about her now that she’s gone.”
“I understand. I didn’t intend to dig up painful memories. Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” She smiles at me, and I can see a bit of Aurora in her, even if they’re different in so many ways. “I’m so glad to get to know you”—her gaze flicks past me, to where Alden is still snoring softly—“and Alden. It’s clear you both treasure my little sister.”
My mood lifts, if only slightly. “She’s special,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
Selene dabs her eyes again, then takes a steadying breath. “I know. And I’m glad someone else does now too.” She reachesacross the table and places her hand upon mine. Despite the heat in the room, her hand is a bit cold, and I wonder if it has to do with her magic.
Her words bolster me a bit. “Do you know where I might find your mother?”
Selene’s brows arch up. “In her room, I believe. She went straight upstairs when we arrived.”
My gaze shifts to the staircase in the foyer. “Perhaps I’ll pay her a visit before we head back.”
When Evelyn opens the door and sees me standing there, her scowl lifts into curiosity.
“Sir Rowan,” she says. “To what do I owe the visit?
“I apologize for arriving uninvited.” I bow my head to her, then straighten and hold up the tiny plate of apple-cinnamon cake I was able to procure from the cook. “Selene told me you like sweets.”
Her lips curl on one side as she regards the cake. Then, finally, she eases back and opens the door. “Come in.”
I step into her room, and she closes the door behind me. Her fire is burning, chasing the chill from the air, and a book and cup of tea sit on a table beside the rocking chair. Given the smell in the air, I believe the tea to be of the mint variety.
Evelyn moves toward the rocking chair, one hand gesturing to the additional chair tucked beside the wardrobe. I fetch it, careful not to tip the cake from its plate, then sit. She sits as well, a small sigh slipping from her as she eases down.
Her dark hair is in one long braid, and the strands of silver around her temples glisten in the firelight. Her eyes, purple like amethyst, regard me.
