Page 17 of Sons of Sorrow
“Mother.” The lump in Sylvain’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. My fingers dug into the seat of my chair. A big, horrible question was coming. “Is there something that you haven’t told me about our lineage? About my heritage?”
“Sylvain, don’t be preposterous.” Queen Aurelia fanned her face with her open hand. “Now what in the world would possess you to ask such a strange question?”
“Who, more like,” Sylvain grumbled under his breath. I reached for his hand, tried to thread my fingers with his. He shook me off. I clenched my teeth, starting to get a sense for where this conversation was going. Straight to hell, as far as I was concerned.
I shouldn’t have mentioned the meeting with Aphrodite at all. By raising the question, I’d done to him the very same thing that made me so leery of the goddess. I’d planted the seeds of doubt.
“Colors, indeed,” Aurelia said, scoffing.
Sylvain’s fingers closed into a fist, his hand held so tight that it was shaking. “It was a simple question, and a very harmless one, I thought. If only I knew you’d react so unfavorably, I would have kept it to myself.”
“Green leaves, gold leaves. Who cares?” Yvette guffawed, the open, carefree laughter of someone who’d had a little more wine than they were used to. “Mother’s right. They’re just colors. Next thing you know, you’re going to accuse us of keeping other secrets from you. Just because I can make thorns from my skin, doesn’t mean a different prick was involved.”
The room went deathly silent, save for the sound of more wine glugging down Yvette’s throat. Aurelia reached for her goblet, ripping it away so quickly that some of the wine spilled on Yvette’s armor. She yelped, glanced down at herself, then stared at her mother reproachfully.
“I was still drinking that.”
Queen Aurelia’s lips curled away from her teeth. “I think you’ve had quite enough, Yvette.”
Sylvain’s fist struck the table. I flinched, started away. A crack appeared in the wood, just underneath his hand. Queen Aurelia sprang to her feet.
“Enough, Sylvain. Your behavior is wildly unbecoming.”
“And yours isn’t, Mother?” He glared at her, giving as fierce a gaze as he received. “Keeping secrets and treading around me as if on broken glass? Other secrets, Yvette said. What does she mean by that?”
Princess Yvette looked at her lap, the carpet, anywhere but our faces. Aurelia took a deep breath, exhaled again.
“There is nothing to tell. Your sister is only acting foolishly, having consumed too much wine. She was too wrapped up in the merriment. Lochlann, we apologize for this. A minor familial spat, I assure you.”
I raised my hands and shook my head, trying to be polite, but perfectly happy to be left out of the conversation.
A different prick. A slip of the tongue, clearly, but did it have any truth to it? Sylvain’s parentage would never change how much I cared for him, but this revelation would very much shatter his worldview.
Gods above and below. Was Sylvain a bastard?
“This isn’t just Yvette’s fault. Why would you blame her and her alone? The both of you hid this from me, Mother.” Sylvain stumbled as he rose from the table. He glanced down at his hands. “Can I even call you that anymore?”
Queen Aurelia’s face seemed like it was crumbling from the inside. She clutched at her chest, her nose wrinkling, her lips puckered as she strained to hold back her tears.
“Of course you can. My boy. My darling boy.” She reached out with her hand. “Sylvain, please. Nothing has changed between us.”
“Everything.” Sylvain retreated a step, putting himself just out of reach. “Everything has changed. Tell me, then, if you’ve really been so true. Was the King of Autumn my real father?”
The color drained from Aurelia’s cheeks. Her mouth quivered as she reached for an answer. Yvette looked away, her arms folded across her chest. I was hardly an expert on body language, but Sylvain had his answer.
He didn’t wait to hear it. His footsteps headed for the exit, the door slamming behind him. My ears burned as the three of us remained at the table, each avoiding the others’ gazes. Queen Aurelia burst into tears, her hands covering her face.
Yvette groaned, apparently already sober. She rubbed the seam in her forehead, glancing up at me through her lashes.
“Locke? I think I fucked up.”
8
Warm water cocooned my skin,my very being, pushing on me from every direction with the gentleness of a touch from someone beloved. A friend, perhaps, a lover, a mother.
I hugged my knees, allowing myself to sink to the bottom of the swimming pool, one of several around the Wispwood. I blinked, peering through the clear water at the other swimmers. Not many at this time of day, apparently, or not many in this particular pool, at least.
Butts. Mostly butts, some people treading water in between laps, a few engaged in what might have been a very casual game of water polo. Nice butts, all of them. I didn’t like to discriminate. All butts were welcome at the Wispwood.
