Page 46 of Sons of Sorrow
I pulled away, staring into his eyes. “Suspected, or knew?” My fingers rested on my medallion — on her medallion — tracing the shapes of the gemstones. “This explains my affinity for the guardians. She said so herself, that the medallion doesn’t really hold any power. But if she knew about you, about me, why did she keep this from us?”
“Lochlann, one thing at a time.” Sylvain cupped my jaw in his hand, stroked my cheek with the rough, sobering pad of one thumb. “And you know that I am the last person to defend your Earth gods and all their puzzling behavior. But it is entirely possible that she was learning alongside us herself. Perhaps her questions were always questions we should have asked ourselves.”
The rebuttal died on my lips. Sylvain was right. It wasn’t like him to give the entities of Earth the benefit of the doubt, but what choice did we really have? All I could do was promise that I would thoroughly grill Aphrodite the next time we saw her, at least far enough that she wouldn’t respond by waving her hand and turning my body completely inside out.
Unless I turned my body into water first. Fuck’s sake. Getting to breathe in the Oriel of Water finally made sense. My body must have responded to the concentrated essence of the element, adapted in the moment. Didn’t the mermaids say something as well, about how there was so much water in me? More than a normal human, at least.
Gods, I’d just wrapped my head around becoming a true summoner, around fae royals and guardians and unicorns. But without saying a word, with only a smile and an encouraging squeeze of my hand, Sylvain said it all.
One thing at a time.
20
I filledSylvain in on the rest of what I’d learned as we made our way down to the botanical gardens. The Wispwell and its surrounding courtyard were back in shape after some draining and cleanup work from the custodian imps.
Our friends were scattered all over the castle, recuperating after the fight with — gods, with my mother, the undine. I still didn’t know what to say as we rode the creaky elevator down to the garden grounds, as Sylvain and I stepped out from the car and into the glimmering atrium.
Again it reminded me of the little glass house where we’d found Satchel sleeping, locked away for years in that bank vault. Baylor Wilde felt no remorse about putting his familiar into an extended slumber. Why would he feel bad about lying to his son about his wife’s death, about steeping her in the Wispwell like a forgotten teabag?
“There she is, little human.” Sylvain squeezed my hand, nudging me forward by the small of my back. “I’ll roam the gardens for now, leave the two of you to catch up.”
He kissed me gently, then strode out of the glass atrium and into the sun, throwing me one last reassuring look. I smiled, then gave a humorless chuckle. Little human, huh? Maybe little undine would be more appropriate going forward.
My mother sat in a brass wheelchair, the white linen of her robe matching its white cushions. I swallowed as I approached, watching her profile as she gazed out into the botanical gardens. Her face held so little emotion, no real movement apart from the occasional blink. Her hair spilled down her back in waves, long and glossy and black, like it was always wet, newly touched by the ocean. I should have known, and yet how could I have known?
A woman clad in white stood at her side, one of the healers from the castle infirmary. She smiled, indicating at a small wicker table set by the wheelchair. A tray sat on top of it, one cup, a tiny teapot.
“Some tea, made from the waters of the Wispwell,” the woman said. “I’d advise keeping her properly hydrated. I’ll give you some time, but then we’ll have to bring her in again. Plenty of fluids, plenty of bedrest, you see.”
“Absolutely,” I said, nodding as she walked away. “And thank you so, so much for your help.”
I stood by my mother’s side, rubbing at the front of my arm. She hadn’t even acknowledged my arrival. All that time apart, and she didn’t even remember my face. The little wicker table, her cup of tea, the tiled atrium — this could have been the lobby of a hotel.
A beautiful day, and a beautiful place, all made hollow because we could have been strangers. Two visitors from distant lands with nothing in common but the water and blood that ran in our veins.
My mouth opened, closed again. I clenched my fist, swallowed my sadness as I gazed at the atrium’s crystal canopy. It really did look so much like Satchel’s glass house, a bell jar, my mother and I like pinned butterflies. Baylor Wilde could be missing, or he could be dead. But the ruination wrought by his hand would always linger.
“Mom?” I said, venturing a brush of my fingers against her sleeve. “Hi. It’s me. Locke. Remember?”
The woman who resembled my mother stared on into the gardens. After some uncomfortable moments, she looked up at me, then shook her head. My heart crumbled. One thing at a time, Sylvain said. More fluids, more bedrest. Maybe, maybe not. I forced myself to smile.
“It’s all right,” I told her, perhaps more for my own assurance than hers. “It’s going to be okay.”
Her hand shook as she raised it to her lips. Mom couldn’t have been older than forty, but she looked so frail. So gray.
“Tea,” she croaked.
At least it was a start. I steeled myself as I poured her a cup, willing myself not to cry. One thing at a time. First, this cup of something that might have been ginger, that might have been lemongrass. I helped her with small sips, her fingers trembling as she tried to negotiate the cup herself. Always strong, always willful, or she was, once. Like the waves, like the ocean.
Footsteps approached. I sighed, unsure if I was saddened or relieved to no longer be alone with my mother. I looked up, expecting to find the healer, or Sylvain, and instead stared into the face of the last person I wanted to see.
“Evander,” I said. “Now’s not a good time.”
“It never is.” He sighed, crossed his arms, cocked his hip. “Oh. Hello, Locke’s mom.”
She didn’t respond. My hand curled into a fist. “Evander, don’t make me repeat myself.”
“And don’t come for my throat just yet.” He raised his hands, placating me. “This is hard enough for me as it is. Okay. About the Oriel of Fire, even at the Oriel of Water. You know about Namirah’s family, and now you know about Bruna, too. I know you’ve been dying to know about me.”
