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The smell of fresh cinnamon enveloped me as I pushed open the solid cherry wood door to our cottage, relishing the warmth of the crackling fireplace. I soaked it up and savored the comfort only home could provide.
Our tiny cottage was tucked away in the countryside, surrounded by rolling hills and vast farmland miles away from the city—where an exiled lady-in-waiting and her bastard daughter were fit to live. Filled to the brim with eccentric, mismatched furniture, and random knick-knacks, it wasn’t much to look at, but it was the only home I’d ever known.
In fact, the threadbare textile rug in front of the robust fireplace covered the bloodstain on the hardwood from where my mother had given birth to me.
As I entered the foyer, I made sure to remove my mud-soaked shoes and set them aside. Then, I found the usual spot for my satchel and settled it on the wooden barrel, which was serving as an improvised table. The actions were familiar—comforting.
“Mother, I’m home!” I called.
A light shuffle sounded from the bedroom as she made her way into the hall, her sunken cheeks lifting into a forlorn grimace when she saw me. “Sweet child, come here. What’d you do to your arm?” She frowned.
I tried to keep it together. Tried to be strong so she wouldn’t worry about me, but the second she held out her arms, I was no longer the brave woman I pretended to be but a scared little girl who needed her mother. My lip quivered as she scuffled over and wrapped me in her bony arms, her light floral perfume caressing my cheek.
She’d always been smaller than me—my height, she told me, came from my father—but the difference between us was becoming glaringly apparent as her illness consumed her. It pained me to see her wither away.
“She’s dead.” My words came out in choppy breaths as hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Who child? What happened?”
“Lilian … she’s—she’s dead,” I sobbed. “I found her in the river.” My arms clung to her tighter. “Oh, my stars, seeing her like that—so stiff—I can’t get it out of my head. It’s all my fault, if only I’d gotten there sooner.”
My mother had already sacrificed so much, and now she was putting her physical pain aside to comfort me. The knot in my stomach tightened. The grief and guilt collided in an internal war that would leave me as the only casualty.
When the royals discovered she was pregnant, the kingdom had thrown itself into madness with speculation. A lady-in-waiting was supposed to be pure. Meant to save themselves for someone in the royal court. When she had refused to disclose who my father was, they exiled her. Leaving her—us—to fend for ourselves. To this day, years after his death, she kept him a secret. Even from me. All for the sake of protecting his name. His leafy gold ring shimmered under the light, catching my eye.
I looked at it now. Over her shoulder. I wore on my index finger, set with small amethysts, the only clue I had as to who he was. A physical reminder of his absence, even in name.
She rubbed the back of my head, smoothing my hair as the tears dwindled away. “Don’t blame yourself, Elowyn. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent what happened.”
“But what if I could? What if I was only a few minutes too late?”
“The what-ifs will drive you insane, child, believe me.” She pushed a stray piece of hair from my face, her amber eyes searching mine. “You can’t save everyone. This realm is a wicked place.”
Swiping at my cheeks, I nodded, needing to talk about something else. “Have you eaten anything today?” I asked, in a poor attempt to change the conversation. She and I both knew her appetite was nonexistent these days, but I needed to busy my hands and distract myself from the turmoil of my mind.
“Of course I ate, child. And yes, before you ask, I already took my medicines, too.” Her tone was soft, if not filled with a light scolding.
I huffed my disbelief as I padded over to the kitchen—maybe if she didn’t always act like a child, I wouldn’t have to treat her as such. Ignoring her lies, I fished around the icebox to see what I could make.
My hands jittered, but I clenched my fists in an attempt to ward them off. If I was going to make it through the rest of this horrible day—the next few weeks—I needed to stay busy.
So, if hyper focusing on caring for my mother brought me a semblance of sanity, then that’s what I’d do. “I can heat some soup from yesterday?”
“No, I told you I was fine.” She waved her hand as she shuffled to her bedroom, signaling the end of the discussion. “I’m going to lie back down. Quit worrying about me.”
Gone was the once vibrant woman who danced and sang around the house. She’d been replaced with a hollow shell of her past self. Medicines provided temporary relief, but the doctors told us there was no cure. I held onto hope that things would turn around, but each new day looked bleaker than the last.
After placing a pot of leftover soup on the cast-iron stove and setting the flame, I left it to simmer while I washed up and prepared for bed.
Drops of blood stained the sink as I cleaned the cut on my arm. Images of Lilian flashed in my mind, and I steadied my erratic breathing, trying to shove them away. I knew there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent her death, but it didn’t stop the sense of dread that settled on top of my chest, turning my skin to ice. I splashed my face with water and glanced in the mirror, noting the dark, tired circles. Being my mother’s caretaker, the weight of today, all of it was carved into my features, slowly draining the life from me.
The soup had warmed by the time I finished changing. With each bowl that I poured for us, the kitchen became infused with the rich and delicious combination of garlic and onion, creating a savory blend that made my stomach growl.
My mother pretended to be asleep when I entered her room—an attempt to avoid dinner—and a usual occurrence that grated on my nerves.
“Not tonight, lady.” Purposefully allowing them to clash together, I placed the bowls on her bedside table and shuffled through the clutter for the serving tray. The noise would wake the stubbornness from her. “You need as much energy as you can get, and the only way you’re going to get that is if you eat.” I grabbed her hand and helped her up despite her reluctance and placed the bowl on the tray in front of her.
“Since when did you become so bossy?”
