“I’ve been trying on ‘Lilythorn,’ for the new me,” Thorn offered hesitantly.
Her mother smiled, tremulous. “I like that.”
“She’s Rose now,” Clotaire said, coming up beside Thorn. “We must all practice using that name.”
The two women gazed at each other, ignoring him. Then, in an unexpected burst, Shoshan began weeping, tears pouring down her face and sobs robbing her of breath. “I’m… so… so… very… sorry,” she gasped out.
And Thorn took that last step to embrace her. She held her shorter, slighter mother, surprised to find herself in the position of being comforter, but also not minding. Those tears Shoshan shed were all for Thorn. Had anyone ever wept for her before? She didn’t think so—and it meant everything.
“Shh,” she said, stroking her mother’s lovely blond hair, like pale silk floss. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know.” Shoshan pulled back, framing Thorn’s face in her palms. “Oh, my beautiful daughter, I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t,” Thorn told her, willing her to believe, marveling at the feel of holding on to another woman, one who clearly loved her without reservation. “Of course you didn’t know. It will be all right.”
“Yes,” Clotaire inserted with some impatience. “Get ahold of yourself, Shosh, you’re making a scene.”
Thorn felt her mother’s magic, totally different from any she’d felt before, rise up like a flame. Shoshan fixed her pale blue gaze, fire in her eyes, on Clotaire. “I’m going to say this once.Go away.”
“I need to assist with Thorn’s transformation into Rose,” he protested, gesturing at Thorn, as if that demonstrated something. “It’s going to take a lot of work to polish her up enough to pass.”
Thorn could hear the words he didn’t say:even for a short time. His anxiety to stay spoke for him, too. He wanted to keep control of her.
“I’ll handle it. You’re not wanted here,” Shoshan replied evenly. “Send your tutors, but this is my time with my daughter and you’ll not rob me of any more of it.”
“Thorn?” Clotaire asked in that fawning father voice. “I have so much wisdom to share with you. Plans to make.”
“I’m fine with Mother now,” Thorn said, mimicking her mother’s neutral tone. “You can come back later.”
“You can send in her things,” Shoshan said, looping her arm around Thorn’s waist and turning her toward the lodge.
“I don’t have any,” Thorn said automatically, then regretted it when her mother paled, her fury like a white-hot flame as Shoshan faced Clotaire.
“Nothing worth keeping, she means,” Clotaire said weakly.
“Did you deal with Jada?” Shoshan practically hissed.
“I did, yes.”
Shoshan glanced at Thorn for confirmation, smiling tightly when her daughter nodded. “At least you did that much. Now go away. I want to talk with my daughter.”
“This is the thanks I get?” Clotaire demanded to their backs. Both women ignored him and went inside.
Thorn hadn’t really ever imagined what it would be like to have a mother. Somehow in the murky confusion over who Jada had been to her, Thorn had developed the idea that Jada was as good a mother as she would ever get. So, nothing prepared her for the time with her real mother, who showered her with affection—verbal and physical—saying she couldn’t make up for all the lost years, but that she would do her level best.
She helped Thorn bathe, even washing her hair for her, showing her how to use the array of scrubs and lotions to make her skin soft. After drying Thorn’s long hair before the fire, Shoshan trimmed it for her, explaining how the softer fringe around her face would frame it better. Shoshan even filed and oiled Thorn’snails, asking about the calluses from housework, listening with tight-lipped disapproval.
Never once did she compare Thorn to Rose, which came as an unexpected relief. All this time, Thorn had felt like the dark shadow, the dream self, the less polished and powerful version of wonderful Rose. Her mother, though, wanted to know everything about Thorn’s life. What she liked, what she loved. She had Thorn demonstrate psychometry on a bracelet she wore, marveling that Thorn was able to identify Shoshan’s mother, her grandmother, and the chain of women who’d worn it before that.
“No, you keep it.” Shoshan said, pressing the bracelet into her hand when Thorn started to hand it back.
“Clotaire gave me other jewelry,” Thorn said, feeling a bit uncomfortable with all the largesse. She touched the choker at the hollow of her throat, the rose glittering there. “And these others, and more.” After her bath, she’d dressed in a fine gown of honey gold and donned some jewelry, her mother patiently teaching her the layers and magical fastenings. “A perfect match to every piece he gave Rose,” Thorn continued. “He said he always bought two of everything, because he never forgot about me.”
It seemed important to tell her mother this, but she thought she wasn’t explaining well. Every piece had also borne the overbearing remanence of Clotaire’s ambition, the hard sheen of calculation. There was no love, no affection, not even dry regard in the remanence he’d left behind. Only sharp-edged greed for power. Thorn had handled enough valuable jewelry imbued with those emotions to recognize them easily. She was somewhat surprised that Rose hadn’t, but Thorn couldn’t cast stones at someone who didn’t realize they’d been lied to.
“Thorn,” her mother said with a very serious expression, taking Thorn’s newly manicured hands in hers, “I know it’s late in the day for me to play mother to you, but I want you to understand something. Your father bought two of everything not outof sentiment for you, but with the intention that you would be indistinguishable from Rose when it came time for him to execute his scheme. Has Rose explained to you what he planned?”
Yes and no.But Thorn wasn’t sure if she was supposed to admit to knowing Sebastien yet, so she simply nodded. The layers of lies and deceptions made her head ache.
