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“Do you regret it?”
She thought for a moment. “I regret not being close to you. What for you must have been a burden—”
“It wasn’t,” I said quickly.
She looked skeptical but smiled. “Indeed. Well, for me, I believe it was the sweetest period in my life.”
I stared at her. “Your life? Your whole life?”
She laughed. “My life has been long. But you have been the sweetest part of it, Medra, my love. Is that so hard to believe?” I couldn’t speak. She studied me, her expression soft. “I wanted to see you here, like this. Before things become … more intense.” Her voice turned wry. “It seems sometimes dreams do come true.” Then her voice changed. “I wish to ask you a favor. May I … hold you?”
I must have flinched.
Orcades’s eyes were suddenly bright. For a woman who could wield power like Florence wielded a quill, she looked suddenly uncertain. “As you may recall, I never had the chance. Not once.”
My heart clenched painfully. I wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. I gave a tight nod. She stood up slowly, every movement graceful. My beautiful mother.
“I didn’t get to hold you when you were small,” she said softly, never taking her eyes off me. “I didn’t get to rock you to sleep or to kiss your forehead when you were sick. I sometimes wonder what sort of a mother I would have made if I’d been given the chance. Even just for a few days.”
The ballroom blurred. My vision swam.
“Oh, Medra,” she murmured. “You are the most perfect thing to me.”
I gave a choking sob. And then I was in her arms, wrapping mine around her waist. She was slender like a willow—and for a moment she was stiff. Then she made a sound, not quite a laugh or a sob, and her arms came around me, tight and desperate. Even in the dream, she smelled like a fae princess. She wore a light flowery fragrance—no doubt something priceless. I was sure I smelled like tent and smoke. I was rough and unpolished. My hair was tangled. Hers was smooth and perfectly coiffed. We were so different in so many ways. But she was my mother. I buried my face against her shoulder.
“You’re a little taller than me,” she whispered. “I suppose you get that from your father.”
“Did you love him?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“No,” she said bluntly. “Never. But he gave me you, so I’m grateful for that.”
Tears slid down my face. “I’m scared.”
Orcades pulled back without letting go of me completely. Her face twisted with emotion. “Oh, my darling.” She touched my cheek. “I’m scared, too. But it will be all right.” She bit her lip. “I’m glad Blake’s with you. He’s very strong.”
“I thought you liked Kage better,” I teased.
She gave a tinkling laugh. “I adore Blake because he adores you. I would love anyone you loved, Daughter, don’t you know that?”
“I think you would have made a very good mother,” I whispered. “But you also already are one.”
She blinked hard. Then she leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “I would have loved you so much if I’d been given the chance. I want you to know that. I would never have let go.”
I sobbed. Her arms tightened around me, embracing me again. Finally, she loosened them, looking at my face, wiping my tears away with her fingertips.
“I refuse to spend the entire time here with you in tears,” she said, lifting her chin in that queenly way I knew she would possess. “Let’s go over the plan. Tell me where you are. Tell me all your news. Which ward have you reached? How are things with Mortis?”
Part of me just wanted to stand there in her arms, to simply be her daughter for a while. To be held and told for five minutes I didn’t have to be brave. But the other part of me—the part that was fae, the part that was a rider—knew the cost.
I opened my mouth and began to tell her about the water and all the other wards. Everything except the prophecy.
As she’d said, the best lies were the ones we told to stop someone from hurting.
Chapter 55
REGAN
I stood at the head of the boardroom table, trying not to look at the spots of blood on my rolled-up sleeves. I’d carefully selected a silky short dress of gold and silver that morning, not knowing I’d soon be in crisis mode.
