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“Mama, I don’t think it’s wise for us to speak about this—” I began.
“Zoei.” Her nails bit into my skin. “Stop. You will not keep me in the dark.”
“It is not my wish to keep you in the dark,” I clarified. “But with your constitution—”
“My constitution?” Mama echoed, deep furrows forming on her forehead. “And what kind of constitution would that be?”
Warning bells blared in my head. I was wading into treacherous territory, filled with sand-covered explosives.
“I would hate to cause a fainting spell—” I began, only to be cut off mid-sentence.
“I have low blood pressure, sweetheart. I’m not missing a brain,” she reprimanded. “Now, tell me who we’re dealing with and how they accessed our home.”
“The answer to the latter is simple,” I decreed. “You let them in.”
Mother’s gasp brought one of her guards forward to query after her health. She shooed him away, turning wide eyes towards me.
“Me? I don’t understand,” she stuttered, clinging to my arm.
“The ostentatious party,” I explained with a blustery sigh. “Youinsisted on a coronation that the Kingdom would remember, and it almost cost me my life.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I—”
Tears shimmered in her eyes, like dew drops glistening in the setting sun.
“That is terrible indeed,” she murmured, her jaw tight. “We increased security and searched each person that came through our gates—”
She paused with a hitch of breath.
“Who was it?”
Mama waited expectantly, her dark brows riding high.
“Who, Zoei?” she repeated when I fell silent, pondering the consequences of involving my overly sensitive mother in this mess.
With a sigh, I concluded that I could at least manage and mitigate her reaction by telling her myself.
“We have proof that it was the Summerstream clan.”
For a moment, even the wind was silent around us. Cobwebs of dread creased her skin.
“It can’t be,” she murmured, between reedy breaths. “Surely not.”
“Perhaps the cruelties of court are lost on you, Mama.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“I have been a member of this court far longer than you have been born, sweetheart. I have been subject to its cruelty more often than you can imagine.” Her fingers fell from my arm to gather the waterfall of her skirts.
“Follow me,” she decreed, drawing a sigh from my lips.
She moved quickly, her slippered feet firm on the winding pathway.
“Mama,” I called after her. “I have an important errand to run.”
“Later,” she insisted, pausing to gaze over her shoulder at me. “We will speak in my salon.”
“Time is of the essence,” I reiterated, but she only turned with a whirl of skirts. I followed reluctantly.
