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What have I done to my mother?
I freeze, and I don’t know what to do, but then the warmth of my father’s hand clasps at my shoulder. “She often dreams that you return. She has these moments when she first wakes when she’s thrilled, shaking me with excitement because our children are back. I think she thinks this is another dream. Another dream that will break her when she wakes.”
“What can we do?”
My father sighs. “We’ll try again tomorrow. Nighttime is difficult, and first thing in the morning is the worst, but midday is usually some better.”
Some better.
That isn’t encouraging.
But I follow my father out of the room regardless, my chest caving in as he shuts the door behind him.
My father has to go to town in the morning to pick up supplies, and because I’m a child and can’t bear the thought of staying alone at the house with my mother who isn’t my mother, I offer to come along with him.
Normally, I wouldn’t be able to go along with him during the day hours, but it’s reached the time of year in Mystral when the sun only shines for a few hours midday. Since my father is an early riser, it gives us plenty of time to walk to town and back before I have to worry about being scorched to death.
My father is chatty on the way to town, which surprises me. Talkative isn’t a quality I remember about my father. I almost find it enjoyable, except I soon realize it stems from having no one to converse with at home anymore.
When we finally reach town, I try to wait for my father in the streets. I don’t really have any desire to speak to the people I haven’t seen since I was a child. Most of the residents avoided Zora and me, believing fae twins to be cursed to destroy one another. Though now that I consider it, I suppose their superstitions weren’t so far off after all.
My father looks disappointed though, and I realize he wants to share his excitement over my return with someone, given my mother hasn’t been emotionally available. I finally give in and enter the general store with him.
It’s rather empty at this hour anyway. This must be the time my father always comes, because the store owner, a female by the name of Jean with long crimson hair that’s as straight as a board, purrs, “You’re two minutes late, Ronan.” She stares down at her ledgers from behind the counter, not bothering to look up. “I was beginning to worry I’d have to wait until tomorrow to see that handsome face of yours again.”
I clear my throat, and Jean glances up, clearly startled to see my father has brought company.
That level of startled doesn’t begin to match what creeps over her face when she sees me. “Nox,” she whispers, her voice breathy. “You’re alive.”
She looks back and forth between my father and me and bites her lip, measuring her words.
Then a stunning smile curves on her full, red lips. “Why, this is wonderful, Ronan,”
Something in the way her eyes don’t take part tells me it’s not. For her, at least.
My father offers her a friendly smile that I find quite naïve. He puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. “Showed up on my doorstep late last night. Back from the dead.”
“That’s delightful for you,” Jean says, though she’s having difficulty maintaining the levity in her tone. “I’m sure Merida is delighted.”
I feel my limbs go stiff, but my father clearly doesn’t see it as the fishing attempt that it is, because he answers, “I’m afraid Merida was too ill last night to recognize him, but we’re hopeful that she’ll feel better once the sun rises.”
I mark the glimmer in Jean’s eyes at the news that my return has not caused a miraculous recovery in my mother.
Farin might no longer be inside me, but that doesn’t stop red from swimming in my vision.
“And your daughter?” Jean asks, ignoring my presence and focusing fully on my father.
My father blinks rapidly and shakes his head, just as he did last night.
Jean at least has the decency to look regretful at his pain. For a moment, she almost has me convinced.
“I’m so sorry, Ronan,” she says, and the binding nature of the fae curse means it’s true.
It doesn’t stop me from wondering how her blood would taste.
Once my father has collected all his wares for the day, we make our way back to the cottage. The part of me that lives in dread of the sun paces quickly up the hill, though I have to remember that even my fae father isn’t as swift as I am, given the advantages of my curse.
On the way, I keep opening my mouth, trying to get it to form a question, or perhaps a statement. Either way, whatever I want to say has to do with Jean. Whether father realizes her obvious feelings for him. But each time I choke on the words. Part of me doesn’t want to know if my father notices and encourages them anyway.
