I kiss the fine pink silk of the cradle at shoulder level, and then I take my leave.
ChapterSeven
~Six MonthsLater~
Rahz
My mother pacesthe length of our tiny kitchen in the guise of putting away dishes. “What does it mean?” Anxiety has crept into her tone like fog along the horizon. “Register for what?” She runs a hand over her glossy brown hair, slicked back into a bun so as not to get in her way when she heads to work later.
I haven’t wrapped my head around the news either and don’t know what to say to calm her fears. “Not sure.”
The weather has begun to warm. Spring is in the air. Seedlings are sprouting, flower blossoms are putting on a show, and a delegation from the royal family has just made their annual trip through Jodpirn. Gilded royal carriages trailing silk banners and topped with golden fringed canopies look so out of place here among the farms, but I saw them with my own eyes. Heard the news with my own ears.
Usually, their visit brings good tidings from our queen and her consort, perhaps a stash of candied treats from Lemossin’s fine cooks, and news of the realm. In return, our regional anax contributes a tithe and several cartfuls of provisions, makes our reports, and shares word of births, deaths, and dormancies. It’s generally a quick visit. We’re but one small stop along their route that circumnavigates the continent. Nothing noteworthy has come from the annual visit since the youngest princess was born, and even that, though joyous, barely affected us out here in the countryside.
Mother clinks the last of the dishes away, drops into the chair next to mine, and puts her hand on my knee. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
I’m thinking the same thing. “But they say it’s mandatory.”
“How will they know?” Her brown eyes shine with intensity. “If they need you to register, it means they don’t have an accurate count of mixlings to begin with. They’re trying to establish one. And what is a pledge but words spoken one day that can surely be revoked the next? It’s better they don’t keep track of you.”
My breakfast isn’t sitting well, with my stomach tied in knots. Mother’s fretting doesn’t help, though I’m inclined to agree with her. The delegation’s thinly veiled command for all mixlings to make the trip to Lemossin, register their ancestry, and pledge their allegiance to the fae queen and her consort bristles the hair on my nape. I need to talk to Jindal. He’ll know what to say to calm me down.
I place my hand on my mother’s and squeeze. A sense of her unease washes over me with the contact. “Well, I don’t have to do anything yet. There’s a four-month window in which to make the trip, so we can afford to think on it.”
“I have a bad feeling about this. First the news of fighting in the south, talk of an uprising, and now Queen Aurielle requiring pilgrimages and pledges, but only from those of mixed heritage? Your grandparents are rolling over in their graves, Rahz. Especially my father. He always thought we’d be stronger if we united.”
“What do you mean?” And what of my own father, I wonder, but I won’t upset her further with the question. Speaking of him only serves to make her sad.
“Your grandfather was always quick to remind us we humans outnumber fae in Luminia,” she explains. “We may have shorter lives, but we bear children much faster. We don’t go dormant. He said if we ever chose to band together and demand better treatment, demand our equal share of resources, the fae would be forced to comply.”
I shift in my seat. My memories of my grandfather are of a gentle, gray-haired old man who always had a spare piece of candy in his front pocket for me, a toothy smile on his face, and a sweet-smelling pipe in his hand. It’s hard to picture him imagining some sort of revolution.
Mother continues, “I thought he was spouting nonsense. But I was young. The fae in our village were kind to me. Your father was kind to me. It was easy to overlook injustice when I was hardly affected by it. But now? Well, I’m older, and I’d like to think wiser. I find myself wondering if your grandfather was right all along.”
Since she brought him up herself, I can’t be expected to resist the topic. “My father was kind to you?”
Her laughter surprises me, cutting through the tense moment like the calm before a storm. “Of course he was, Rahz. What did you think? That I’d fall in love with a man who treated me poorly?”
I shrug. “I didn’t know. You don’t like to speak of him.”
She reclaims her hand, crosses her arms, and leans back in her seat. A thoughtful, faraway expression graces her oval face.
It’s easy to see the young beauty she must have been. Even now, in middle age, my mother is stunning. Big brown eyes, perfectly arched brows, dark hair, and cherubic plump cheeks. She has a strong build, her arms defined in lean muscle from years of working the soil, working to run our household, working to keep the other villagers happy. As a young woman, she’d have been something else. No wonder my father fell for her.
If only I could understand why he left.
“You’re right.” She sighs. “I don’t. But perhaps I’ve been unfair to you in that. I don’t want you to think poorly of a man you’ve never met, yet I don’t want you to like him either. Selfish of me, isn’t it?”
“You have your reasons.”
“Do I?” Her gaze returns from the distance to focus on me. “What would you like to know, dear? This is as good a time as any.”
I’m certainly not going to argue, but I fail to see her logic. I’m all worked up over the registry, riddled with worry that threatens to become fear, and though I’ve harbored unanswered questions about my father my entire life, now hardly seems the time for a calm discussion. But I won’t let the rare opportunity slip past me. Bad timing or not, I’m going to ask.
“What happened, Mother? If you loved each other, why did it change? Why did he go?”
There. It’s out of me and dangling between us like a dew drop from a petal. Destined to fall but somehow still beautiful in the light.
