“You know the name.”
“Everyone knows the name. They were...” She stopped. Looked at Riley, really looked, in a way she hadn’t before. Her eyes traced Riley’s face, her features, her bone structure. “Oh, goddess.”
“Mother?”
“I knew you reminded me of someone.” Her voice had gone soft. Distant. “I couldn’t place it before, but now... oh, goddess.”
She rose, crossed to Riley, took her hands. Her eyes had found the watch on Riley’s wrist, and she stared at it with growing recognition.
“May I see it?” she asked. “The watch?”
Riley nodded, extending her arm. My mother examined the watch, turned it over, found the inscription on the back.
MIRABELLE.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Mother...” I started forward, alarmed. I’d never seen my mother cry, not once in my entire life. She was the Ice Queen of Duskmere, elegant and controlled. But now tears were streaming down her face.
“You’re Torven and Kattarina’s daughter,” she said, her voice breaking. “Aren’t you?”
Riley went very still. “You knew them? My parents?”
“Kattarina was an old friend.” A tear slipped down my mother’s cheek. “We grew apart when I married the king. Our lives went in such different directions. But I loved her very much. When I heard of her passing, when we thought the whole family had perished in that fire...” She steadied herself. “We thought you were dead. Everyone did.”
“I survived.” Riley’s voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t remember much. I was young. But I survived.”
“Oh, my dear girl.” My mother pulled her into an embrace. “Oh, my sweet girl. Your mother would be so proud of you.”
I watched my mate cling to my mother, watched the tears on both their faces, and felt a profound settling in my chest. My wolf was quiet, reverent.
This was meant to be. The goddess had brought us together. Riley’s mother had been my mother’s friend. Our families had been connected long before we were born.
Fate. It was all fate.
***
We moved to the family dining room for a meal.
It was smaller than the formal hall. Intimate, warm, with a fire crackling in the hearth and a table that seated eight. My mother refused to let go of Riley’s hand as we walked, asking questions about her godmother, about her childhood, about everything.
Riley answered as best she could. She didn’t remember much about her birth parents. Flashes, fragments, impressions rather than concrete memories. But my mother drank in every detail, hungry for any connection to her lost friend.
“She had your eyes,” my mother said at one point, stroking Riley’s cheek. “Kattarina. The same shape. The same fire in them.”
“I wish I could remember her better.”
“Perhaps we can help with that. There are paintings. Letters. Journals, maybe, in the archives. I kept everything I could save after... after the fire. I couldn’t bear to throw it away.”
Riley’s face lit up. “I would love that.”
My wolf settled with contentment. My mate would have connection to her past. Would know where she came from. My mother would give her that gift.
Dinner was served. The conversation flowed. Easier now, warmer. Servants brought course after course. Roasted venison, winter vegetables, fresh bread still warm from the ovens. Riley ate with appetite, and I watched her with satisfaction.
Patt regaled us with stories about my childhood, embarrassing ones that made Riley laugh and made me growl with irritation.
“And then,” Patt continued, grinning broadly, “Caelan climbed the tower because he thought he saw a bird that needed rescuing. Except it wasn’t a bird. It was a gargoyle.”
