I jerk my knee away. Instantly, I’m cold, but I prefer it. I miss Ophera, but I hate coming back. It makes me feel nostalgic and guilty and sad. “I’m not discussing this with you.”
“You really hate talking about her,” Kaidren notes.
“How perceptive.” I don’t look at him.
Silence, for four seconds, before he sighs. “My mother was a seamstress. It’s how I got those robes I saw you looking at earlier.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye, cautious but curious. “I assumed those were from your father.”
He laughs, but it lacks humor. “A gift from my father was about as likely as a snowstorm in hell. He wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence until he was sick. I got those robes because my mother was a seamstress for a few of the Honorate.”
I can’t tell if he’s trying to convey without words that he isn’t going to push on the subject of my mother, or if he thinksdiscussing his own will soften me so he can pry later. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I figured we could call a truce. If only for a while.” He keeps going. “I’ve always known who my father is. He knew about me too, but he ignored me. My mom took those robes from one of her other clients. She brought them home and patched them up for me. Said I should practice for the real thing someday.”
He pauses, lost in memories. Keeping my guard up around Kaidren is easy—except for when he discards the mask. When he’s vulnerable and genuine like this, I can’t help myself. “What happened to her?”
“After dear old Dad saw me for the first time, he fired her.” His wistful tone sours. “I’ll never forget the way he looked at me. Like I was a phantom. He knew I existed, but until he saw me in person, I don’t think he realized how much we looked alike. He fired her that same day.”
He falls quiet. Sad memories flick through his eyes like snowflakes. He hasn’t finished his story; he’s collecting himself. “He spread word, far and wide, that no one in Virdei should hire her. He didn’t say why, of course, but she was ruined just the same. She was desperate for work, so she took a job in the mines.”
My breath catches. The tshira mines are notoriously dangerous. He doesn’t need to finish this story for me to know its end, but I don’t interrupt.
“She survived six months before she went missing. It was another five days before they found her body and confirmed what we already knew—she was dead.”
An awful way to lose a parent. My skin is safe inside gloves, and my heart is sad, so I lay a hand over his and squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
He flips his hand over, intertwining our fingers. “So am I.”
Any other day, I’d pull away. But I can read how much he misses her in the mist in his eyes, in the tone of his voice, in the stillness of his chest. I keep my hand where it is.
“I never forgave him.” Bitterness douses each word. “Even when he finally deigned to acknowledge me and told me I’d inherit his title.”
“He sounds like an ass,” I say.
“He is. Was.” It’s not hard to imagine Kaidren killing his own father—to avenge his mother, to take his place in the Honorate, to punish him, or all of the above.
Neither of us speaks, and in that companionable silence, I realize why he told me his mother’s story. It wasn’t a trick. It was to let me know he understands what it is to be so sad, the only way to cope is to be furious. My chest is tight, and I find myself speaking to relieve the pressure. “My father is a lot like yours.”
Kaidren’s hand squeezes mine in reassurance. He doesn’t interrupt.
“I didn’t know it was possible to hate someone as much as I do him. He discarded my mother like trash. She was . . .” I blink rapidly, holding in tears of rage and heartache. “She was everything I’m not. She was kind. And she was loving and sweet and patient. And she was a fool.”
Kaidren flinches. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I loved her more than anything, but she was foolish. She actually believed he loved her.”
“Maybe he did, in his own way.”
“He didn’t. I asked him.”
“You think he lied?”
“No.” My throat burns as I recall the cold, irritated way he answered the question I was pathetic enough to ask. “No, he didn’t even bother.”
Kaidren doesn’t fight me as I tug my hand away, but his eyes linger, like he wants to snatch it back. “I’m sorry,” he says. “After my mom died, Jules was the only thing that made it bearable. I’m sorry your second home was somewhere you were unwanted.”
“Ophera is my home,” I say fiercely. “Always will be.” He has more questions. I can read the curiosity in his too-earnest gaze. Time to steer this conversation to safer waters. “Speaking of Ophera.” I clear my throat. “Your aunt Jules made an interesting comment about your tattoo. Which is odd, because I didn’t think you had one.”
