“Only Lidi and Tamin,” she said, letting go of him. “I’m making dinner, which I need to get back to before the beans overcook.”
Fox didn’t hide his surprise as she fluttered past the dining room, through the servants’ hall, and into the kitchens.
It was strange to see the home so quiet, only Lidi standing in the corner, slicing and buttering bread with quiet determination.
“Paoletta, is he here?” Lidi asked, not looking up from her task.
“I am,” Fox said, unsure why he felt so out of place in his own home. Lidi gave a small jump, quick to respond with a bow, knife still held in her hands.
“None of that,” Mother said, leaning over a large boiling pot, steam curling her dark strands.
He felt unsteady on his feet, as if the world were shifting underneath him.
“Well, are you going to help?” Mother said, tone brooking no argument as she passed him a spoon and waved him over to his own pot. “Taste the rice and let me know if it needs more salt or lime.”
They sat down for dinner a while later, Lidi making her excuses before slipping back into the kitchen. Fox was used to the dining room feeling empty, having never recovered from Leon’s absence. Yet, despite his father being gone and he and his mother sitting together at one end of the table, the room felt more alive than it had in ages. The gas lamps were burning brightly, and someone had lit the candles all along the table runner. The scent of decadent, almost pungent spices filled the room, so unlike the Falain food his father had always insisted on.
“How do you know how to do this?” he asked as the burst of flavors hit his tongue with the first bite. The beans were full and somehow indulgent, the tang of the tomatoes the perfect amount of sharpness against the heavy savoriness of the pork fat. They’d rarely eaten beans, his father calling the dish poor food, but these tasted better than most meats served in the army cafeterias.
She smiled. “I used to sneak into the kitchens when I was younger. Nonia would let me help in exchange for teaching me the basics. It was a pleasant escape from the droll life of a general’s daughter. Back then, they didn’t let women of my station work. So, there wasn’t much for me to do in between the parties.” Her smile was soft when she spoke of her family, and Fox felt an ache in his chest. He’d never met her parents—his grandparents. They’d died before he was born, his grandfatherat sea and his grandmother shortly after. Mother always said she died of a broken heart.
Fox had never believed her. There was no such thing as a love like that. So he thought.
An ache ran through him, and he pressed his hand to the book under his jacket, where it rested against his heart.
Mother took a bite of the buttered flatbread and closed her eyes, lips curving in a small smile. She’d lost everything over the sun cycles—everything but Fox.
“You’re staring,” she said, eyes opening, the warm brown meeting his own.
“How are you?”
“I won’t shatter, Little Fox,” she said, putting down her fork. He could see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the lines creased across her forehead. When had they appeared, and why hadn’t he ever noticed them before? Even her hair, once black as night, had threads of silver streaking through at the roots. When had she gotten older?
“I just worry about you.”
She reached forward, folding his hands within her own, smaller but warm. Her eyes searched his, forcing him to look at her. “That’s not your job.”
“It isnow,” he said.
A laugh bubbled up from her throat, and she squeezed his hands tighter. “Don’t act like your father was the one taking care of me before he died.” She reached up, placing her hand against his cheek. “I know I wasn’t a good mother after Leon died. While I don’t regret my grief, in grieving one son, I abandoned the other. I won’t do that again. I’m your mother, and I’m going to take care of you.”
“Mother, I’m an adult.”
She clicked her tongue. “That doesn’t make you any less my son. And you’ll foreverbemy son, even when you’re old and wrinkled. Like me.”
“You lost your husband,” he said. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“And you lost your father,” she said, taking a sip from her silver goblet.
Fox wasn’t sure what he should be feeling in that moment. Self-pity? Sadness?
“I loved your father,” Mother continued, voice soft, eyes distant. “I won’t let this break me. He died honorably, on his own two feet, defending this city as he always wanted.”
Fox’s chest tightened. His father had died on his back, killed by his own son. He looked at her, tracing every new wrinkle and gray hair. She might not be breaking yet, but shewasfragile. If she knew…
He would make sure she never found out.
“You should teach the cook this recipe,” he said, interrupting his own thoughts. “It’s delicious.”
