“You were right,” Ashlin repeated, a small smile creeping onto her face.
“My dear child, I am not going to sit here and gloat over my rightness. I did not want that to be true for you. I want so much more for you, but you have to want it too.”
Ashlin’s eyes stung. She raised the cup to her lips again, sipping the tea despite the heat. Her tongue smarted as the burning water washed over it. She scrunched her nose, swallowing it quickly.
She tried to stop them, but the tears in her eyes had multiplied and nothing could hold them back. They started to fall, running down her cheeks as she took a shaky breath.
She had tried so hard to be loved. She had tried so hard that she had been willing to let someone else take her very name.
“My poor darling.” Mistress Cedrice stood and walked around the table toward her. Ashlin stood, meeting her halfway and throwing herself into the older woman’s arms as she sobbed.
Once again, the older woman remained silent, merely stroking Ashlin’s hair.
Eventually, the tears slowed.
“Did you know that your mother asked me to look after you?”
Ashlin shook her head. “I knew that you were friends, years ago.”
“We were dear friends. And when she was sick, she asked me to look after you and be there for you if she couldn’t be. She never wanted to leave you.”
Ashlin clung to the older woman. “I feel so alone.”
“You are never alone, my dear.”
“Then why do I feel that way?”
“Tell me about someone who makes you feel like family.”
Onric was the first person that came to mind. But she started with a safer option. “Well, you of course.”
“That’s because I am family. Is there anyone else who makes you feel that way?”
“Well...”
“You don’t have to tell me, just think about it. You are not as alone as you might think.”
Ashlin thought about Onric, about the way he made her laugh and wasn’t afraid to be a little stupid around her. How he waited for her to formulate her thoughts before he jumped in to speak. The way she always felt safe and relaxed with him, as though she could let her guard down and be herself. She remembered laughing similarly with her father, feeling free and accepted.
She took another sip of tea, the smoky flavor filling the back of her throat.
Even when her father was alive, her stepmother had never felt like family. She had always seemed to need something. Ashlin had never felt open and free. Even Onric had seen it, and he had barely known her.
He had never once betrayed her or let her suffer. He had stayed up late each night to see her safely home, never demanding anything in return. Her cheeks grew warm as she remembered the horrible things she had said to him.
He had been right.
She was not her true self when she was around her stepfamily. She felt like a cheap tea leaf that had been exposed to too much smoke, losing its original flavor. She needed to remove herself from the campfire.
If she lived here, as Mistress Cedrice had invited, she could stop soaking up the bitter flavor of the tea. Instead she could enjoy the comfort of Mistress Cedrice’s grandmotherly ways and feel her true self in the quiet cooperation of beautiful fabrics, and in the flexibility of choosing how to spend her time.
“Can I come and apprentice with you?” she asked.
The old woman’s frail hug suddenly grew bolder and stronger than Ashlin would have ever imagined the seamstress was capable of. “I would love that,” she declared.
Ashlin laughed through her tears. Something she wanted to do for herself had brought someone else joy. It was a good feeling.
“Would you like me to help you move in now, while everyone is busy at the ball?”
