“I can’t pretend to understand what either of you is going through. I never had anyone close enough to contest my claim to the throne. I never had a sister; never had anyone growing up really, apart from Edward.”
Adeline set down her fork. She felt heavy throughout, too heavy to handle the gilded cutlery or the weight of the food on her plate when it slid, leaden, into her stomach.
“But I know what it is to lose your dearest friend. They’re a cornerstone of who you are, and when that’s chipped away, the whole structure you’re built on becomes unstable. That much, I understand.”
That was it exactly. That empty space, a crumbling foundation. Whatever you wanted to call it, it amounted to the same thing; a piece of her, torn away. She looked at her mother, and this time it definitely wasn’t the wine that burned beneath her lashes; she took in Selma’s pale and solemn eyes and found they were brimming, gleaming just as she knew her own must be. Adeline blinked, surprised, and sent a rogue tear rolling over her cheek.
“Are you talking about Edward?” She half-whispered, as her mother took a napkin to her face and dabbed carefully.
“We were companions,” she said, by way of an answer. “The only two children at my father’s court, at the time–and the very best of friends. And then, of course, even more than that. We were everything to one another.”
Adeline tensed, some old instinct within telling her to tread carefully, to avoid turning her mother’s attention. She knew the stories, knew what had come next but - she wanted to hear it. Wanted some explanation for the person Selma had become, for the mother she had lost and found again. Perhaps Edward was her own crumbled cornerstone, the dangerous shift in her foundation.
“What happened?”
“Well, I was often sick as a child, and Edward was always there for me. But some time after Mareda was born, I fell rather seriously ill and - ” Selma frowned, eyes flickering side to side as though sifting her memories for some lost detail. Finally, as though it explained everything, she shrugged, and said; “And things changed.”
Adeline wanted to tell her that it made no sense. That love didn’t work that way. She wanted to tell her that she’d been sick and feverish plenty of times, and when she healed she’d still laughed with Ger and Imogen, read stories to Iseult, still wanted Marry at her side. She’d still loved her father, and yes, even her mother, even the cold, lost woman she’d been. She wanted to tell her all this, but she didn’t. She waited – and after a moment, Selma frowned again, distantly.
“I changed, but he changed, too. I grew tired of being weak, and he had become this fearful, possessive stranger. His fear changed him, and my fearlessness changed me; we did things we hadn’t believed one another capable of. We didn’t know each other anymore.”
Adeline’s chest tightened even within the confines of her corset.We didn’t know each other anymore.Maybe Adelinehadchanged; maybe they both had. There was a time, mere weeks ago, when the thought of denying Mareda the throne she’d wanted and worked for all her life would have seemed the height of sisterly treachery. And the Mareda of months past trusted her beyond anything; the Mareda she knew was kind and regal, incapable of the blind prejudice she’d shown the Merrow. Were they each doomed to crumble without the other?
As though she’d spoken aloud, Selma took Adeline’s face in her slim, cool hands. “You are nothing like me. You are so much stronger than I was, both of you. Braver than Edward has ever been. You will find your way through this.”
Adeline only knew she was shaking by the funny way her breath shuddered in and out of her. She allowed herself to be drawn into her mother’s arms, pulled from her chair to the seat of Selma’s lap where she curled up as though she were a child even younger than Iseult, not a woman both taller and broader than the frail Queen who cradled and rocked her. Once the tears came, there was nothing to do but let them roll through her.
When Adeline was little, her father had given her an iridescent blue conch the size of her fist; a shell from the shores of his homeland. He’d taught her to seal the cool stone to her ear and listen to the lap of waves sounding across all of Adhlas.A different kind of magic, he’d said. She’d treasured it, believing it to hold an enchantment entirely different to the ice magic of Eisalaan. Now that she knew better, she treasured it still, for the reminder of her innocence and the soothing sound of the ocean that had once called to her from a world away. The sobs that moved through her now reminded her of that shell, breath coming in great waves, her mother’s gentle shushing like the lulling drag of water over sand.
“All is not lost,” she promised. “All is not lost.”
They sat like that for a long time, until Adeline had cried every tear she’d blinked back since that first fight with Mareda. She was tired, weakened by the physical toll of several months worth of pent up sobs, but she sat up and shifted back to her own seat, though she kept her mother’s hand in hers.
“You could put an end to all this, you know,” she said, sniffing. “If you asked me to step down, I would. You could name Mareda your Heir and we might all be happier for it.”
Selma smiled sadly. “Do you truly believe that?”
Adeline shook her head, not wanting to hear herself say it.
“Then this is how it must be.”
You could ask Mareda to step down.She hated herself for thinking it. She knew it was wrong anyway; it didn’t work that way.The support of the people is going to hold a lot of weight, her father had said. He was right, and so was Selma. This is how it must be.
“Thank you,” Adeline said instead. “For the motherly wisdom.”
Selma laughed then, and for a moment she looked like a woman never touched by illness a day in her life. “Ah, well, I have plenty more pearls to share, Queenly wisdoms among them.Womanlywisdoms too,” she said, almost slyly. “If you’d like to hear them?”
Adeline stiffened.
Goddess above.
“I’d have no need of them, mother,” she muttered, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it was hot.
But Selma laughed again. “I’m not sure I believe you, but very well – I won’t put you through that particular torment. You may retire without my priceless pearls, dear daughter.”
Adeline stood gratefully, understanding herself to be dismissed – but Selma squeezed her hand one last time.
“I’ll make no presumptions, Adeline, until you tell me otherwise, but – he is a good man. I hope you know that I’ll gladly stand behind you if that’s where your heart lies. As your Queenandas your mother.”
