Page 128 of A Legacy of the Light

His lips curl into a smirk. “Good question.” He puts down his knife, takes a mouthful of water, and wipes the corners of his mouth on the napkin that appeared with dinner.

“When I was a boy, before my mother died, we were close. He was different then. I think losing his wife changed him and looking at me only reminded him of her.”

Tavish’s voice is soft and he looks down at his plate. “Then he ascended to the throne and everything changed. He became a king and grew cold and distant. He only paid me any real attention when it suited him. Or when he trained me. Those sessions were brutal, he didn’t hold back.”

I ache for him. For the child who had to deal with the loss of his mother by himself. And, in essence, the loss of his father, too. He tips his head to the side and smiles softly. “Don’t pity me. It’s okay. I came to terms with it a long time ago.”

“It’s not pity, Tavish. It’s empathy. When I lost my mom, I had Grandpa and Rach to help me through it, but you were a child who didn’t have anyone.”

He nods in appreciation. “Since then, our relationship is more of a professional one. He’s the king and I’m his heir. I’m a means to an end for him. Sometimes when he’s had too much to drink the old him slips through. You saw that at the dinner we had when the Dorche attacked.”

“What about your mom?” I ask.

“Is that question three?” he teases.

I point my fork at him. “No. We established follow-up questions don’t count.”

“I was testing you.”

“Sure you were,” I retort.

Tavish takes another few bites. “It’s hard to remember her now. But I do remember her being warm and affectionate. She made the best shortbread. She would sneak me a piece when I wasn’t supposed to have any.” He smiles fondly, looking off to the night sky beyond the windows.

“Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if she hadn’t died.” Sadness lines his eyes as he brings his attention back to his plate and finishes it off.

“I’m sorry if that was painful for you to talk about.” I know all too well what memories can surface when you think about those you have lost.

“It’s not painful. In a way it’s nice to talk about her. I haven’t been able to for a long time.” Tavish sits back in his chair and rests his arms over his stomach.

“Would you talk about your mother? Tell me about her?” he asks.

I clear my own plate, wipe my mouth, and rest my elbows on the table, looking at Tavish.

“Well, you know her name was Heather. She had me when she was in her late-twenties. I look a lot like her. It’s been hard to look in the mirror, when I see so much of her staring back at me.”

Tavish leans forward and rests his forearms on the table, only an inch or two between us.

“She was . . .” I clear my throat, “a giant pain in the ass.”

Tavish laughs deeply. “I was not expecting you to say that.”

I smile too. “It’s true. She was. She and Granny were always fighting. They were so different. Mom was a free spirit, didn’t much like rules or doing as she was told. Granny liked rules, order, and was very planned. She had her routine and stuck to it.” I pause. Granny’s personality makes so much more sense to me now that I know what she was hiding. She found safety in rules and order, and stepping outside of that, to her, was a risk.

“Mom was more of a friend than a parent. Sometimes that was difficult and we argued like sisters. Granny and Grandpa were the disciplinarians. Mom was the one who bought me my first drink and told me asking for forgiveness was better than asking for permission.”

I release a sigh. “She was a pain in the ass. But she was our pain in the ass. And I would give anything to have her back. She was there for me when I needed her. No matter what.”

I swallow a mouthful of water to dislodge the lump that has settled in my throat.

“Thank you for sharing.” Tavish reaches across the table and trails his fingers down my arm. That simple gesture gives me more comfort than his words ever could.

We sit in silence, reminiscing about people who aren’t with us anymore. Sorrow tinges the air.

“So, what are you going to say to my father the next time you see him?” Tavish asks, shifting the mood between us. He’s trying to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth twitch as he fights his smile.

“Please don’t remind me.” I bury my head in my hands. “I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to forget that image.”

I hear, rather than see, Tavish laughing next to me.