Clearing my throat, I then give her a soft smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Lady...”
“Her name is Elore,” Slade says, pronouncing it Eh-lore.
“Lady Elore,” I say. “I’m Auren.”
The woman beams at me, green eyes flicking over my face with open study. After a second, she swivels her smiling face to Slade and taps him on the cheek, and then she reaches over and taps my cheek next.
I startle slightly at the gesture, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She just continues to tap my cheek, like she has no qualms, no hesitations about me. As if she can tell with a look exactly who I am to her son.
When she drops her hand and looks to Slade again, they share something between them for a moment, and it seems so personal that I have to look away when I catch the shine in Elore’s eyes.
Then she does the most motherly thing ever, reaching up to try and straighten a part of his hair that’s sticking up, before she tsks and then fixes the corner of his collar. Just those gestures make Slade’s declaration all the more believable.
My mind races, and I look down at my loose leggings and borrowed coat, hand running over my messily braided hair while I try not to panic that I’m meeting Slade’s mother while looking so rough.
Before I can think of a polite conversation starter, Elore walks away, heading for the kitchen. I watch as she starts to light the stove, a soft hum coming from her.
“How can she be your mother?” I murmur to Slade. “She looks the same age...”
He gives me a sad sort of smile. “Come, let’s sit.”
Together, we walk to the small dining table and slip onto the wooden chairs. Elore finishes lighting the stove and gets to work bringing a kettle to set over it and then bustles around, setting down plates from the hanging cabinets in front of her.
“Let me help you,” I say as I get back up again, but she doesn’t respond or even turn around. Instead, she continues to gather a few crackers and then slices up cheese, all while I stand awkwardly off to the side. She doesn’t stop humming.
I swear, the tune sounds familiar.
When I shoot Slade a look, he says, “It’s alright. Come here.”
Hesitating for just a moment longer, I drag myself back to the table and take a seat. I continue to watch her, my brows carving deeper and deeper into a frown. Because just like back at the pavilion with the other villagers, I feel it.
That sense that something is odd. Off.
I turn back to Slade. “I don’t understand.”
“My mother doesn’t speak anymore. Very rarely,” he tells me.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why not, but I swallow it down, because I don’t want to be insensitive in front of her just to satiate my instant curiosity.
Elore walks over to set down the plates, her profile leaning down directly in front of me, and I let out a gasp. Eyes riveted to her, I notice something that I should’ve realized right from the start. Her ears are rounded.
“She’s...not fae.” I instantly remember Slade telling me that he’s only half.
Yet when I speak the word fae, she suddenly stiffens. The humming abruptly cuts off, and a shudder seems to travel through her.
Slade is on his feet in an instant, coming around the table. He takes her shaking hands in his and lowers himself so she will meet his eyes. “It’s alright,” he soothes, his thumbs stroking over the back of her frail looking fingers. “You’re alright.”
She starts to nod, blowing out a shaken breath, but the kettle begins its shrill cry, making her flinch.
“It’s just the tea,” he murmurs. “Do you want me to get it?”
Elore gives a slow nod, and he sits her down at the empty chair like she’s the most fragile thing in the world. I watch her shaking fingers, her face that’s gone even paler. I feel stuck in inaction, not knowing what I could possibly do or say to help.
Yet Slade stays calm, his sure steps taking him over to the kettle that’s begun to cry. He pulls cups from hooks on the wall, and when he starts to pour out the tea, he hums. The same gentle, soothing tone.
By the time he brings the cups over to us and then sits down again, Elore has calmed, her eyes no longer strained, mouth no longer turned down. She sends Slade a small, sad smile.
I nibble on the crackers, sip on my tea, and for the next half hour, I just watch them.
It’s a bit fascinating. Slade talks quietly, telling her about what the snow looks like, about how hard the wind blew during the blizzard. He speaks of his timberwing, promising to bring her a feather next time. He tells her about the mulled wine he found at the Cellar and says that he’ll bring her more of that too.
Be calm, Slade told me before we came. Just...be calm.
But he wasn’t saying that because he was going to show me something upsetting; he was saying it because his mother obviously needs calm. It’s not just that she doesn’t speak. There’s something else caught beneath the depths of her silence. I’m not sure where her mind is or what she could possibly be thinking, but seeing her reaction to the word fae was startling.
It’s clear from the patient and assuring way Slade acts with her that he does everything he can, from the pitch of his tone to the mundane topics he speaks about, to keep everything as relaxed and simple as possible.
For the next half hour, that’s how the time passes. He talks in a soothing rumble, while she watches him with a smile on her face. It doesn’t matter that she doesn’t talk, because the affection is as clear as the crystal cups we sip our tea from.
And while I’m burning with questions, I let them simmer in the background, because it feels like Slade has pulled back a veil, letting me see a part of him that not many people do. I’m experiencing a part of his past and present, something vulnerable and private and precious. Because I can see by the way he is with her, his mother is precious to him.
It makes my heart hurt for the loss of my own mother.
When the tea is gone and our plates have nothing left but crumbs, Elore cleans up with a smile on her face. I try to offer to help again, but Slade shakes his head and leads me to the chairs by the fire. “She likes her routines,” he tells me. “It would upset her if you do any of that. She likes things a certain way.”
I settle into the chair and try to collect all the questions that have been building up like a wall, laid brick by brick. Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure she’s occupied with her task before turning back to Slade. He’s leaning forward slightly, an elbow on the armrest and his chin in his hand, like he’s waiting.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” I say, blowing out a breath.
“I know this was a lot.”
I blow a sardonic laugh through my nose. “That’s putting it mildly. To be honest, I was expecting to walk in here and have to come face-to-face with your lover.”
Slade’s brows immediately slam down. “You think I would show you such disrespect?”
I shift in my seat. “I have no idea what to think. We don’t—”
“Know each other,” he finishes for me, feeding my words back to me. When I nod, he runs a hand through his black hair, mussing it up again, frustration betraying in the way he yanks on the strands. “I will admit that I’m not used to being open, but I will. For you.”
“Your Wrath know.”
“My Wrath know everything because I have been with them for years. Those layers peeled back after being together for more than a decade. With you...the timeline is different. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Like with the...prisoner.”
His nod is slow, eyes piercing.
“I’m on your side. It’s just, seeing that...”
“My power is not easy to see.”
The memory of my gold swallowing people whole like a bestial bird flashes in my mind. “You’ve seen the worst parts of my power and didn’t blink twice.”
“There’s no shame in your reaction to my power,” he replies.