I stood outside my mother’s door, afraid to knock. There was a good chance that she’d choose Kawan over me—she’d been doing that every single day since my father died—but I needed to finally know where her true loyalties lay.
After my hundredth deep breath, I knocked. I heard her scuffling around, coming to the door. I didn’t know if I just tricked myself into thinking her eyes lit up when she saw me. But I wasn’t seeing things clearly anyway. It took me a moment to see that her hair wasn’t done, and her dress was wrinkled.
“Lennox,” she breathed.
“Could I come in for a minute?”
She nodded her head jerkily and opened the door wide. Her bed was unmade, but it was otherwise pretty tidy. It looked much like it did when I snuck in to steal a dress for Blythe, though her presence somehow made the whole place feel a little less hollow.
“Is there something in particular you wanted to talk about?” she asked.
Why did you let him beat me so many times? Why didn’t we just leave? Would you forget all about him for me? Would you follow me?
Did you love me?
“Are you happy?” I finally asked.
She stared at me. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just . . . before we came here, when it was just you and Father and me . . . we were happy, right?”
She looked down and smiled, her mind seeming to picture one memory after another. “Yes. We were almost too happy.”
I fiddled with my fingers, picking at the corner of a nail. “So . . . are you happy now? Was that all because of him? Did we lose that when Father died?”
She looked away for a moment, her eyes welling. “Maybe. But I’m not sure that we could have done any better.”
“Why?” I said, more to myself than to her.
“The truth is, people grieve at different paces. When someone moves too quickly, it hurts the others. And if someone is too slow, that hurts as well. Sometimes I wonder if you’re still grieving. And I . . . I had to be fast.”
I swallowed, not wanting to cry.
“So you kept walking and left me behind?”
“Lennox,” she said so softly I almost didn’t hear it. I met her eyes. “Lennox, you left me.”
I opened my mouth to object, but she was right. She was unhappy, and so was I. I got my own room, and I didn’t look back.
I’d left her behind. I sat there, staring at the floor as she spoke.
“I always hoped you’d come back, but you didn’t. I feel like—” Her words caught in her throat, and I could tell she was going to cry a second before she did. But with the tears came truth. “I’ve been trying to scrounge together whatever I could from the scraps life has left me. If I couldn’t have your father, Kawan is a distant second place, but at least someone wants me. You didn’t. It was easier to feel nothing than everything. . . . At least, that’s what I told myself. I didn’t realize how foolish it was until I thought I’d lost you on the Island.”
She looked spent, like the confession took everything from her. She was as tired of living this way as I was.
I was stunned.
“I thought . . . all this time, I just thought you couldn’t stand me.” I risked looking up at her, still fearing I was right.
There were tears in her eyes as she shook her head. “I meant what I said. I miss him so much, there are days when it burns to look at you, you’re so like him. But hate you? Never.”
For a moment, we stood there in silence. There were mountains of speeches in that one word, and it took me a moment to take it in. She realized that, looking at me with tired but patient eyes. I swallowed. She nodded. And that was it.
“I need your help,” I admitted. “And you can’t tell Kawan. He’ll kill me if he knows.”
“I know.”
I stood up straighter. “You know?”
“I want our kingdom back. And I know the only way to achieve that is by backing you. People have long feared you more than him, and now they respect you more than him. It doesn’t surprise me it’s come to this. You are your father’s son.
“You said he kept me close to keep you closer,” she continued. “That’s true. But I stayed close to keep you closer, too. He’s been different since I ran to you on the Island, and I think any relationship Kawan and I have now is simply going through the motions. And, for the sake of appearances, I’m going to have to keep doing that.
“Until you have a plan, I must stay on his arm. Do you understand me?”
I wanted to believe everything she’d said. But how could I let a single conversation—even one that hit so deep to the heart of all my pain—erase years of neglect?
“I understand,” I said, purposely not promising anything.
“Good. Be careful of what you say and who you say it to. Where are you off to now?”
“The mess hall.”
She nodded. “Come to the main hall around noon. He’s making plans, and I think you should know about them.”
“More plans?” I asked, incredulous.
“Control your temper,” she reminded me calmly. “Watch your words. Just be silent and listen.”
I sighed. “Very well. I’ll be there.”
I went to go, mulling over everything she’d said.
“Lennox?”
I turned, noting the concern in her eyes. “Yes?”
“If something happens—if you have to scrounge up whoever you can and take a chance—go. Don’t wait for me. Don’t look back. Go. For the sake of whatever future we might have, please go.”
The request made me think she suspected I might be forced out, or that things here might become unbearable. But then I considered that she was a mother. And mothers tended to just know.
I nodded. “If it comes to that, I will. And if I must go, once it settles, I will come for you. I promise.”
