Five #4
Finally, I glanced back to Raysel and said, “Your mother was under the impression that you’d be returning home in three days, when your original term of offense is up,” I said.
“I discussed this with your father, at great length, and he seemed to understand that making you come back before you’re ready would not be the right thing for you, or for his relationship with you. I’m hopeful that he’ll back down.”
“I can’t go back yet,” said Raysel. “I did so many horrible things while I was there—I did so many things that weren’t horrible, but that should never have happened. And I can’t go back until I can look at those things without wanting to die.”
“Having you talked to Dr. Voss about that feeling?”
“I have. She says remorse is normal, and that I’m getting better, and that as long as I’m not thinking about actually hurting myself, I should be okay.
But I did think about hurting myself when I was there.
Not all the time, but when my thoughts untangled enough that I could remember what guilt was.
And I know what guilt is all the time, now.
I wouldn’t survive being sent back there. ”
The worst part wasn’t knowing that she was right.
The worst part was knowing that she was wrong: that she was still a child in Faerie’s eyes, and her parents could do whatever they wanted to her, could use magic to compel her to be whoever they wanted her to be, if they could only justify it to themselves.
I didn’t think Luna would have a lot of trouble justifying the creation of a dutiful daughter.
Faerie does a lot of things very, very well. But it also has the potential to do things even worse than the human world does, especially where the children are concerned. It’s all a matter of which side of the argument you happen to be standing on.
“He understands,” I said. “We’re still going to see Arden in two days, and make our case for needing a formal decree of your extended term. Your mother can argue all she wants, but she doesn’t outrank a queen, and I’m not going to let her hurt you.”
“You promise?” asked Raysel, voice gone very small.
I took a deep breath. “By root and branch, by leaf and vine, on rowan and oak and ash and thorn I swear that I will keep you safe and here within my halls, that I will not allow anyone to remove you from my keeping against your will. My blood to the defense of the task I am set, my heart to the keeping of the promise to which I am bound.” My magic rose around me, crackling in the air and filling it with the scent of cut grass and copper.
Raysel gasped, pressing one hand over her mouth. “I’m not worth an oath,” she whispered, somewhere between hopeful and horrified.
“You’re worth whatever I say you are, and I say you’re worth everything,” I countered.
“Breathe, Raysel. This is your home as long as you want it to be. You’ve been nothing but a joy and a help to have around the house, and I know everyone who lives here would agree with me.
Even Dean is okay with the fact that you’re here these days, because he understands that we’re more than just our worst moments.
I get to decide who I think is worth my oaths, and I think you are. ”
I fastened Miranda’s clean diaper and pulled the legs of her onesie back into place as she kicked, then picked her up and began bouncing her against my shoulder to encourage her to burp.
“You need a cloth for that!” said Raysel, sounding stressed. As I had hoped, she rushed across the room to snatch one from the pile, draping it over my shoulder. Before she could withdraw, I grabbed her wrist with my free hand.
“I know you think of yourself as a burden,” I said, holding her in place. “I promise you that you’re not. We’re so happy to have you here, Raysel. We’re so glad you’re a part of our family. I’m your cousin, through Simon. That means you’re family no matter what. You’re stuck with us.”
She looked at me, eyes wide and filling slowly with tears, then hiccupped and nodded, not trying to pull away.
“I don’t deserve your kindness,” she said. “After everything I’ve done to you, to Connor … I don’t deserve it.”
“If we only ever got what we deserve, none of us would be here,” I said, and let her go.
“I don’t deserve this. Any of it. I don’t deserve a man who loves me, or a sister created by Faerie to keep me from being alone.
I certainly don’t deserve my daughter. We get what we get, and we need to figure out how to carry those things with us as we move forward. ”
Raysel looked down at her feet. “I don’t know how I … No one’s going to forgive me for what I’ve done. People died.”
“I know,” I said mournfully. I kept bouncing Miranda.
Nothing breaks the tension like a little baby barf.
“And some people may not forgive you. That’s up to them, and no one gets to force forgiveness on anybody else.
I know Dean’s come a long way toward forgiving you, but I don’t recommend going to Saltmist any time soon.
Dianda isn’t likely to be as understanding. ”
That was something of an understatement.
Dean’s mother was one of the most cheerfully violent people I knew, and she could hold a grudge like she was going to get a prize if she was the last grievance standing.
She had forgiven Raysel about as far as she was likely to, to the extent of helping to get her away from her mother.
Anything more than that would have been irrational to request.
“I didn’t want … I mean, I didn’t mean … I mean, none of it was on purpose,” said Raysel. “I didn’t realize that Selkies would die if you took their skins away. I wasn’t trying to kill anyone.”
Not that time, maybe. She’d definitely been trying to kill her mother when she’d sown the fields of Shadowed Hills with salt, and she’d been successful at killing Lily, the Lady of the Tea Gardens—although it had never been entirely clear to me how much of Lily’s death had been Raysel versus Oleander, who had been her accomplice in the whole “poisoning people for fun and profit” plan.
“I know,” I said. Maybe someday we’d be able to untangle exactly what had happened in the Tea Gardens, once Raysel was more stable and could handle the conversation without breaking down completely.
But maybe not. And maybe that was okay. The thing about Faerie is that when almost everyone involved is immortal, things can get a lot less urgent with surprising speed.
“You should be mad at me,” she said, miserably.
“I should,” I agreed. “I probably am, somewhere under about a dozen other layers of crap. But here’s the thing, Raysel: we both got done dirty by the woman who ordered your uncle to destroy you.
That doesn’t mean you get forgiven for everything you’ve ever done, but it does mean I can find it in me to give you some grace, whether you think you deserve it or not.
I remember you before everything went wrong.
You were about the sweetest kid I’d ever known, and that includes mine.
Gillian was a lot fussier, and a lot more inclined to tantrum when she didn’t get her way.
I loved that kid you were, and I can still find that love, or something shaped a lot like it, for the woman you’ve become.
So it doesn’t matter if I’m mad at you. As long as you’re trying to make up for some of what you did, the love’s enough to override the anger. ”
Raysel just stared at me, golden eyes wide and wet with tears, until Miranda made a ripe belching sound and sicked milk all the way down my shoulder.
The cloth Raysel had helpfully provided was soaked through almost immediately, and I felt the wetness sink into my shirt.
I sighed, then held the baby out toward Raysel.
“Here, take her,” I said. “I need to clean myself up.”
“She will not be taking her,” said a sharp voice from the doorway.
I looked around. What looked like a human teenager was standing there, wearing a pair of denim overalls with nothing underneath, her dark, curly hair pulled into pigtails and tied off with strips of electrical tape.
Raysel made a squeaking sound and ducked behind me, leaving me holding my baby out like an offering.
One that the girl in the bedroom doorway was more than happy to accept.
She crossed the room with long, confident steps, and when she plucked Miranda from my hands, she was gentle despite the speed of the gesture.
She pulled the baby toward her chest, cradling her with practiced skill, then shot me a look.
“Why would you hand my goddaughter to the latest Torquill whelp when you knew I was going to be here soon?” she asked. The Luidaeg can’t lie, but she’s had plenty of time to become a master of misdirection, and the feigned hurt in her voice was a beautiful example.
I snorted. “Please. Like you’d hesitate to take Andi away from anyone if you wanted to hold her.
You take her away from me.” I didn’t argue about her calling Raysel “the latest Torquill whelp.” My sisters Undersea were younger than their cousin, but they weren’t Torquills anymore.
Simon had set his family name aside when he married Patrick and Dianda, and his daughters were Lordens now and evermore.
“I do,” agreed the Luidaeg. She smiled, showing the edge of fangs that had no business in a human mouth, and slid around me to sink into my nursing chair, Miranda still cradled against her. “Still, I appreciate it when you think of me.”
“She just covered me in baby barf. I need to clean myself up, and that was a bit more important than ‘The Luidaeg will be here soon,’” I countered.