Chapter 11 #2
“What I mean to say is she’s so busy with her own work,” she tried again.
Having only ever written herself and her papa into Norenth, she didn’t give much thought to the remainder of her family.
All the Weatherstones knew was they were from another part of the continent, her papa knighted as “Sir Julian” with advisement to the king and queen.
Lia—Aurelia’s—mother was content to leave her daughter under her papa’s care in Highguard.
“She knows I can take care of myself. Even if I’m under the weather.
” She could fend for herself in dreams and waking well enough.
The Lioness hummed in acknowledgement. Then, she glanced toward her son: a look of dismissal. No. He wouldn’t. He seldom listened to what he was told, and now he was going—
Kayce inclined his head to them both. “Forgive me, I must tend to my duties.” He looked at Lia. “See you shortly?”
Traitor. She glanced from him to the queen, fighting the urge to fidget. Panic fluttered like a caged bird inside her, but she nodded. Of course, he had no choice. The Lioness was his mother; she was the queen.
“Storm is in the royal stables. I brought him up earlier this morning.” Kayce gave her that withered look he always did when she needed to take a breath and relax.
His mother had seen Lia through all the awkward growth spurts and social fumbling. Besides, Lia and her papa had created this world of her dreaming. Surely, she shouldn’t be this intimidated.
Lia watched as the Lioness gave her son a small smile on his way out before turning to her.
Silence reigned. This time, Lia did fidget, brushing another errant curl behind her ear.
Better than picking at her nails—which, come to find out, looked as stubbed here as they did in reality.
Her other world. Now that was just cruel.
She forced her hands into fists and smiled, though it felt weak. “I appreciate you taking the time to look in on me, but, truly, I’m getting on fine. Everyone has been very…thoughtful.”
The Lioness laced her fingers before her.
There was a way in which she studied Lia, like a puzzle box she would open but couldn’t quite figure out how.
Eventually, she nodded to herself. “As a queen, my people turn to me for leadership. For strength, particularly in times of turmoil. My sons, we raised them to be strong, to learn how to work through their emotions. They cannot get overwhelmed, not when so much depends upon their choices.”
Lia held her breath. Where was she going with this?
Lioness Silva assessed her, a tightness to her mouth. “I thought I had displayed a similar lesson to you.”
The words rocked her.
Lia cleared her throat. “I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty.”
“You do, though,” the queen chided. “While I have taught my sons to master themselves, I did not instruct them to shove their emotions away to rot and darken, or swell in a manner that damages those around them. And you, my dear, are perilously close to one of the two.”
The dark sea in Lia surged. Whirlpools churned.
This wasn’t a crack to her dam; it was a threat to demolish it.
The queen saw her.
Lia couldn’t let that happen. She straightened her shoulders, summoned that bemused smile Aurelia would wear when Kayce went off on something asinine. “Your Majesty, I don’t know what you’re—”
“Sir Julian has died.” The Lioness’s voice was gentler, and a sadness lingered in her eyes—a transparency Lia had never known in her. It was gone in a blink.
But the bluntness of her words cracked the dam inside Lia.
“How—how could you know Papa’s gone? He was an advisor to you all, gone on a—” She struggled for the memory of how she had left her papa’s influence on the page of her journal.
“An emissary mission to the dwarven cities. I haven’t told anyone that he—that he is—” She couldn’t say the words.
Tears welled, and she clawed at each drop to remain where they were. She couldn’t cry again.
Breathe. Tread water.
Blubbering before the queen was not how this dream was supposed to go.
The Lioness placed a hand on Lia’s shoulder. Her grip was strong, anchoring. “Everybody breaks,” she said. “Everybody bleeds. But when you hide it, you will bleed on those who never cut you. And I know you well enough to understand that is the last thing you want.”
Lia closed her eyes. The queen didn’t mince words. But to be strong, didn’t she have to soldier on alone?
“How?” Lia’s voice was barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat, her voice strengthening. “How do I…deal with this?”
“Dear girl,” Lioness Silva sighed, that tenderness resurfacing. “Sharing our griefs with others seldom burdens them. Seeing you drown from the inside would be far worse.” Her tone deepened, the queen’s gaze flicking to the door.
Guilt snatched what little breath Lia had left. Never did she want to hurt Kayce. She wanted to keep this pain from him, knowing there was little he could do… But perhaps more could be saved, even healed, in sharing than Lia understood.
“You need the strength for what is to come.” The queen continued, her voice full of stern, maternal authority. “And for that, you must tell Kayce.”
Lia’s head jerked up. The queen’s last few words were an anchor of their own, one linked with questions. What was to come beyond grief? She couldn’t see an inkling of anything. Not a single letter or a hint of foreshadowing. Her pages were blank, empty, and she was afraid to fill them without Papa.
Before Lia could ask more on what she meant, a steward came for the queen.
Lioness Silva inclined her head to him, gown sweeping the floor behind her.
She paused in the doorway, turning her profile to Lia.
“Allowing others to see you is not a chore, Aurelia.” Her smile was soft. “You are not a burden.”