Chapter 18 Silva #2
Cried constantly and unendingly once they were back under Tannar’s roof. She screamed when Tannar’s mother held her, went blue in the face when she was passed from arm to arm at that very first brunch, two weeks after their arrival home, and wept inconsolably whenever she was in Tannar’s arms.
She would settle as soon as she was back against Silva’s skin, a tiny hand stretched to press to Silva’s cheek, honey eyes locked on hers, her little chest heaving at the audacity of the interruption.
Silva understood. She didn’t like any of them, either.
They were home from that first brunch just a few hours when the other shoe fell. Something must have finally been said between Tannar and his parents when they were alone, away from her hearing. Something that evidently lodged in his mind and was chewing its way through like a bug.
“When was the last time you saw your ex?”
He had never asked about Tate. Not a single time, after that very first conversation they’d had after her return from work. Why would he? She had moved away from all she knew and everyone she loved. There was little threat from an ex-boyfriend here, so far removed from everything.
She paused, shifting the baby up to her shoulder. Aelin was silent and still, and it was ridiculous, but Silva couldn’t help but feel the baby was listening intently.
It was a monstrous lie, one she’d never been comfortable with. But, then again, she wasn’t the one who’d come up with this plan for their marriage in the first place. Perhaps it wasn’t a lie she even needed to tell.
“Why does that matter?” she asked finally, an edge of bluntness in her voice that she couldn’t sweetly smile through.
“It matters to me.” His voice was sharp.
She shrugged in response. “Does it? A traditional marriage was the point of this, what we both agreed to. Remember? You agreed to easy mode. Sought it out, in fact. It was your idea in the first place, you bartered for it.” She shrugged again. “I’m not sure what’s changed.”
He stared at her across the room for a long, echoing moment.
Silva said nothing further. She didn’t need to.
It was a monstrous lie to let him believe he was the father when she knew he wasn’t, and not a lie she particularly wanted to carry.
He had married her, already knowing she was pregnant with another man’s child.
Better to let him form whatever conclusions he wanted about her fidelity now.
He’ll already be fucking his secretary, or the nanny, maybe both.
By then you won’t care because you’ll have your own pretty little doll of a daughter to fixate on.
Silva snorted softly to herself. Tate’s prediction had been right about nearly everything else.
Who was to say that wasn’t already a reality, too?
Life in the puppet play continued as normal. Normal, but different, because now she was truly isolated, her role as the perfect, sweet trophy wife forever questionable in her husband’s eyes. Normal, only better now, because she wasn’t alone.
“I’ve never seen a little one sit so quietly for so long!” Lucine’s grandmother had said over dinner at the club, laughing lightly, as if she wasn’t discussing Silva’s baby like she was a science experiment. “And she’s not even sleeping! Such a strange eye color, too.”
“Tannar was such a good baby,” her mother-in-law interjected, reaching over Tannar to take Aelin. “I’m not surprised at all!”
Her little face was screwing up in protest before she even fully left Silva’s arms, wailing with her full throat once Tannar’s mother had her.
Her mother-in-law shifted the baby over her shoulder, cradling her head and bouncing her lightly, shushing her steadily, to no avail.
Shifted her again to cradle in her arms, allowing everyone at the table to witness her miniature fury, fists balled, face darkening, like an indignant little blueberry.
“I think everyone else would appreciate enjoying their dinner without the soundtrack,” Tannar laughed lightly, retrieving the baby from his by then pouting mother, shifting her back to Silva.
Aelin went silent immediately. Little arm reaching out, her palm seeking Silva’s cheek, shuddering out a put-upon breath. I know. They’re all terrible.
She wondered, later that night, if Tate had been the same way as a baby.
She didn’t have experience with children.
She’d felt like a child herself, until just a few years ago.
She didn’t know whether her daughter’s behavior was odd, as her mother-in-law and others had alluded to on more than one occasion, and she decided she didn’t care. Aelin was perfect exactly as she was.
Perfect and ravenous. The afternoon she was bitten was a wake-up call. She had just settled into her chair, Aelin at her breast, when a sharp needle sting at the edge of her nipple made her gasp and jerk. Instantly, the baby was crying.
“Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Mama’s sorry.”
She was bleeding, Silva realized. Somewhere in her perfect little daughter’s tiny mouth was something that had pierced her hard enough to break the skin.
Running the tip of her finger over those little pink gums, she could feel the needle points just beginning to break the skin.
Swallowing hard, Silva wondered what her teeth would look like once they came in fully.
The hungry tears from her daughter that she was used to took on a mournful, plaintive tone afterward, inconsolable at her shoulder for close to half an hour.
“It’s okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. I know you’re just hungry.”
She needed to get creative and quickly. Your child will fail to thrive and die.
That was never going to happen. She would beg, borrow, and steal whatever her baby required, would go back to the Otherworld if needed, she thought, marching to the kitchen that afternoon, thinking of every story of the Otherworld she’d ever read.
A spoonful of honey and cream soothed her. It was a start, Silva thought grimly.
After that, they became regulars at the botanical gardens at the edge of the city, just a few miles down the road from the cemetery she had visited.
No one could blame a tiny baby for reaching out at the flowers, her little fists grasping at the one she wanted, and if she couldn’t reach, Silva helped.
“It says here this is poisonous to everything but Centaurs. I guess the botanists don’t have an envoy on the other side.”
It occurred to her that since giving birth, Silva had lost her appetite for bloody red meat. The thought of consuming it now made her stomach turn, and she swung to her small daughter, eyes wide. “That was you, wasn’t it, silly goosie? Are you still hungry for meat? Maybe we need to try it again.”
When Tannar had sputtered in horrified disgust, the day he came home from work to find her feeding the baby tiny cut-up pieces of raw, bloody sirloin, Silva had shrugged yet again.
“I read that it’s good for her! She needs the iron. Remember how anemic I was? I’ll show you what they say in the healthy baby group I joined online. Also, I think we need to start buying almonds in bulk.”
She grinned when he turned out of the room, slamming the bedroom door. She had never been anemic a day in her entire vegetarian life, save for her pregnancy, and knew full well that iron could be obtained other ways.
“He doesn’t need to know that, though. Does he?” she asked, as her perfect little darling clapped her hands delightedly, opening her mouth for more.
That first year passed in the blink of an eye, her tiny baby becoming less tiny with each passing week, toddling around independently long before her first birthday, already speaking in short phrases.
She loved her stuffed rabbit, loved burrowing into Silva’s side and snuggling there for hours.
She loved books and dancing and playing in the garden, and with each passing day, her tiny baby was less tiny, and the gaping hole Silva carried within her began to shrink.
It was several days after her first birthday when the cat appeared on the doorstep.
Silva heard it shortly after breakfast, mewling at the back door, scratching against the screen.
A small black cat with silver white points and gimlet eyes, one she’d watched a dozen times or more, wolfing down the chopped chicken left for it outside the kitchen window, as Tate scrubbed his hands in the sink.
Her own eyes narrowed, peering down at the little stray, wondering if it was possible.
No. There are plenty of cats that look like this.
It was there in the front garden when she and the baby sat on the sofa looking at a book.
It was there at the kitchen, appearing in the window above the sink while they had lunch.
It was there, mewling up at the bedroom window in the evening, when she settled the baby into her crib.
Aelin would delight every time she saw the cat peeking in, clapping her hands and squealing happily.
“Kitty! Kitty, mama!”
Silva began leaving a small bowl of cat food outside the back door, thinking that would appease the wee beast. While it ate greedily, it was still there, tracking the baby all over the house.
The day finally arrived when Silva decided to crack the door open in the middle of the afternoon, seeing what happened.
When Tannar came home that evening to find that they now had a cat, he squinted, clenching his jaw.
“Don’t you think this is something we should have discussed first? I don’t even know if I’m allergic to cats.”
“Probably, yes,” she allowed, keeping her voice contrite. “I’m sorry. She was just so excited seeing it, and it’s been hanging around for the past few weeks . . .”
His eyes had narrowed when she’d shrugged, the conversation over, as far as Silva was concerned. The Silva he’d married had vanished, and it didn’t seem as if she were coming back anytime soon. Aelin and the cat were inseparable afterwards, and that was that.