Chapter 27 Silva
Silva
“Are we going to have a fun time on our visit today?”
Aelin nodded as Silva knelt to put on her shoes, thought about it further as Silva buttoned her cardigan, her little eyes narrowing, looking so much like Tate that it nearly took her breath away, giving Silva a look of absolute offense.
“Are you sure we’re not visiting Dini?”
Tannar’s mother had eschewed any of the traditional modern names for an Elvish grandmother, insisting it made her feel old, instead picking a diminutive of her first name.
Silva had told herself that they’d escaped before any lasting damage could be done, but it was telling how concerned Aelin was over the possibility that they might be going to see Tannar’s family.
“We’re not, bunny. I promise. Remember what I told you? Today we’re going to visit our friend Tate,” Silva affirmed, straightening the bow in her hair.
Her little dress was a fern-green pinafore, topped with a snow-white cardigan embroidered with pink tulips and seed pearls.
The collar and bottom hem were trimmed in embroidered lace of the same pink, with pearl buttons.
Silva almost felt foolish dressing her daughter up like a little doll for this introduction but it felt appropriate, all things considered. A perfect little doll of a daughter.
She wondered if he would recognize his own mother’s handiwork.
“He was in the hospital, that’s who you had to visit while I was at Nana’s house.”
“That’s right! And now he’s home.”
The irony of calling him her friend was not lost on her. She remembered well that long-ago night at the club in Bridgeton, she was so sure he would label her as his friend, already certain she would fall to pieces when he did.
Even so, it was the best she could do. Friend was as much goodwill as she was willing to give him upfront.
Anything more would feel too much like a promise, and Silva was not in the business of breaking promises to her daughter.
She wasn’t going to start now. A friend didn’t promise permanence.
It didn’t open a door that might close again.
Aelin considered Silva’s words as she picked up her rabbit. “Was he sick? Should we bring him soup?”
Silva laughed lightly, kissing her daughter on the forehead. Her current favorite book featured a hedgehog bringing soup to a sick friend, the badger next door, and, as a certified soup lover, Aelin brought it up constantly.
“We can pack some soup for your lunch. That’s a good idea. Maybe he’ll have some with you.”
She already knew that regardless of whatever his personal preference might be, Tate would choke down the blood soup and act as if it were the finest delicacy that had ever crossed his lips.
There was no concern that he would act poorly with Aelin, that he would ignore her, or hurt her feelings.
She had been twisting for seventy-two hours over what his decision might be, whether or not he’d be there.
But if he was . . . Silva knew without question that he’d treat her daughter like a tiny queen, as he’d always treated Silva herself.
There was no need to worry about a halfway performance.
He knew how to commit to the bit fully, if nothing else.
There was so much riding on a single afternoon.
She didn’t like thinking of it that way, but it felt disingenuous to pretend otherwise.
She had not contacted him. She couldn’t even if she’d wanted to, Silva realized guiltily, as his phone was still in her possession.
She had no idea what he’d chosen, and they wouldn’t find out until they’d arrived.
If he was gone, the apartment empty, cleared of his presence, that was the end.
It didn’t matter how much she still loved him, which she did.
Didn’t matter what she’d hoped for. Whatever choice he’d made going into today would be the choice they both lived with forever, for there was no walking back on it after this.
Which means all of this, all the tears, all of the searching, it might be all for nothing.
“Mommy, are you cold?”
She hadn’t realized her hands were shaking until Aelin’s question brought her up short. “No, bunny rabbit. Are you ready to go?”
She listened with half an ear to her daughter’s chatter from the backseat as they made their way back to Greenbridge Glen.
She wondered if Tate would recognize the crease between his daughter’s brows during moments of concentration, or the tilt of her head when she considered the world before her, a gesture Silva had watched on them both a million times before, one Aelin had not learned from her.
There were pieces of him in her every gesture and smile, in her laugh, in her little expressions.
She wondered if he would see it as clearly as she had for the last three years.
Her eyes raised to the rearview mirror just in time to watch Aelin put her hands up as if she were on a ride at the fair, giggling as they passed the Now Leaving Cambric Creek sign.
What if he’s gone? What if he had decided this was too much for him, not what he wanted, what if she was asking him to give more than he was able?
Then you know. And you can stop spending any more time thinking about him.
It would be a definitive ending, and she needed to reconcile herself to that possibility before they arrived.
And even more daunting — what if he’d stayed?
What if he’d decided he wanted to slip back into his previously occupied place in her life? Three years ago, she had been nearly hysterical for exactly that. She’d been desperate to bring him home, to bring him back to her side . . . but was she still?
She hadn’t lied — she would love him forever. But neither had she lied when she told him she wasn’t the same elf he’d left. Five years was a tiny splash in the lifespan of an elf, but it was long enough. She had changed.
The absence had been a matter of days for Tate, and he had not.
She couldn’t go back to the way they were, not with Aelin as a consideration. He would need to be willing to change, to learn how to trust, to let her in fully . . . and if he couldn’t, she’d already convinced herself that some things weren’t meant to last forever.
Aelin was still chattering when she pulled open the back door of the Plundered Pixie, asking whether earthworms were lonely in the ground, running past Silva on the short corridor to pound up the steps.
She was halfway up when the door swung open.
He filled it entirely, an almost palpable tension wavering about him like a halo. Silva paused, staring up, holding onto the banister for dear life. He’d made his choice, then.
“I heard you coming,” Tate explained, his eyes fixed on the small elf on the staircase before him, remembering himself after a moment, stepping aside.
Silva forced herself to keep breathing, pushing up the rest of the way, following Aelin into the apartment. “Someone was asking questions about the relative loneliness of earthworms,” she answered lightly. Her breath caught when the door clicked closed.
This was real. He was here. He’d chosen them.
The apartment smelled like oranges. Silva knew the citrus-bright odor was that of his favorite industrial-strength cleaner, and she also knew the way his anxiety manifested.
Control over all. She had no doubt he’d scrubbed every inch of the apartment above the pub twice over, ignoring his injuries until his incision was likely bleeding.
The kitchen counter held appliances, the sofa a new throw.
She had never replaced the little pothos above the desk, but he had: a long-reaching arm of bright green leaves tumbling down.
An antique floor lamp she remembered having stood beside the door had reappeared, as had several other items that had lived in the big room before he’d vanished.
They’d been in storage, clearly. And now they were back, returned to their rightful spots. Home.
They were staring at each other, transfixed.
“Aelin, this is our friend, Tate.”
Seeing them face-to-face for the first time took her breath away.
Silva had told herself so many times that Aelin didn’t actually resemble him that she’d almost convinced herself, so focused on that face in her nightmares.
But nothing could be further from the truth, now that she was able to compare them side-by-side.
Tate shared his mother’s long, slender neck, sharp cheekbones and angled jaw.
His mouth was wider to accommodate his tusks, his face broader in general, but it was all there.
And Aelin was his miniature, with Silva’s coloring and long, Elvish ears.
Whatever Tate was feeling in that moment, Silva had to give him credit, for he hid it entirely. “Aelin,” he echoed softly. “How do you do, Miss?”
Aelin was staring up at him just as intently. “Hi.” Her little eyes squinted, taking his measure. “You’re very tall.”
Tate smiled, softly, entirely absent of menacing teeth. Silva saw the quiver of emotion there, just beneath the surface. “That’s because I eat loads of broccoli. And they’re just tiny trees. They’ve been growing inside me all this time, so that’s likely the cause.”
Aelin nodded as if it made sense to her. “That’s probably why you’re green!” She cocked her head, considering him. That’s you right there. That little tilt is all you. “Mama said you were in the hospital.”
Silva sucked in a breath when Aelin put her hand in his, could tell Tate was doing the same, allowing himself to be led to the sofa.
Her little watcher, who didn’t like anyone right away, who didn’t trust anyone other than Silva until she’d watched Silva closely, taking her cues.
She took Tate by the hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, directing him to sit while she stood before him.
“I was,” he confirmed. “I got hurt.”
“Was it a dragon?”