Chapter 6 #2
“—Rhea, get off of him and stop your rambling.” Another girl appeared, stepping down the staircase.
Whereas the other girl looked to be a few years younger than Draven, this girl looked to be somewhere around Draven’s age, if not slightly older.
She was quite pretty, and Draven swallowed against the sudden dryness overtaking his throat.
“But Suzumi,” the younger girl—Rhea—pleaded, turning her chin over her shoulder. “I’m interrogating him.”
Suzumi placed her hands on her hips and sighed. “You can’t go around tackling customers.” She said it in a way that led Draven to believe this was not the first time Rhea was receiving this lecture. “Father will never sell any books if you continue to scare everyone away.”
Rhea huffed a haughty breath, shooting Draven a dagger-sharp glare—like he had anything to do with this—before removing herself from atop him and strutting over to stand at Suzumi’s side.
As they continued bickering softly between themselves, Draven’s mother strode over to him and crouched down, offering her hand. “Well,” she sang, humor clinging to the word. “That was certainly unexpected.”
She helped Draven rise, and he brushed off dirt from his new trousers and tunic. He was just about to make a comment when a melodic male voice sounded from behind a door at the very back of the bookshop, cutting off his reply.
“Girls?” the voice called out. “What is all the ruckus about?” The door swung open, and a mid-aged man with sandy-beige hair that curled around his ears appeared.
He had ink smudged across his face, and he wore rounded brass spectacles.
“Oh,” he said once he spotted Draven and his mother, straightening up and rolling his shoulders back.
“Hello, there. Welcome to The Polished Bookery. Anything I can help you find today?”
Draven huffed a laugh at the sharp glare the man cut the two girls before smiling and turning his attention back onto his mother and him. The youngest girl, Rhea, noticed and stuck her tongue out at Draven, which resulted in the oldest girl, Suzumi, flicking Rhea in the temple.
The man watched the entire exchange, sighing after. “Forgive my daughters,” he said. “I fear they have more personality than they know what to do with sometimes.”
Draven’s mother softly laughed. “I assure you, it’s no bother at all.”
The man smiled, pressing his ink-stained hand against his chest. “I’m Atlas. And these are my two daughters, Rhea and Suzumi. They help me out around the shop from time to time.”
“Lealla,” she replied. “And this is my son, Draven.”
“Hello, Draven. Nice to meet you.” Atlas smiled a crooked sort of smile, and Draven blinked at the vulnerability of it.
How rare of a sight it was, to see someone smiling with their full soul. A feat that never happened in Talderine. Every smile was meticulously calculated there.
Yet Atlas’s smile flickered as his eyes traced the faces of both him and his mother, and Draven had to fight against the wince he felt creeping into his bones as he realized what could taint such a pure smile.
The bruises his father had left on them.
In some twisted way, he couldn’t help but think it was almost poetic—that even in his absence, his father still managed to ruin smiles.
But to Atlas’s credit, he reset his features, and his eyes crinkled warmly at the corners when he smiled again, addressing Draven’s mother. “Talderine, right?”
She laughed. “What gave us away?”
“Your smell.”
She balked, seeming amused. “Our smell?”
Atlas chuckled, nodding. “Your clothes are clearly from Príth, yet you both still smell of sandalwood and neroli—luxury scents not commonly found around here. You do not have an accent indicating you are from another kingdom, yet I’ve never seen you around this town, either.
” He shrugged. “Talderine seemed like the obvious option.”
Draven stole a sidelong glance at his mother, wondering what the hell was in the water around here. Both this guy and the old lady nailed them within minutes.
The younger girl, Rhea, braced her hands on her hips and nodded her head emphatically. “I smelled you the moment you walked in.”
Draven furrowed his brows at her, thinking between their traveling and new clothes, there was simply no way that was possible. He was in the process of opening his mouth to say as much, but then the older sister, Suzumi, cut in.
“No you didn’t, Rhea,” she said with a sigh. “You heard someone new and got excited. That’s all.”
Rhea gaped at Suzumi and looked as if she was about to object, but then Atlas loudly cleared his throat, cutting them off. “Girls, please. Why don’t you go on back to the kitchen? Suzumi, the stew should be just about finished. Help yourself and Rhea to a bowl. I’ll be back shortly.”
Suzumi nodded at her father and took her sister’s hand, tugging Rhea behind her as she led them into the kitchen.
Rhea grumbled the whole way.
At the mention of food, Draven’s stomach was like a wild beast outside of his control, and it started growling mercilessly. Draven’s cheeks burned with heat; the sounds were not quiet.
He watched as Atlas flicked his gaze between Draven and his mother, seeming to consider something. “Would the two of you like to join us for dinner?”
Draven’s mother smiled, but shook her head. “We’re alright. Though very kind of you to offer, we were planning on having dinner back at our lodging.”
Atlas tilted his head. “And where is that, exactly?”
His mother bracketed her hip with a hand and swept her eyes across him, a small curve forming at the corner of her mouth. “And why would I offer that information to someone I’ve only just met?”
Atlas chuckled, and Draven decided he liked how warm of a laugh it was.
“That’s a fair point. Alright then.” He disappeared behind the back door, and Draven glanced up at his mother, wondering if that was that.
But then Atlas reappeared, holding a small rectangular card in his hand.
“Here you are,” he said, handing the card to her.
Draven rose up to the tips of his toes, stealing a peek. It was a small slip of parchment with the bookstore’s information written across the front of it, a small smudge of ink left behind from the stains on Atlas’s fingertips.
“In case you’d like to come by again but aren’t sure of the way,” he elaborated, suddenly possessing a small quiver in his words as he addressed Draven’s mother.
“I’m not sure how long the two of you plan to stay in Príth, but perhaps you’d stop by again sometime.
” Atlas shifted his warm gaze—so opposite of his own father’s—to Draven.
“Believe it or not,” he said through a chuckle, “I think Rhea has taken a liking to you.”
Right on cue, Rhea popped her head out from the door, clearly having been eavesdropping. “I have not,” she argued.
Atlas glanced behind his shoulder at her before back at Draven. There was an amused, pointed look of, she definitely has, in his eyes.
Draven’s mother pocketed the information and smiled at Atlas, something almost sad tracing the lines of it. Draven couldn’t help but wonder why. “Thank you,” she said, her voice dimmer than before. “You’ve been most kind.”
The corners of Atlas’s lips twitched, and he dipped his chin, watching quietly as she reached for Draven’s hand and led him forward, out of the bookshop, away from the mouthwatering smell of hearty stew.
Away from the scented air of aged words—from a shop that felt like being embraced in a warm hug.
From a man and his daughters who had already piqued Draven’s curiosity.
They left it all behind, returning to the inn, where they sat alone in front of a burning hearth, shoveling cured sausages, cheese, and bread into their mouths, ravenous from a long day.
And as they ate in silence—the popping sounds of the fire the only background noise—Draven wondered if his mother, too, could not get Atlas, his daughters, and that bookshop out of her head.
Draven awoke that night to tears.
Not his own, but his mother’s. She laid crouched in the corner of their room, sucking in sharp, jagged breaths in the dark.
Draven peeled back the covers and climbed out of bed, approaching his mother tentatively.
Though this wasn’t the first time this had happened, it was always a tedious business—attempting to help her through these storms. Even if ‘help’ was a loose word here, and Draven never actually felt like he did anything to help her.
“Mother,” Draven said as he crouched down to make himself appear smaller, approaching her slowly. She sat hunched over on her knees, a hand gripping at her chest while her other hand covered her mouth to muffle the sobs. “What can I do?” Draven asked, his voice nothing more than a whisper.
His mother shook her head. When she tried to speak, Draven heard the trembling hiccups waiting in her throat.
It gutted him.
“Mother, please. Just tell me what to do.” Draven reached for his mother’s hand, and she jumped at the contact. Draven winced and reared back, cursing himself for forgetting what happened the last time she was in an episode and he tried to touch her when she wasn’t expecting it.
He watched as his mother actively tried to fight the tears—waged war against the tremors racking her muscles and the weighted lead pushing down against her chest. In spite of her efforts, she was only able to croak two words.
“I’m sorry,” she said through trembling breaths. Then she again clapped her hand over her mouth, attempting to keep the sobs lodged deep in her chest.
Though it pained Draven far greater than any punch or punishment his father had ever given him, he had to resign himself to knowing, in this moment, there was nothing he could do for her.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
Not truly. And so he didn’t know what to do to help his mother through it.
All his past attempts only ever seemed to make it worse.
So, Draven propped himself up against the wall next to her, making sure to keep a far enough distance to where he wouldn’t accidentally touch her, but close enough to where she could still feel his presence; know that he was there with her.
That she wasn’t alone.
As Draven finally again drifted back to sleep—his head slumped awkwardly against the wall—the sound of his mother’s tears haunted his dreams.