Chapter 9 #2
His mother smiled at him, soft but genuine. Which was enough. “Go, then. Enjoy yourself.”
During the tour of the bookshop, Draven learned all sorts of things about the Brooksley family.
Supposedly, before owning this bookshop, Atlas had been a groundskeeper for a noble house.
He possessed a decent amount of magic—though they did not mention what type of wielder he was—yet was only ever able to acquire lower-level jobs due to his lack of titles and a respectable pedigree.
For a while, he had thought of leaving and traveling elsewhere—had even begun saving his pay.
Yet Atlas had loathed the idea of leaving his aging mother alone, and that option had become quickly preposterous after he met their mother—who had since passed due to an incurable illness.
Suzumi and Rhea radiated with light as they told Draven about their mother. She was smart, elegant, refined, and fierce. They described her as a warrior spirit trapped within the shell of a butterfly.
According to Suzumi, their parents were madly in love, but it was some time before they could actually be together.
For reasons they didn’t go into, Atlas quit his job as a groundskeeper and opened this bookshop, dedicating every bit of coin he had saved up to leave Príth behind to make sure the shop had everything it needed to succeed.
Though, from what Atlas had since told them, it all worked out in the end—Atlas found his true passion in these books, and he was able to live the life both he and their mother wanted.
Now, this bookshop was both their livelihood and their home.
Literally. The upper portion of the bookshop had a small loft where Rhea and Suzumi slept, and Atlas, living and breathing his work, slept on a bedroll in his tiny office.
The enclosed converted kitchen at the very back of the shop was where they always cooked and took their meals.
Draven wanted to know more—found himself loaded with questions after hearing the bits and pieces they offered him.
Yet he thought pushing them to talk about their deceased mother and their life with her was insensitive, and he didn’t want to accidentally push for more than they were willing to give.
Now, after many exchanged words and a tour filled with lots and lots of books, Rhea had fallen asleep on the small chaise resting in the back corner of the second floor, and Draven and Suzumi sat side by side, hunched over her favorite book as she explained to him all the reasons why she loved it.
It was a fairytale. A story of a girl who was born without the ability to see color yet wanted to become her kingdom’s most talented painter.
From what Suzumi said, the girl was drawn to art, and because she was born without this thing everyone deemed as necessary to take part in it, they laughed at her and made her into an outcast. Yet the girl never gave up, finding her own ways to work around a system that wouldn’t let her succeed.
“It’s truly a masterpiece,” Suzumi gushed, practically buzzing. “The way the heroine refuses to let others dictate her life nor tell her what she can and cannot do.” She looked up from the book and at Draven—whose cheeks burned with heat as he realized their proximity.
Draven wanted to respond. He really did. Yet his brain melted into a sloppy puddle and words lodged in his throat as he stared into Suzumi’s burning, beautiful stare.
He was saved by the carried sounds of laughter.
They both glanced behind them, as if they could see past the railing lining the loft.
Suzumi glanced back at Draven, a conspiratorial smile twirling her lips. “How are you with spying?”
Draven thought of his brothers, Finlay and Kiran. Of all the many meetings they snuck into, eavesdropping in the shadows. He grinned back at her. “A borderline professional.”
“Fantastic,” she cooed.
She nodded for Draven to follow her, and he did.
Wordlessly, on quiet, swift feet, they crept around a corner and knelt down to their bellies, where they then crawled to peer between the spaces splitting the twirling balusters.
His mother and Atlas were sitting in front of the burning hearth wedged between two wooden bookshelves.
They each sat in one of the two lounging chairs, cups of what Draven guessed to be wine in their hands.
Based on the decibel of his mother’s laughter and the uninhibited grin splitting her face, Draven decided it a safe bet to assume it wasn’t their first glass.
Still…by the gods, Draven wasn’t sure if he had ever seen his mother glow like that. In that moment, she was not the shell of the great woman he knew her to be; she assumed every marvelous inch of herself, coming alive in ways Draven prayed he would one day be blessed enough to see again.
“No really,” his mother said through her laughter. “That’s what happened.”
“So you mean to tell me you just casually told one of the greatest scholars of our generation he was wrong and should check the books again?” Atlas was leaning forward, his wide eyes intently locked on her.
She shrugged, the gesture smooth and casual. “He was,” she chuckled.
Atlas shook his head, his smile seeming helpless. “You are a remarkable woman.”
She glanced away from him, choosing instead to watch the dancing flames as they hummed in the hearth. “I assure you,” she replied, her voice dimming. “I am not.”
Atlas tilted his head, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, bracketing his jaw and temple with his thumb and index finger. He studied her for a long time. “And I assure you,” he insisted, his tone gentle yet stern. “You are.”
She scoffed a soft laugh. “You’ve only just met me.”
“And yet within these passing hours, I already know what I’ve said to be fact. I think that says far more about you than it does me.”
Her lips twitched with the makings of a smile she seemed keen on not letting blossom. She brought her cup to her lips and took a long, hearty sip instead. “And what about you?” she asked once she was finished.
“What about me?”
“You seem to have two remarkable daughters. Your girls are sharp, outspoken—they are much like how I always imagined my daughter would have been, if I was ever able to have one. You appear to have done something very right.”
Atlas’s eyes crinkled. “I can’t take credit for it. They are just like their mother was.”
She watched him, her eyes softening. “She’s in the afterlife, I take it?”
He nodded, his gaze growing hazy as he seemed to slip into distant memories.
“She passed a little over four years ago. Rhea was six, and Suzumi was eleven. They were devastated, and I…” He blew out a long breath.
“I was so terrified I wasn’t going to be able to keep it all together for them.
Plus, there was so much she did that I knew I could never replicate.
A girl needs her mother, and I had to grapple with the impossible reality of both my girls losing theirs.
I—” Atlas cut himself off suddenly and forced a hollow laugh through his tight smile.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head as if to banish all his thoughts away.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. ”
“It’s alright,” she assured him. “Maybe you’ve needed someone to say it to.”
“Yeah,” he mused quietly, a crease appearing between his brows as he studied her with a gaze that seemed inquisitive. “Perhaps I have.”
Suzumi nudged Draven in the side, and he turned.
Quietly, she motioned for him to follow her, a clear instruction to leave their parents to their own devices.
Draven did as he was asked and moved away from the railing, only glancing back at his mother and Atlas one final time.
As they regarded each other, something around them seemed to have shifted—become more serious.
Not necessarily in a bad way, but rather just in a way Draven couldn’t help but notice.
Suzumi and Draven were silent as they traversed the length of the second floor, wordless until they reached a small ladder leading up to a smaller hatch with a parallel lever locking its wooden door.
Suzumi stopped and squared her shoulders to him. “No more spying.”
“Alright,” Draven agreed, unsure of where her sudden change of heart came from.
“How would you like to do something else instead?” As if for emphasis, she rested a hand on one of the wooden ladder’s rungs. “I think it’d be more fun, anyways.”
Draven swept his eyes over the length of the ladder and scanned the hatch once more, curious to know what could be awaiting them on the other side. “Lead the way.”