CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The rich aroma of my mother’s famed mushroom and turnip casserole hit me the moment Hera and I stepped through the front door. It was a scent that had always been synonymous with comfort and the embrace of home. Tonight, however, it made my stomach turn a slow somersault with nerves.
“Kaelia!”
Mother’s apron billowed slightly as she bustled toward us. She paused abruptly in the archway, her gaze sweeping over Hera. “And this must be Hera.”
Hera offered a polite bow, her long hair falling across her shoulders. “It is, Lady Elara. Thank you for inviting me into your beautiful home.”
Mother waved her off as my father emerged from the study, wiping his hands on a cloth before extending one to Hera. “Welcome. It is a pleasure to meet the one who so bravely agreed to stand with our daughter.”
Hera met his grip without falter, the tiniest, genuine smile ghosting her lips.
“Nice to meet you, Hera,” Lyra said, sauntering over with Theron at her side. She offered a gentle smile before gesturing to the man beside her. “This is Theron, my Elarthai. My better half, though he’d never admit it.”
Theron offered a respectful nod, his hand resting on the small of Lyra’s back.
“Dinner is just ready,” Mother declared, linking her arm through mine.
We moved into the dining room, where the table was set meticulously with the good linen and the polished silverware reserved for celebrations. The golden, bubbling casserole sat in the center, radiating heat and its savory aroma.
Father pulled out a chair for Mother, then one for Hera, gesturing for her to sit beside me. I slid into my usual spot, feeling the heat of the room pressing in.
“It is truly an honour to be here,” Hera said, picking up her fork. “This is a lovely home, Lady Elara.”
“Oh, please, call me Elara,” Mother urged, settling into her own chair. “And you, my dear, are too kind.”
The initial silence was broken only by the clink of silverware against porcelain as Father served the rich casserole.
He ladled a generous portion onto Hera’s plate first, then mine. Mother hummed contentedly, her eyes still flitting between Hera and me.
“So, Hera,” Father began as he cut into his meal. “Tell us of your home. Where do you hail from? Your accent does not quite sound like the city center.”
Hera took a delicate bite, her expression thoughtful. “We reside in the Silverwood Vale, just outside the markets.”
“And your family?” Lyra prompted.
“My father is a cartographer, and my mother tends the village’s flower gardens.”
A fresh wave of shame hit me. I had not even bothered to learn the names of her parents.
“A cartographer!” Father exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “How fascinating. I have always said that the maps of the Vale are the most intricate in the realm. Do you share his gift for the compass, then?”
Hera laughed lightly. “My hand is steadier with a quill than a compass, I am afraid. I am a scribe by trade..”
She turned and gave me a soft look, a little smile meant to look intimate. I managed only a stiff, wooden nod in return.
I felt like a marionette with frayed strings.
Mother’s eyes drifted before she cleared her throat and poured a glass of red wine.
“So, where did you two meet? Kaelia was suspiciously vague about the whole thing,” Lyra prodded, leaning over her plate.
“The Garden of Thrynn. It was a chance meeting while I was chaperoning my younger brother. Kaelia looked so lost among the statues, I simply could not help myself.”
Mother swallowed her food, her gaze softening. “How brave, dear. To make such a swift decision. It reminds me of when Kaelia’s father and I first met. I remember thinking how much our souls resonated.”
She looked at my father, a loving smile gracing her lips. He returned it with a look of such raw devotion that it made my heart ache.
Mother turned her gaze back to me, a faint furrow appearing between her brows. “You seem quieter than usual, Kaelia, love. Is the casserole not to your liking?”
“It is perfect, Mother,” I said, forcing a brittle smile. “Just overwhelmed with happiness.”
“You have certainly picked a beautiful one,” Lyra teased, nudging Hera’s shoulder. “I expect to hear all about Silverwood Vale tomorrow.”
The conversation flowed on, with Father sharing tales of his youth and Lyra asking about Hera’s work as a scribe. Hera answered every question with a grace that bordered on perfection whilst my lips remained sealed.
When the plates were cleared, Mother rose to fetch the honey cakes. She paused at my chair, leaning down to speak into my ear.
“You look happy, Kaelia. But you are distant. Is everything truly well?”
Her eyes searched mine with a softness that made it hard not to break.
I almost let the truth blister from my tongue, but I forced a laugh instead. “Oh Mother, you know me. I always grow quiet when I am overwhelmed.”
I forced a smile and turned my face to Hera, leaning into her space as if I could not bear to be an inch away.
Mother patted my shoulder, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Perhaps. But a mother knows her daughter’s heart. We will talk more later, sweet one.”
She straightened and left the room, leaving me with a knot of dread in my stomach.
“I must head home before the sun sets completely,” Hera said, standing up and moving away from the table. She gave a formal dip and offered my family an endearing smile. “It was a lovely supper. Thank you for welcoming me so warmly.”
My parents rose with her, Father offering a firm hand and Mother a warm embrace. As Hera turned to me, her composure remained flawless. She offered a brief, almost imperceptible squeeze of my hand before stepping through the door and into the dusky night.
The front door clicked shut, and the comfortable hum of family conversation evaporated. Father cleared his throat, the familiar sound he made before asking about my work. Mother, however, was already looking at me, her smile gone.
“Kaelia, my love, come here,” she said softly.
Lyra and Theron exchanged a quick glance.
“We will help Father clear the table,” Lyra offered, pulling Theron toward the kitchen.
Mother led me by the arm into the deserted lounge, where the dying light of the setting sun cast long, accusatory shadows across the floor. She sat me down on the plush velvet sofa, her gaze piercing and unwavering.
“Kaelia,” she began. “You were not yourself tonight. You were a ghost at your own table. Tell me what is wrong. And do not tell me it is merely the excitement.”
I felt the heat rise to my face, the lie going brittle at the edges.
“Mother,” I said, and my voice trembled. I decided to let a small truth slip instead of the whole, terrifying reality. “It has been a whirlwind. Since staying at the Archives… I have not slept. I feel unwell. Maybe even feverish.”
I pressed my fingers to my forehead in a clumsy mimicry of illness.
Her hand came to my cheek instantly. She frowned, her expression softening into worry.
“You do feel warm,” she murmured. “Why did you not tell us? You should not have been playing hostess if you were ill.”
“I just wanted tonight to be perfect for Hera,” I added, knowing it was another layer of the lie. “I did not want to ruin it.”
“Nonsense. Your health comes first. You have been working too hard in the Archives, and now all this. It is too much stress for one soul.” She pulled me gently to my feet. “Come. I will start a bath for you. Lavender and chamomile to draw out the chill.”
I allowed her to lead me into the hallway.
The ornate gown I had worn for dinner felt heavy and suffocating and I was desperate to shed it. I unwound the silk ribbons and unclasped the fastenings, letting the rich fabric slide to the floor in a shimmering puddle around my bare feet.
A deep sigh escaped me.
Mother called from the washroom, the sound of running water echoing. “It is ready, Kaelia! The water is warm.”
I padded into the washroom, the steam creating a hazy, silver warmth in the air. I sank into the tub and felt some of the weight loosen. The exhaustion I had pretended to feel suddenly became very real, pressing heavily into every joint.
I closed my eyes and allowed the water to cradle me.
My eyelids began to burn with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall.
I had chosen this path. I had chosen survival.
And I had to see it through.
I rolled my head back against the edge of the tub and sighed.
Within moments, the heat and the bone-deep exhaustion of a soul at war with itself won. I succumbed to a dark slumber, lulled by the scent of lavender and the sound of the water.