My face is in a frown when I turn it back up to her. “I wasn’t playing. That’s baby stuff. I was monitoring.”
My mother’s lips twitch. “Of course,” she says, green eyes flicking down. “And your shoes?”
Another shrug. “It’s harder to climb with them. I didn’t put them on because I didn’t want to fall.”
She shakes her head, but all sternness has left her expression as she kneels down in front of me. “Well, I certainly can’t have you falling. And how are the birds this morning?”
“They’re good,” I assure her, feeling excited again now that I can tell she’s not angry. “There’s a little nestling, but I think its mom left already, so I’m gonna help teach it to fly.”
The shape of my mother’s green eyes crinkles as she smiles. “If anyone can do it, you can. You’ve always had a way with them.”
Her hand lifts and she combs her fingers over my hair, but I jerk my head away and press down on it. “I combed it earlier.”
She laughs and then fixes my upturned collar. “Come on. It’s time to eat.”
When she reaches for my hand, I tug it away. “I can’t hold hands anymore. I’m eight,” I tell her.
“Oh, right. Of course,” she says, though the side of her mouth has lifted up into a smirk. “I guess I just miss holding my son’s hand.”
I don’t want her to feel bad. It’s not that I don’t want to hold her hand, it’s just little kid stuff. “You could hold Ryatt’s,” I tell her. “He’s only three, so that’s alright.”
She gently pats my cheek. “That’s a very good idea.”
Together, we walk away from the copse of trees, passing by the birdbaths and the line of point-shaped shrubs. I look at the estate at the bottom of the slope, but I don’t want to go inside. I’d much rather stay out here with the grass and the birds.
There’s nothing wrong with the house, really. We’ve got forty-three rooms, a load of fancy things, and a bunch of servants too. None of the other families in the city have a house as big as ours with as many horses as we do.
But I hate it. I’d rather live in the smaller houses on the city streets. Because then I wouldn’t live here. With him.
We’re almost to the back door past the gardens when a figure appears in the doorway, and I immediately jerk to a stop, my mother stopping next to me. My father stands there, red shirt buttoned all the way to his neck, not a crease out of place. His bald head cuts into a thick brown beard, and his mouth is already pinched with irritation. It usually is whenever I’m around.
His black eyes skip from her to me, and I stop myself from swallowing. He’d see me do it, and I’m supposed to always be something called stoic. I think it means not to feel.
My mother reaches down and takes hold of my hand, and I don’t yank away this time. My sweaty palm is held tightly in hers as she takes me the last few steps until we stand in front of him.
“I didn’t know you were coming home tonight, Stanton.”
“I was able to cut things short with the king,” he replies.
His attention drops down to my bare feet, and it makes me want to scrunch up my toes and try to bury them in the grass. My heartbeat turns quick when he gives them a withering look before snapping his eyes back to my mother.
“I see that you’ve been shirking your motherly duties while I’ve been away, Elore.”
My head instantly drops, eyes finding my dirt-smeared feet while shame falls on my shoulders. If I knew my father was coming home, I never would’ve come outside without shoes. I never would’ve even come outside at all. This past week that he’s been gone has been the best time I’ve had in a long time. My mother has let me come outside every single day, and I even got to skip my weapons and history lesson yesterday. The last thing I want is for my father to be mad at her.
“He was just having a run in the gardens,” she tells him, her voice calm and nice. She always sounds like that, even when Ryatt is throwing a fit, and he throws fits a lot. “Fresh air is good for a growing boy.”
“His studies are good for him,” my father snaps. “Now take him inside and get him cleaned up. We have guests, and I’ve already ordered dinner to be brought in within the next twenty minutes.”
After he turns on his heel and walks away, my mother hurries me inside. She goes with me to my room where she helps me get ready. I don’t complain once, even when she runs a wet comb through my hair. By the time I’m dressed in fresh clothes and she’s collected Ryatt from the nursery, our twenty minutes are almost up.