CHAPTER 36
AUREN
All I know is that I can’t have heard right.
So I keep waiting for my ears to correct my mind or for Slade to correct himself or for the woman to laugh and shake her head.
But none of that happens.
I’d like you to meet my mother.
When I realize that his words aren’t being taken back, I look from her to Slade. “Your…mother.”
He nods slowly.
I dart my eyes back to her because I don’t want to be rude and talk about her as if she isn’t standing right here. I study her again, closer this time. There are very faint lines next to her eyes, a dusting of silvery hairs right in front of her ears, but those are the only things that could possibly age her, and even still, it doesn’t. She looks as young as me.
She’s smiling at me so openly, and I’m struck with the green of her eyes and the shape of her mouth. Now that I’m no longer worried about a lover, I can recognize that there’s a big family resemblance. But she looks like his sister, not his mother.
Clearing my throat, I then give her a soft smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Lady…”
“Her name is Elore,” Slade says, pronouncing it Eh-lore.
“Lady Elore,” I say. “I’m Auren.”
The woman beams at me, green eyes flicking over my face with open study. After a second, she swivels her smiling face to Slade and taps him on the cheek, and then she reaches over and taps my cheek next.
I startle slightly at the gesture, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She just continues to tap my cheek, like she has no qualms, no hesitations about me. As if she can tell with a look exactly who I am to her son.
When she drops her hand and looks to Slade again, they share something between them for a moment, and it seems so personal that I have to look away when I catch the shine in Elore’s eyes.
Then she does the most motherly thing ever, reaching up to try and straighten a part of his hair that’s sticking up, before she tsks and then fixes the corner of his collar. Just those gestures make Slade’s declaration all the more believable.
My mind races, and I look down at my loose leggings and borrowed coat, hand running over my messily braided hair while I try not to panic that I’m meeting Slade’s mother while looking so rough.
Before I can think of a polite conversation starter, Elore walks away, heading for the kitchen. I watch as she starts to light the stove, a soft hum coming from her.
“How can she be your mother?” I murmur to Slade. “She looks the same age…”
He gives me a sad sort of smile. “Come, let’s sit.”
Together, we walk to the small dining table and slip onto the wooden chairs. Elore finishes lighting the stove and gets to work bringing a kettle to set over it and then bustles around, setting down plates from the hanging cabinets in front of her.
“Let me help you,” I say as I get back up again, but she doesn’t respond or even turn around. Instead, she continues to gather a few crackers and then slices up cheese, all while I stand awkwardly off to the side. She doesn’t stop humming.
I swear, the tune sounds familiar.
When I shoot Slade a look, he says, “It’s alright. Come here.”
Hesitating for just a moment longer, I drag myself back to the table and take a seat. I continue to watch her, my brows carving deeper and deeper into a frown. Because just like back at the pavilion with the other villagers, I feel it.
That sense that something is odd. Off.
I turn back to Slade. “I don’t understand.”
“My mother doesn’t speak anymore. Very rarely,” he tells me.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why not, but I swallow it down, because I don’t want to be insensitive in front of her just to satiate my instant curiosity.
Elore walks over to set down the plates, her profile leaning down directly in front of me, and I let out a gasp. Eyes riveted to her, I notice something that I should’ve realized right from the start. Her ears are rounded.
“She’s…not fae.” I instantly remember Slade telling me that he’s only half.
Yet when I speak the word fae, she suddenly stiffens. The humming abruptly cuts off, and a shudder seems to travel through her.
Slade is on his feet in an instant, coming around the table. He takes her shaking hands in his and lowers himself so she will meet his eyes. “It’s alright,” he soothes, his thumbs stroking over the back of her frail looking fingers. “You’re alright.”
She starts to nod, blowing out a shaken breath, but the kettle begins its shrill cry, making her flinch.