“It’s just the tea,” he murmurs. “Do you want me to get it?”
Elore gives a slow nod, and he sits her down at the empty chair like she’s the most fragile thing in the world. I watch her shaking fingers, her face that’s gone even paler. I feel stuck in inaction, not knowing what I could possibly do or say to help.
Yet Slade stays calm, his sure steps taking him over to the kettle that’s begun to cry. He pulls cups from hooks on the wall, and when he starts to pour out the tea, he hums. The same gentle, soothing tone.
By the time he brings the cups over to us and then sits down again, Elore has calmed, her eyes no longer strained, mouth no longer turned down. She sends Slade a small, sad smile.
I nibble on the crackers, sip on my tea, and for the next half hour, I just watch them.
It’s a bit fascinating. Slade talks quietly, telling her about what the snow looks like, about how hard the wind blew during the blizzard. He speaks of his timberwing, promising to bring her a feather next time. He tells her about the mulled wine he found at the Cellar and says that he’ll bring her more of that too.
Be calm, Slade told me before we came. Just…be calm.
But he wasn’t saying that because he was going to show me something upsetting; he was saying it because his mother obviously needs calm. It’s not just that she doesn’t speak. There’s something else caught beneath the depths of her silence. I’m not sure where her mind is or what she could possibly be thinking, but seeing her reaction to the word fae was startling.
It’s clear from the patient and assuring way Slade acts with her that he does everything he can, from the pitch of his tone to the mundane topics he speaks about, to keep everything as relaxed and simple as possible.
For the next half hour, that’s how the time passes. He talks in a soothing rumble, while she watches him with a smile on her face. It doesn’t matter that she doesn’t talk, because the affection is as clear as the crystal cups we sip our tea from.
And while I’m burning with questions, I let them simmer in the background, because it feels like Slade has pulled back a veil, letting me see a part of him that not many people do. I’m experiencing a part of his past and present, something vulnerable and private and precious. Because I can see by the way he is with her, his mother is precious to him.
It makes my heart hurt for the loss of my own mother.
When the tea is gone and our plates have nothing left but crumbs, Elore cleans up with a smile on her face. I try to offer to help again, but Slade shakes his head and leads me to the chairs by the fire. “She likes her routines,” he tells me. “It would upset her if you do any of that. She likes things a certain way.”
I settle into the chair and try to collect all the questions that have been building up like a wall, laid brick by brick. Glancing over my shoulder, I make sure she’s occupied with her task before turning back to Slade. He’s leaning forward slightly, an elbow on the armrest and his chin in his hand, like he’s waiting.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” I say, blowing out a breath.
“I know this was a lot.”
I blow a sardonic laugh through my nose. “That’s putting it mildly. To be honest, I was expecting to walk in here and have to come face-to-face with your lover.”
Slade’s brows immediately slam down. “You think I would show you such disrespect?”
I shift in my seat. “I have no idea what to think. We don’t—”
“Know each other,” he finishes for me, feeding my words back to me. When I nod, he runs a hand through his black hair, mussing it up again, frustration betraying in the way he yanks on the strands. “I will admit that I’m not used to being open, but I will. For you.”
“Your Wrath know.”
“My Wrath know everything because I have been with them for years. Those layers peeled back after being together for more than a decade. With you…the timeline is different. I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“Like with the…prisoner.”
His nod is slow, eyes piercing.
“I’m on your side. It’s just, seeing that…”
“My power is not easy to see.”
The memory of my gold swallowing people whole like a bestial bird flashes in my mind. “You’ve seen the worst parts of my power and didn’t blink twice.”
“There’s no shame in your reaction to my power,” he replies.
I feel shame though, because the last thing I want to do is judge him for his magic. He certainly didn’t judge me. “Why are you keeping him alive?”