I stay near the entrance and fold my arms. “Why are you here?”
She takes a hesitant step toward me. “Cenric, please. I know you’re angry, but if you’d let me explain—”
“—explain?” I say, the word as sharp as a blade. “Explain how you abandoned us? How you left us with no word, no warning?”
Praxis shifts uncomfortably. “Perhaps we should all sit down and—”
“—no,” I cut him off, my stare never leaving Rosa’s face. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
She reaches out, her hand trembling, her eyes pleading, as if she expects me to accept her weak excuses. “My son, I never wanted to leave you. You must understand, I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I say, taking a step back, and her hand falls back to her sides.
The little girls huddle closer to her, their eyes wide with fear. I force myself to take a deep breath, to rein in the anger.
“Cenric,” Rosa tries again, her voice soft. “I’ve missed you every day. Both of you. I’ve thought of you constantly, wondered how you’ve grown, and what kind of men you’ve become.”
Praxis places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’ve become strong, Mother. We’ve survived.”
I can’t bear to see the warmth in his eyes, the easy forgiveness. How can he welcome her back so readily?
“That’s right.” Coldness laces my words as I continue. “We survived. Without you.”
Tears spill down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. If you only knew what I’ve been through, what I had to do to protect you—”
“—protect us?” I laugh, the sound harsh and bitter. “By leaving us with a father who barely acknowledged our existence and who forced us into the army when we were still children?”
She flinches, and for a moment, I feel a glimmer ofsatisfaction. Let her hurt. Let her feel a fraction of the pain she caused us.
“I couldn’t bear to stay with your father any longer. The way he treated me…” Her voice trembles as she continues. “I thought you’d be better off without me there.”
“Better off?” I ask, my tone colder than the snow outside the tent. “You left us with him. How could that possibly be better?”
“Mother, it’s all right,” Praxis says. “We understand.”
Disbelief slams into me as I whirl on him. “You understand? How can you possibly understand this?”
My brother meets my gaze. “She’s our mother, Cenric. She’s here now. Isn’t that what matters?”
“What matters is that she abandoned us for sixteen summers, Praxis. Sixteen summers of wondering, of hoping, of imagining the worst.”
Rosa reaches out again, her fingers brushing my arm. I jerk away, as if her fingers are made of talons. “Please, Cenric. I never stopped loving you. I never stopped thinking about you.”
I scoff. “Where was your love when our father sent us to war?”
“I made mistakes,” she whispers. “Terrible mistakes. But I’m here now. I want to make things right.”
Praxis squeezes her shoulder. “We can start over. As a family.”
How can Praxis forgive so easily? How can he welcome her back, as if the past sixteen summers never happened?
“A family?” I repeat. “She stopped being a part of our family the day she walked out on us.”
I storm out of the tent. The cool evening air hits my face, but it does nothing to soothe the inferno raging inside me.
How dare she?
How dare Praxis?
