Perhaps he shouldn’t interrupt. Despite the distance between his parents, this moment seemed too intimate for him to intrude.
“You can come in, Fieran.” Mama didn’t open her eyes or otherwise move.
For a moment, he remained in the doorway, frozen with the same uncomfortable feeling he’d had when he’d caught his parents kissing a few times as a child.
But Mama had told him to come to the kitchen if he couldn’t sleep, and she’d invited him to interrupt.
He shuffled into the kitchen and collapsed into the chair across from his mama and nearest the plate of cookies.
Mama opened her eyes, though she remained where she was, holding her mug of hot chocolate in both hands. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Must have napped too much today.” Fieran grabbed a cookie and set it on the empty plate. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Mama’s gaze. She’d already set out a plate and mug for him, expecting him tonight. He didn’t want her to see how right she’d been. “I’m sure all this sugar will help.”
“Absolutely.” Mama’s voice remained cheery, light, even as her gaze rested too heavy and searching on Fieran. When shespoke again, her tone had changed to something more somber. “I’m here if you need to talk. Or if you’d prefer silence.”
He didn’t want to talk. Or, well, he did, but he wasn’t sure how to start. Or which of the things churning through him he wanted to talk about.
Stuffing everything back with the same control he used when dealing with his magic, he took a bite of his cookie, chewed, and with the fortification of sugary goodness, finally had the courage to meet Mama’s gaze. “How is Dacha?”
Mama hadn’t just been waiting here for Fieran. The weary tilt to her mouth and the weight in her eyes said as much.
The sight brought up dusty, nearly forgotten memories from his early childhood. Those nights when he’d woken to the sound of screams, as if someone was in pain. A nightmare, his mama had told him. Nothing to worry about. His dacha was fine.
And those mornings when Dacha had been quiet and closed off, not smiling and not responding to Fieran the way he usually did.
Facing him, Mama’s smile was small, not reaching her eyes, as she regarded him over the rim of her hot chocolate mug. “Your dacha will be fine. We’ve faced many a dark night before and come out on the other side. We’ll do it again now. You don’t have to worry.”
Her reassurance not to worry just clawed the worries deeper into his chest. When he’d been a child, he’d believed her reassurances. He hadn’t worried, and eventually those scary nights and tough mornings had become few and far between.
But now he’d faced war and carried the weight of all the lives he’d taken. He knew enough to worry. Looking back, he now realized his dacha’s nightmares likely hadn’t gone away entirely. They’d simply become manageable enough to more effectively hide from his children.
And yet what could Fieran do about it? Was it even his place to worry? Dacha and Mama were still his parents, even now that he was grown. Should they still protect him from their own shadows? Or was that something he should be expected to carry?
Mama’s smile remained as she reached out and rested a hand on Fieran’s arm. “He is fine, Fieran.”
If only he could bring himself to believe it. But he’d caught glimpses of the look on Dacha’s face as he waited at Fieran’s bedside. If Dacha faced darkness tonight, then it was Fieran’s fault.
Another failing to add to the ever-growing tally to Fieran’s name.
Some of the twinkle returned to Mama’s eyes as she leaned back in her chair and picked up her cookie, still holding her mug in her other hand. “He’s jealous of the chocolate chip cookies. I couldn’t quite figure out exactly what happened, but I gathered the mess is either all out of cookies or only has oatmeal raisin left. And their hot chocolate offerings are rather dismal at this time of night, even when a general is requesting it.”
Fieran huffed as much of a laugh as he could manage. “Dacha detests oatmeal raisin cookies.”
Well, all of them did. Raisins did not belong in cookies.
“Thus the reason I could sense the lack through the heart bond.” Mama gave a soft laugh and sipped her hot chocolate.
What must it be like to have a heart bond like that? Fieran clamped down on his question before he voiced it. To ask a question like that would mean bringing up Pip, and he wasn’t ready to talk that situation over with his mama just yet. He needed to talk with Pip first.
Fieran sighed, reached for the chocolate pot, and poured himself a mugful. His body was aching, especially his hips, at sitting up in a wooden chair. He didn’t have long before he’dhave to go back to bed. If he was going to talk about some of what was bothering him, he’d have to do it soon.
After taking a sip of his hot chocolate, Fieran set down his mug and flicked a glance at Mama. “Merrik blames me for his crash.”
“Is it your fault?” Mama’s gaze didn’t waver nor did her steady tone. No judgment. No false cheeriness.
“Yes. Maybe.” Fieran nudged his cookie around his plate, though he didn’t pick it up. His stomach churned with the few bites he’d taken. “I don’t know.”
“Tell me about it.” Mama set down her own mug.
