He went on in a rush, “I tried to tell myself that it was for the best. That they were going to meet Orholam, that I should envy them, but, but it was my hand on the knife. I never—I never asked for this. I never knew how hard this would be.”

She pulled him close and hugged him to her. He dissolved into her arms.

He wept quietly for a minute, and then pulled back, putting a brave face on. “I… Can we not speak of that again?”

Holding on to his arms, she said, “Only this, Zymun. You honored Orholam and those brave drafters by what you did. And me. You did right.”

He bowed his head, pursed his lips under the weight of his emotion, and nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this, High Lady. And I didn’t mean to talk all about myself. You’ve just ascended to the chair. Congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you,” she said. She finally let go of him. It was as if she were slightly out of her body as she looked at him. What was she looking for? Herself? He was a seventeen-year-old man, not an infant where you pick this trait from his mother and that from his father.

Oh, look! He has a nose—like his mother does. Oh, look! He has two eyes—like his father does. What a coincidence.

But the very thought of a father made her think of Gavin.

Gavin, dear Orholam. There had been no word, all day, no word of where he was. It was as if he’d been spirited away, as if she’d never dragged his half-blind ass back from the hippodrome in Rath. No word about Marissia, either. The bitch. Karris would be meeting with the banker Turgal Onesto soon to see if he might help in tracking Marissia, but she hadn’t been able to fit that in today with all the other emergencies.

She put on a smile to push both thoughts away. Zymun hadn’t noticed.

“I’m really proud of you, mother,” he said. “The White! Don’t they usually pick old crones for that? And you’re hardly that. I mean, you’re older for a drafter, maybe, but not old old. And so beautiful.”

He was not quite gifted with the Guiles’ golden tongue, was he? Even Kip did better than that. But then, if he hadn’t gotten the Guile charm, from which parent had he inherited that deficiency?

And he was a young man, trying to impress, and he’d been through so much. She had to make allowances.

Underneath all his bravado and awkwardness, he was probably furious with her for her abandonment and her distance, but wanting her approval, too. She was asking too much of him, even having him meet her today.

It took all the bravery in her heart to go straight at the issue, as Gavin would have. “Let’s get this out of the way, shall we?” she said.

“Mother?”

“I didn’t want to leave you, Zymun, but I couldn’t bear to keep you, either. I had no prospects and no friends. Or so I thought. And I was ashamed. Not ashamed of you—but ashamed nonetheless, for all the wrong reasons. But I want you to know it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t leave for anything you did.”

His lip quivered, and he looked away, blinking.

Orholam have mercy. Her heart broke again.

“No, I… I know that,” he said. “I mean, how could it be my fault? I was just a baby, right? I hadn’t done anything yet—good or bad, right? I mean, I don’t know, maybe your pregnancy was really awful? And you blamed me for it or something? I thought about it a lot. I just wanted to know if it had been something I’d done. Or if, or if I seemed like some sort of monster to you for some reason.”

Whatever leash she’d held on her emotions slipped through her fingers. She turned her back.

How could he have thought that?

How could he not?

But he kept talking, quickly, always quickly. “I mean, they told me I was a cute baby, but I didn’t know what you thought of me. They didn’t like that I was handsome, actually. At least that’s one of the things they beat me for. They said I was a burden. They said I thought I was better than them. It was a lie. I just wanted to fit in. I just wanted to be accepted by someone, anyone. It all got worse when it turned out I could draft. I could show you the scars if you want? Did you get any of the letters I sent you? They said they’d send them on. They promised. They lied about so many things, but I was certain they were telling the truth about sending my letters.”

Every dream she’d had for her son. Every hope she’d nourished that he would be protected, loved, that he would grow up knowing both a mother and a father—it all burnt and broke at once. Every nightmare from her long nights stepped fully armed from the waves in an instant, invading the beachhead her fears had captured in her mind and setting up camp along the whole coast.

She’d wanted to let herself off the hook, all these years: he was with a good family, she told herself. The Ashes were her cousins, and had been close with her branch of the family for generations. She’d thought he would be far from wars and danger, that he would be loved and nurtured.

But that was all a fantasy, wasn’t it? That her abandonment had somehow been beneficial to him, and not just a selfish sloughing off of a problem onto someone else. Now that hook eviscerated her, she fell to her knees, barely able to breathe through her sobs.

“Mother, mother, please…” he said, and it was as if he were speaking to her from far away. She’d thought she knew Devon and Karen Ash. They’d seemed to be such good people, but then, the real monsters had an uncanny ability to hide right in plain sight, didn’t they?

“Mother, please don’t turn away again,” Zymun said.

She beckoned him to come to her. He was there instantly, sitting on the floor with her, burying his head in her chest. He was taller than she was, even sitting, so it was an awkward movement, but she thought she understood. He had never been comforted by a mother, of course he would want to act like a little boy.

She brushed his hair with her fingers, and a tiny ray of sweetness penetrated all the bitterness.

He nuzzled his head in against her breast. “Mother, please, I’m so afraid of you rejecting me.”

“No, never,” she said. “Never again.”

“Will you promise me you’ll keep me close? That you’ll never send me away?”

“I swear it,” she said.

“You swear to Orholam? You swear on your hope of the light?”

It was a burden, and it invited future pain. It invited the possibility of the kind of hurt that she’d pushed away when Kip had made his innocent joke, calling her mother. She’d failed Kip then; she’d not fail Zymun now.