Hel’s mother, Seraphina d’Tierrza, stood at the entryway of her quarters, wearing, notably, loungewear. Seraphina d’Tierrza did not wear loungewear. Her hair, also, was not as it usually was, perfectly coiffed without a strand out of place. Instead, it was tousled and pulled back into a messy French twist, strands falling loose around her face, which itself looked...tired, rather than its typical perfect polished pearlescent.
Sitting all the way up, and then regretting the motion, Hel sent her mother a weak smile. “Just a stomach bug,” she said. “And what’s the point?”
Seraphina eyed her for a moment, her deep blue gaze drifting down to her daughter’s exposed breasts before traveling back up to her face. “Helene Cosima d’Tierrza. The point is that once a daughter has breasts, her mother doesn’t want to see them. Now put this on. I want to talk to you.” Mildly indignant, ever proper, and eternally loving, Hel’s mother held out a hand that held a blue cotton T-shirt.
Hel pulled it over her head, unable to ignore the comfort of the soft, thin material, despite the fact that her skin had become so sensitive lately that she’d taken to going shirtless in her room just to ease the chafing.
Her mother knew her well, though.
The shirt was made from the softest cotton, had no tag, was lightweight and breathable. Everything she looked for in a T-shirt, and the only thing she could stand right now.
Joining her daughter on the bed, Seraphina pushed the bangs out of her eyes, tucking them behind her ear the same way she had since Hel had been a little girl and her hair much longer.
Searching her daughter’s eyes with her own matching pair, Seraphina said, “Tell me your symptoms.”
Hel shook off the concern. “I’m fine. Really. Just a bit off. I’ll be right as rain in no time.” She smiled the same smile—the one that said, “Don’t worry, everything’s fine, I’m strong”—that she’d been giving her mother since she was in elementary school.
This time, however, Seraphina wasn’t to be put off. “Your symptoms,” she repeated firmly.
Hel sighed before offering her mother a brisk rundown. “Primarily nausea, but also elevated temperature, sensitive skin, mild vertigo.” She tried the smile again. “Just your garden-variety flu.”
Her mother closed her eyes and took a breath, then opened them again. “Helene. You’re pregnant.”
Sapphire blue locked with sapphire blue, and Hel had the strangest sensation of panic rising in the back of her throat, slick and oily. She fought the nausea and shook her head. “No. No. That’s not possible.”
Seraphina nodded, her expression a strange blend of happiness and sadness. “I suspected it when you asked Liza to tone it down on air fresheners.”
Still shaking her head, Hel said, “It can’t be...”
Seraphina smiled, her expression turning soft and distant. “I was the same. Couldn’t stand artificial scents and so, so sick. Everyone told me it was a sign you would be a girl.”
Beneath her, the bed trembled. Until she realized it didn’t. She was trembling, like a leaf in the wind.
She was pregnant.
If she’d broken her vow before, she’d eviscerated it now. The line would not end with her. A part of her wanted to laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and not stop laughing until they took her away somewhere.
Pregnant and alone. Her father would have hated that, so there was at least a small silver lining.
Sitting as near to her as she was, it was an easy thing for her mother to pull her into her arms as she asked quietly, “What happened, Helene?”
Hel realized what her mother thought and pulled quickly back to look her in the eyes. “Nothing like that,” she said, palms waving. “Nothing like that,” she repeated, looking away.
Her mother let out a long sigh, dread shedding from her shoulders, and Hel was grateful she could at least reassure her on that front.
“Are you sure you’re right?” Hel asked. Obviously, the only way to be truly sure would be to take a test, but she trusted her mother.
Seraphina gestured toward her T-shirt-clad chest. “If I hadn’t already suspected I would have after your exhibition.”
And just like that, the bubble of horrified tension in her chest burst, and Hel surprised herself by laughing, but not the hysterical laughter that had threatened earlier. The laughter of release.
Her mother’s subtle humor had always tickled her funny bone in a way nothing else could, and it felt good to laugh, especially in the face of having absolutely no idea what she was going to do, but knowing her mother would be there with her, every step of the way. There was a lot wrong with the world, but some things would always be right. And she would have Drake’s baby, to raise and love, freely and openly, with a fireplace and not a whisper of murder or revenge.
“So...” Seraphina’s words trailed off.
Helene looked up at her, head tilted.
Seraphina cleared her throat. “I know young people do things differently these days, but do you know who the father is?”