But when I reached my room, my mother was waiting for me inside. “Close the door.” She strolled to my bedside table and looked over the flower buds that Odile had left behind. “What happened with the healer?” she asked, a coldness in her voice. “What drove you to leave for the village in such a state?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, Mother. She…she had nothing to do with it.” My mother had summoned Odile, which meant she clearly knew how to find her. I could not bear the thought of Odile suffering as a result of my hasty actions today.
“Hmmm…” She paced my room, heading toward the fireplace. “And the item…the one I disposed of in the cottage fire. How long have you had it?” Lady Lombard, with the slightest shift of her chin, looked back and narrowed her eyes at me.
I saw no way out of telling her the truth. My future was cast. I had nothing to lose now that the mask itself was gone. Even if she meant to implicate those who had aided me, she had no proof the thing had ever existed. I saw no harm in answering.
“A very short time,” I admitted. “But as you saw, it was delivered to me in an unusable condition.”
“And yet you kept it.” As my mother walked, her rustling skirts stirred the rather stale air of my room. Her distinct scent—a combination of exotic perfume from my father and the slight hint of something sour and pungent, like vinegar—filled my nose. “I cannot help but wonder why you would bring such an item here, into our home. Endangering your family, yourself. Even the lives of the innocent people who work on this land. You always struck me as far more considerate than that, Palmeria.”
My heart raced, and a light sweat beaded at my neck. She was correct, of course. Keeping the mask had been foolish. Selfish. “I…I never intended to put anyone else at risk. I simply hoped I might…”
“You hoped to find a way to repair it and use it. As you had originally intended. Of that, I am certain. My daughter is nothing if not persistent. Some would say stubborn. Even reckless.”
The tension in my throat grew as my mouth went suddenly dry. I wrung my hands together nervously, trying to think ten steps ahead of my mother. Would she blame Syndrian? Think he’d conspired with me to create the mask? Or perhaps that my persistence in using it was fueled by some illicit arrangement with the cutler? I could not allow her to think that, not even for a moment. “Syndrian knew nothing of it,” I insisted, trying to keep my voice calm. “He had no part in my scheme, Mother. You must believe that.”
She was silent, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. “You think so very poorly of your mother, Palmeria.” She sighed, keeping her shoulders rigid and her chin up. “Not that I blame you. I never wanted children. And certainly not with your father. But once you were conceived, I did my best to raise you.” She faced me, a moment’s softness transforming her normally stony composure. “Despite what you may think of me, I do love you. I always have, Palmeria.”
I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. “And I love you, Mother.”
She snorted. “I would not judge you harshly if you did not. I’m not…” She moved a hand to her throat, and I watched, entranced, as the fire moved in time with her fingers. Though I had a connection to the element, my mother’s connection seemed far deeper. “I’m not like other mothers. Feisty and messy and warm.” She said the words as though they were distasteful. As if mothers with those qualities—like Idony, for example—were beneath her.
She walked toward me and rested her hands on my shoulders. I flinched at the contact, and my mother saw it. She withdrew her hands and nodded, as if she’d been scolded and yet somehow agreed that she’d deserved it.
“I was the type of mother I believed you needed,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Someone who would teach you strength. Dignity. And, above all, discretion. Although”—she chuckled, the rare show of humor unsettling me—“I can see your natural passion overrules any training you’ve received.” She walked to a chair in my reading nook and took a seat. “Join me, please? Norwin will have dinner sent up shortly, and I’d like to speak freely. While we can.”
I hurried to sit beside her. “Mother, I…I feel as though I have so much to apologize for.”
“Sneaking off to your father’s private cabin to consort with a…gentleman friend. Dabbling in forbidden things. Wasting your savings. Running into the village looking like a stable hand rather than a well-raised young woman.” Lady Lombard lifted a hand and counted out my crimes. “Have I missed anything?”
I looked down at my fingers, which nervously knotted the fabric of my dress. “Mother, today was the first I’ve ever met with Syndrian alone. To be candid, I had no notion that he would entertain my…feelings for him… I’m not certain he feels more than pity for me,” I admitted.
“Oh, that man feels far more than pity for you. Should I be concerned for your virtue? Or your heart?”
I shook my head. “I do not know,” I whispered. “I think I only realized how deeply I feel for him when Father announced that I would be engaged. I cannot say I would refuse Syndrian anything he wanted of me, no matter the cost.”
“And you would have me believe that he had nothing to do with…the item?” she pressed, her cheeks flushed.
“Nothing, Mother, truly.” I stood weakly from the chair. I felt my normal passion abate in the presence of my mother. Somehow, I had not the strength to fight her too. Keeping secrets, carrying hopes—it all felt so dreadfully heavy. And futile.
“Mother,” I said, kneeling beside her chair. I reached a tentative hand to hers. We never had that sort of relationship, the type where I might easily seek comfort in her touch. But unlike when she reached for me and I withdrew, my mother did not pull away from my hand. “By the gods,” I said gently, “I swear Syndrian was neither involved nor aware of the matter. I was provided an introduction to the…craftsmen…through my own connections. I told Syndrian only this evening that I’m to be engaged. When I also admitted that I’d had that item made in an attempt to escape that fate.”
She nodded again, and there was a loud knock at the door. “Come in, Norwin,” Mother called, our hands still clasped. Her head was still covered, and she looked every bit the haughty lady of the manor that she had always been. I, however, must have looked wretched, kneeling at my mother’s feet, my hands in her lap, my hair still unkempt. Norwin looked from her to me, his expression transforming from shock to concern.
He wheeled a cart toward our chairs and began pouring tea, but my mother stopped him. “That will be all, Norwin.”
He flitted a look toward me and for once remained quiet. “Yes, ma’am.” He bustled toward the door, giving me a final curious glance before leaving us alone.
“So.” My mother nodded at me, which was my cue to stand on my feet and serve her tea. “I don’t suppose I need to press very hard to learn who helped you obtain the illegal item?”
I froze, the pot of tea in my hands. “Mother,” I murmured. “Please. I take full responsibility. No one else is to blame.”
“I’m not looking to cast blame, dear. I admit I am…curious.” She accepted the tea I’d poured, holding the fragrant, steaming cup in front of her face. She breathed deeply and sighed. “You spoke of obtaining the item recently?”
I nodded, not following any of what my mother was thinking.
“Hmmm.” She sighed again, taking a long sip. “And you are aware that you’ll be unable to replace it? At least not through the craftsmanship of those who made the first?”