Richelle Mead - Iron Crowned

I hastily ran a hand over my eyes and turned to her as we pulled out of the parking lot. “When did you get glasses?” I asked in surprise. Delicate wire frames rested on a face very similar to mine. It was our coloring that was different. My red hair and violet eyes had come from Storm King.

“A few weeks ago. They’re just for night driving.”

I looked away, fearing the tears would return. Glasses. Such a stupid thing. There was a time, though, when I would have known every little detail of her life. There was so much distance between us now. My churning, guilty thoughts only came to a standstill when she turned into a pharmacy a few blocks from the hospital.

“Mom, no! I have to get back to my car and—”

“You can go back to endangering your life again soon enough. Here, let me see those.”

“It’s not my usual pharmacy,” I said petulantly.

She was skimming the wound care instructions. “Yes, well, I’m sure this one still has a couple bandages stashed away somewhere.”

“You’re such a mom.”

She glanced up, a small twinkle in her eyes that reminded me of how things used to be between us. “I’m your mom.”

I followed her sullenly as we waited for the prescription, and she forced me to get a basketful of gauze, bandages, and other first aid supplies. I already owned a lot of them, but she wouldn’t rest easy until she actually saw them in my hands.

“I really appreciate you coming,” I admitted as we waited. “It … it’s good to see you.”

Her expression softened. “It’s good to see you too, baby. I’ve missed you.”

“I don’t suppose Roland’s forgiven me?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” she told me. “He still loves you. Really. But he’s worried. And he doesn’t like you being over … there. Neither do I.”

I averted my eyes again. I knew she didn’t—and she had good reason. My conception was the result of her captivity and rape in the Otherworld. She’d spent years keeping that knowledge from me, hoping to protect me from both my heritage and the agony she believed that place caused.

“Well, that’s complicated too. I have to be there, Mom. I know you guys don’t approve, but there are people counting on me. They’re not all like you think. I can’t let them down. They’re … they’re dying because of me.”

“Is there a man involved?”

I considered a flippant remark, then chose honesty. “Yes.”

“The obvious problem aside … would I like him?”

I tried to picture my mom meeting Dorian and couldn’t stop a small smile. “Probably not.”

“Do you ever talk to Kiyo anymore?”

I looked up sharply, my smile fading. “It’s over with us. He let me down. You know that. This other guy … he won’t.”

I was saved from further conversation when my name was finally called. I added the prescription to my portable hospital bag and felt grateful that my mom didn’t pursue the topic of my love life anymore. I was equally grateful when she drove me back to Regan’s house. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d left me carless in Tim’s care.

Leaving my mom stirred conflicting feelings in me. After missing her so much, part of me just wanted to stay and gaze at her, to drink in those features I loved so much. I wanted her to hold me, to be my mom and take care of everything. And yet … always, always, the Otherworld was pressing on me. I didn’t have the luxury of being a little girl right now. I didn’t have the luxury of being her daughter.

“Thank you,” I said, giving her as careful a hug as we could manage. “Thank you for … I don’t know. Everything.”

She held me for a few moments and then pressed a kiss to my forehead. “There’s nothing to thank me for. Just be careful.” She broke from the embrace. “Do what the doctor says. And for God’s sake, don’t end up there again. I don’t want another call.”

“I’ll try,” I said. This made us both smile, largely because we knew my trying to stay out of harm’s way was pretty futile. “And tell Roland …” I couldn’t finish, but she nodded.

“I know.”

I left her then, loading my loot into my own car and driving home. Regan didn’t live too far from me, only about ten minutes. The time flew by. I had so many things to think about that when I arrived at my house, I hardly knew how I’d gotten there. Tim’s car was parked out front—as was Lara’s. I dragged myself out of my own self-pitying miasma, uneasily wondering what I’d find inside. Seeing the two of them naked on my kitchen table would not be cool.

Instead, they were cuddled up on the living room couch, watching a movie. All seemed innocent, but some vibe made me suspect they hadn’t been actually watching too much of it. I shook my head in exasperation.

“How is this my life?” I muttered, setting my bag on the counter.

“Did you say something?” called Tim. The living room and kitchen were mostly open to each other. He muted the film.

“Nothing important.”

“We figured you’d be out for the night,” he said. I was pretty sure there was an accusatory tone in his voice.

I opened the cupboards, rummaging for food. I was suddenly starving. “Well, rest easy. I’ll be gone soon enough, right after I get dinner.”

Lara turned and peered over the couch’s back. “Pop-Tarts aren’t—oh my God! What happened to you?” Tim noticed my bandages now too. He didn’t look as shocked as her—he saw me come home after fights a lot—but worry had replaced his snark.

“What have you been doing?”

“Earning the mortgage.” I put two blueberry Pop-Tarts in the toaster. “Isn’t that what you told me to do?”

“Jesus, Eug. I didn’t—”

“Forget it,” I told him. “Everything’s fine. But you’re going to have to send a bill to Jenna Benson, Lara. I wasn’t able to collect.”

Lara nodded without a word, still aghast at seeing what my real life looked like. I poured some water and choked down one of the antibiotics while waiting for the Pop-Tarts. As soon as they were done, I retreated to my room, eating quickly as I threw together an overnight bag. While I was packing, my eyes lingered on a half-finished puzzle on my desk. I sighed. How long ago had I started that one? A month ago? I loved jigsaw puzzles. I used to do one a night.

I was almost finished packing—I even included the first aid supplies, thanks to some residual mom-guilt—when the temperature dropped. An unsettling yet familiar presence filled the room, and soon Volusian appeared before me. I nearly dropped the bag.

“Mistress,” he said with a mock bow. “I’ve come to report on the battle.”

There was a long pause as I waited expectantly. Volusian was enjoying this, I realized. He wasn’t going to elaborate until I asked because he wanted to draw out the agony.

“Damn it! Tell me what happened!”

Volusian got this pleased look on his face that I suspected was the closest he ever came to smiling. “The Oak King is …” I held my breath. “… alive.”

“Thank God.” Of course, thinking of my own wounds, “alive” might not mean much. “Is he hurt?”

“He is well and uninjured.”

I sank gratefully onto my bed, knowing I wore my emotions all over my face. I hated to ever show anything like that in front of Volusian. I wanted to maintain an image of power. This situation was too important, though. Fear and worry for Dorian and the battle had been a knot within me, one I only just now dared to loosen.

“What about the others? Who won?”

“Your forces, mistress.”

Again, relief flooded through me. We had won. Dorian was okay. “Casualties?”