Chapter 220

The summons came at dawn.

A guard appeared at the mouth of our cave, his tail flicking nervously, his eyes darting over our strange, crowded family. "The king and queen request your presence," he said. "In the great hall. At midday."

The king and queen.

Both of them.

I looked at Caelion, and I saw it. The fear. The way his jaw tightened, the way his hands curled into fists, the way his shoulders went rigid. He was acting brave. He was always brave. But I knew him, knew every line of his face, every tell of his body. And right now, my mate was terrified.

"Midday," Caelion said, his voice steady. "We will be there."

The guard bowed and left. And the moment he was gone, Caelion’s composure cracked, just a little.

"Mother," he breathed.

"Yes," I said. "Her."

The others gathered, sensing the shift, their faces growing grave. They knew, all of them except for Eryx, about Caelion’s mother. About the coldness, the neglect, the years of being unseen. They had heard the story, in pieces, and witnessed it themselves.

"Will you be alright?" Ravin asked.

"I will be fine," Caelion said. "I have to be."

"No," I said, stepping to his side, taking his hand. "You do not have to be. But you will be anyway. And we will be right there with you."

He looked at me, and something in his eyes softened. "Krys..."

"All of us," Leon said, his voice firm. "Every single one."

"And if she says one wrong word," Eryx added, "we will say something. Well, Krys will say something. She always does."

"True," I admitted.

We spent the morning preparing. The children were washed and dressed, the pearlings brushed and combed, their azure hair shining. And at midday, we went to the great hall.

It was enormous, a vast chamber of pearl and coral, the ceiling vaulting high above us, the walls glowing with soft light. At the far end sat two thrones. And on those thrones sat the king and queen.

Caelaris, the king, was the same as before, blue haired and steady, his expression warm when he saw us. But beside him, cold and still, sat Miranda.

The queen.

She was beautiful. Strikingly, painfully beautiful, with blood corral hair and emerald eyes and a face like carved marble. And she looked at us the way one might look at an inconvenience, her gaze flat, her mouth thin.

My bravado rose. I would be brave. For Caelion, I would be brave.

I remembered the last time I had seen her. The day I had told her off, in front of half the court, for being an unfit mother. The day I had called her out for loving a dead man so much that she had punished a living one, and the innocent child caught between them. She had been furious. She had not forgotten.

And now, here she was again, staring at me like I had personally ruined her life.

"Caelion," the king said, rising, his voice warm. "You came."

"I did," Caelion said. "Father."

His eyes went to his mother. "Mother."

Miranda said nothing. She simply looked at him, and then, slowly, her eyes drifted past him, to us. To the children. To the pearlings, peeking out from behind me.

And she froze.

"Grandma?" Irysindra called out, her little voice bright and clear.

Something crossed Miranda’s face. Something fleeting, something almost soft. And then it hardened again, and she rose from her throne, her tail flicking.

"I suppose I have seen them," she said, her voice flat. "I will leave first."

And she turned to go.

The fuck?

That was it? That was all? She was going to just walk away? She was not even going to acknowledge my children?

I looked at Caelion, and the hurt in his expression was plain. He had tried. He had come all this way. And she was walking away.

"Miranda," the king said, his voice strained. "These are your grandchildren. Will you not see them? Truly see them?"

She did not turn back. "Why are you pestering me? Did I not come and see them? I saw them. They are dismissed."

Dismissed. Like servants. Like an audience with a foreign dignitary.

What a cold woman.

My pearlings looked confused, their little brows furrowed, but thank the gods, I did not think they really understood what was happening. They were too young, too innocent. They did not know they had just been rejected by their grandmother.

I grabbed Caelion’s arm.

"Let us go," I said quietly. "The children are tired. We will leave tomorrow." I paused, looking at his face, at the pain there. "But if you want to leave tonight, we can, my love. It is up to you."

Caelion was still for a long moment, his body rigid. And then he turned to his parents.

"I shall leave back to the mainland," he said, his voice formal, empty. "I only came to show you your granddaughters. I did. So I will take my leave. May you both stay healthy."

And with that, we all left.

No one said anything. Not as we crossed the hall. Not as we passed the guards. Not as we descended through the city, past the coral towers and the glowing domes. We swam in silence, our whole enormous family, and the silence was heavy and sad.

And then Irysindra broke it.

"Grandma was pretty," she said, her little voice carrying through the water. "Was she too busy to play with us?"

Oh, my innocent baby.

I smiled, though it hurt. "Yes, sweetheart. She is the queen. So she is busy."

"Grandpa is the king," Seraphyna pointed out. "But he still smiled and hugged us."

"Grandpa was not busy then," I said.

"Okay then."

Just like that. They accepted it. They had their answer, and they moved on, their little hearts unbruised, their little minds at peace. And I was so grateful for their innocence, for their resilience, for the way they could let the coldness roll off them like water.

Caelion looked at me, and I saw it in his eyes. Gratitude. Thankfulness. For speaking highly of his parents, for shielding the girls, for making it easier.

I just squeezed his hand.

And one by one, my other mates reached out. Leon, clasping his shoulder. Ravin, patting his back. Veylan, brushing his arm. Soryn, a soft touch on his wrist. Aureon, a hand on his neck. Eryx, a gentle nudge. Each of them, in their own way, telling him the same thing.

We have your back. No matter what.

Caelion smiled, small and watery, and looked at all of them.

"Thanks, guys," he said.

And we swam back to the cave, once we rest we’ll leave back to the mainland.

---

We decided to stay the night.

It seemed foolish to flee in the dark, exhausted and grieving, when the queen would surely be asleep in her own chambers and we would never have to cross her path. So we returned to the cave, our refuge, and we settled in for the night.

The evening was quiet at first, subdued, the children sensing the mood and matching it. But children could only stay quiet for so long, and soon the cave filled with the sounds of life, of squabbling and laughter and the shuffle of feet on stone. And the four older cubs, my good boys, took it upon themselves to help put their siblings to bed.

Atlas, ever the responsible eldest, decided to tell them a story. One of the ones I had told them when they were small, when they were tiny cubs who could still fit in my lap. A story from my old world.

"Once," he began, his voice deep and solemn, "there was a little girl. And she wore a red hood. And her mother told her to take food to her grandmother, who lived in the woods."

The questions came at once.

"Why did she wear a red hood?"

"Who made the hood?"

"Was it cold in the woods?"

"Why did the grandmother live in the woods alone?"

"Did she have no one to help her?"

"Was the food good?"

"What kind of food?"

"Was it fish?"

"What is a hood?"

Atlas stared at them, his mouth open, his expression one of a male who had badly miscalculated. And I, watching from across the cave, began to laugh.

"It is a hat," he said. "Sort of. A hat with a cloth that covers the head and the shoulders."

"Why?"

"For warmth."

"It is not cold here."

"It was cold in the story."

"Was it?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In the woods."

"There are no cold woods."

"Can we get to the part with the wolf?" Jasper called out from the corner.

"Yeah, where is the wolf?" Ryder agreed.

"The wolf comes later," Atlas said.

"Does he eat the grandma?"

"Shh, let him tell it."

"I want to know if the wolf eats her."

Atlas pinched the bridge of his nose, and I had to bury my face in my hands to keep from howling with laughter. My poor son. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

"The wolf," he continued, through gritted teeth, "comes to the grandmother’s house. And he... he dresses up like the grandmother. And he waits in the bed."

"Why does he dress up?"

"To trick the girl."

"Why does he want to trick her?"

"Because he wants to eat her."

"He wants to eat a little girl?"

"Yes."

"That is rude."

"Very rude."

"So the girl comes in, and she says, ’Grandmother, what big eyes you have.’ And the wolf says, ’All the better to see you with.’"

"What big eyes."

"What big ears."

"All the better to hear you with."

"And what big teeth," Jasper said, with relish. "All the better to eat you with."

"You are ruining it," Atlas said.

"I am helping."

"You are ruining it."

The children dissolved into giggles, and Atlas, exhausted, threw up his hands. It took him another half hour to finish the story, and by then he looked like he had run a marathon, his hair a mess, his eyes glazed. But the children were happy, and they were sleepy, and one by one, they finally settled.

And I, watching the whole thing, had the best time of my life.

When all the kids were asleep, my mates and I settled around each other, the cave quiet and warm, the barrier shimmering softly at the mouth. And I chose to lay next to Caelion, feeling that he might need more comfort than the rest.

"It is okay, you know," I whispered, my hand on his chest. "We all love you. At least she saw them. Maybe there is some progress there. Let us not think only about the negative."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he turned his head, looking at me, his sea glass eyes soft in the dim light.

"Thank you, Krys," he said. "And every one of you."

A low, gruff murmur rose from the mates around us, each of them answering in their own way. A grunt from Leon. A hum from Ravin. A soft sound from Veylan. Something from Soryn, something from Aureon, something from Eryx. All of them, together, telling him the same thing.

We are here. We have you. Always.

I smiled, and settled closer, and closed my eyes.

Tomorrow, we would travel again. Back to the mainland, back to the north, back to the lion tribe.

Back home.

But tonight, we were together. All of us.

And that was enough.