Her laugh was wry. “As irritable as ever. Ah, I’ve heard so much, so many things of my son, the Fox.”
Pride swelled, but Brona swiftly quashed it by adding, “Also, I’ve heard how long you’ve been on the island without attending to your mother.”
“I—I’m here now.”
“Not to stay.”
It wasn’t a question, and she did not sound sorrowful over it.
“Hartfare is not a place for me,” he muttered, wondering if his mother regretted her choices, or if they were worth the specific freedoms that came with her craft. She was respected, but only in the dark, and never by men concerned with stars, those who made their laws. Brona had never married, yet never seemed sorry or lonely—Ban could dredge up no memories of her angry, no matter how hard he tried, and she’d only been sad the day Errigal took him away. Sad, but not fighting to keep him.
“Is there any place for you, my Ban?”
He only could stare at her, feeling at the edge of some new understanding. It was too big to allow in without feeling all the corners and inspecting the angles. But at the center was his mother, once a girl like Elia, making choices. And having them made for her by the world. Ban thought he might need to sit down, and he tried to mask his perception with another frown.
Brona’s eyes crinkled, and she kissed his lips. “Ever serious, ever dour, just as irritable. You get that from none of us! Perhaps some old man on your father’s side. Ah, I missed your sour face, but I would like to see a smile before you go again. Come inside.”
His mother took him by the hand and led him into her home.
Lit only by calm sunlight, the cottage was full of sweet smells. Ban’s vision adjusted quickly, but before he could relax, he saw a man sitting half up out of the bed in the far corner.
The Oak Earl, undressed and rumpled here in his mother’s house.
Ban felt his entire being jolt again. He gripped Brona’s hand too hard, and she bent her mouth in disapproval. “Ban,” she chided.
“What are you doing here?” he said, low and dangerous, to the Oak Earl. Kayo was handsome and famous, strong and by reputation a good man. But here he was, spoiling this place with his casual familiarity, and he was supposed to be banished alongside Elia, fled to Aremoria.
Keeping his eyes on Ban, Kayo slowly pushed aside the blankets and stood. As he bent to get his trousers, he kept his movements deliberate, unthreatening. One leg then the other, and he fixed his trousers in place never having unlocked his gaze from Ban’s.
Brona made a snort of incredulity and pulled away from her son. “You, my boy, are gone too long and are too grown to pretend you have any place judging me.”
“Not…” Ban’s mouth was dry. He swallowed, painfully aware it was babyish hurt clogging his throat. “Not judging, Mama,” he rasped.
“Judging,” she said firmly, stressing it with a firm pat on his cheek. “Call it protecting if that makes it easier for you. Either way: don’t.”
He folded his arms over his chest, hiding the clench of his fists, and slid another glare at the Oak Earl.
Kayo ran hands over his puffed curls, forming them back from his face. “Thirsty, Ban?” he said.
Brona padded over to her hearth. “I’d just put water to boil. Sit, son.”
He obeyed woodenly.
Sunlight, cool forest breezes, and three moon moths drifted in through all the cottage’s open windows. That, as much as the hanging flowers and herbs, the crackling fire, the layers of rugs, all worked together to make this a home, warm and welcoming. Gentle floral and bitter smells pinched the air, and the benches set beside Brona’s long table were overlaid with patches of deer and dog and bear fur, softening the seat. Ban leaned his elbows on the rough table his mother used for both eating and working. He remembered being laid out across it once, some women from the village holding down his legs and arms, while Brona sewed up a bone-deep slice on his chin. The scar was still there, and Ban realized he’d touched it only when his mother smiled softly at him, placing a half-eaten loaf of oat bread out for them to share.
Kayo sat across from him, his back to the fire. He reached out and tore a piece of bread. The Oak Earl watched Ban with a suspicion and heavy regard that Ban could not believe he’d earned. There was no way Kayo knew anything of Ban’s plotting, no matter what Rory’d confessed. Ban glared back, and said again, “What are you doing here, Oak Earl?”
“Ban,” Brona warned as she shoved her feet into slippers.
Kayo chewed his bread, then flattened his hands against the table and leaned in. “What promise are you keeping to Elia Lear, Fox?”
Ban reeled back. “You read my letter? You—I trusted you with it!”
But the Oak Earl did not look at all chagrined. He said, “The lady showed it to me, and the king of Aremoria, too.”
No longer hungry, Ban did his best to hide himself behind a veneer of invulnerability. He lifted one shoulder as he’d seen Lady Regan do. “I see. So the lady will marry Morimaros?”
“Who else should she marry, Ban? What else should she do?” Kayo casually ripped more bread, and behind him Brona knelt to take her pot off the fire, hands wrapped in leather mitts. She glanced at Ban curiously as she poured them all tinctures of honeyed water. The clay cups warmed fast, and Ban sat again, clutching his and inhaling the familiar, sweet steam. He shook his head, answering Kayo with silence. His mother sat beside him, near enough their arms brushed.
Brona put her hand on Ban’s knee. “She needs to find her place, too,” she said, like a portent.
He let his hand fall atop hers. All Ban’s thoughts and feelings were awhirl, and he wished
