To Becka’s surprise, there were none. She’d somehow won her first einvigi.
Mother would be so proud. Come to think of it, Becka was proud of herself too. She’d never imagined she could compete with illusionists.
As Becka bade them farewell, Hanna rose to go with her.
“May I accompany you to your next appointment?” she asked.
“Definitely!” Becka replied, smiling with the confidence of her recent win.
“This was a lovely picnic. If you were to ask, I would advise you need more of these types of events to help increase your feelings of connectedness with your family.”
Considering her upbeat mood, the fact that she’d laughed plenty, and had spent time engaging in conversation with women her age over the past hour, Hanna had a point Becka couldn’t discount.
I think I agree with her. And I like it.
Turns out Hanna wasn’t a bad relationship coach after all.
Chapter 14
Hanna, Shamus, and Lorelai accompanied Becka across the grounds to the sun patio outside of the infirmary. Becka entered, motioning for the others to wait for her.
Although the windows of the infirmary were expansive and opened daily to bring in fresh air and sunshine, the patio allowed patients quick access to lounge in the sun for its healing properties.
Today, the only occupant of the patio was Elder Alaetha, her father’s sister. She lay back on a chaise, feet up, gaze trained into the distance. She’d pulled her silvered hair back into a bun made from a single, large braid. The elder’s frame was slight, and Becka remembered Alaetha was Vott’s older sibling by a good two dozen years.
Her willingness to travel at her age was a testament to Vott’s poor condition, but Vott had always spoken of Alaetha and their correspondence fondly.
“I was not sure you’d be able to meet with me,” Elder Alaetha said, not looking her way, yet motioning for her to take a seat.
“Elder Alaetha,” Becka said, sitting down on a couch across from Alaetha’s. “I am honored to make your acquaintance. Vott always spoke of you with warmth.”
“Lady Becka,” Alaetha replied. Her piercing gaze turned towards Becka, taking her measure. “I am afraid I can’t say the same.”
Becka held her tongue, unsure of what to say, and so let Alaetha make the next move.
“I’ve been here just two days, niece. Can you guess what I’ve learned?”
Her shoulders tensed and Becka folded her gloved hands in her lap, bracing for Alaetha’s response. What could Alaetha have learned in two days? Did she know about her relationship with Quinn, such as it was? Had Maura recounted to her all of the ways Becka hadn’t yet stepped up? Did she also think the Shadow-Dweller attack was an inflated children’s story?
Becka didn’t want to know.
“I would love to learn,” she lied.
“It is a deep shame that my brother was poisoned as part of an attack on you. It looks like he will survive, but most likely at great personal cost. My first inclination was to grieve for you both equally. Through my many years I have witnessed the fae-touched jockey and vie for power for all manner of reasons. Sometimes it’s because of heated emotions. Sometimes because of political or territorial matters. I had assumed this hubbub was just another altercation.”
Becka nodded her head, inclined to allow Alaetha to vent uninterrupted.
“But this is no standard power play, just as you are no standard fae. Late to mature and returned from a life in the city, your powerful and dangerous gift has propelled you to singular status within the stream of never-ending back-channel gossip. I suppose you must think you’re special?”
The sharp edge of Alaetha’s tongue had knocked her joy from winning the einvigi right out of her. Had there really been enough material about Becka to produce a constant flow of gossip? And did she think of herself as special? Becka didn’t think so, but she also thought of herself as being different. Separate.
But that doesn’t equate to special. Does it?
Alaetha sat, brow arched, awaiting her reply.
Becka answered from her gut, hoping it would appease her Aunt. “I don’t feel that I’m special, Elder.”
Alaetha burst into a joyless, rebuking laughter. “That is where you are wrong. You are special, if only because others deem you so.”
That didn’t ring true to Becka. “But I’m not…”
Alaetha raised a hand to cut her off. “You are special enough that others might prefer you dead over risking a future with you in it. And now that I have seen you for myself, I am beginning to understand why.”
Her words fell like a weight across Becka’s shoulders. She had the impression Alaetha had been preparing this speech, and that she was conveniently responding to her prompts. She didn’t want to ask, but couldn’t not ask, either. “What do you mean?”
“One expects the heir of a powerful house to behave with a certain minimal level of decorum. You, however, defy expectations, and not in a good way. Your gift is novel and powerful, but don’t think for a moment that your gift is the only thing fae hold in esteem.
“You refuse to present yourself in the manner of your house. You shrug off our customs and avoid gatherings. You have a wonderful, high-born fiancé who you treat like dirt. You appear to prefer the company of shifters and enforcers over your own family.
“There is a general concern over the mental stability of any fae-touched who would behave in this manner, ungrateful to her house and holding a power few yet understand. I have heard other houses whisper the question: is Lady Becka the best House Rowan can do?”
Becka’s limbs felt heavy, almost as if the rumors and gossip from Alaetha’s lips had dealt her a physical blow. Somehow, the criticism coming from
