Honor, p.27
Honor, page 27
part #2 of The Avant Champion Series
Laos walked by me at that moment and stopped at my abrupt appearance. His long, white hair danced softly in the gentle breeze as his blue cloak rustled around him.
“Abigail?” He stared at my heavy furs, still thick with ice. The sanctuary was far to the south of the present blizzard, and this cool, spring day required nothing more than a sweater.
“Laos, I’m sorry to drop in unannounced at meal time.”
He looked around with a raised eyebrow. “At least I don’t see any caged giants with you this time.”
That had been an isolated event.
“Only this.” I held up the puppy.
He smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling. “And what crime has this creature committed?”
I bit my lip. “I may have killed his parent—in self-defense, I might add. I was hoping Baird could take him.”
“I’ll go get him.”
I took a step forward. “I’m late picking up Joshua. Do you think you could take the pup to Baird for me? I’ll come back tomorrow to see him and explain.”
Laos took the wolf cub and patted his head. “I’ll take him to Baird.”
“Thank you.” I bowed.
Instantly, I transported myself to Joshua’s clinic and found him scribing by candlelight. As I admired him quietly working, I recalled how Joshua had always preferred candlelight to bioluminescent lamps, which had a brighter glow but were tinted with an aqua hue emitting from the algae lining the glass.
Joshua’s office was surrounded with shelves of books, herbs—both dried and packaged—, and varieties of liquid tinctures. One supply cabinet overflowed with dressings for various traumas, and numerous ointments for skin infections and burns. Joshua had spent a dozen years building this place, stocking everything he could for the many illnesses that arrived at his door.
He turned to me and stood. “Abbey! I thought you might eventually remember your husband.” He gave me an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
“I’m so sorry. A snow storm hit us unexpectedly, and I’ve been rescuing people ever since.”
“It’s okay. Breathe.” His golden-brown eyes twinkled as he placed his hands on my shoulders. “I know when you’re late, it’s always for a gallant reason—you’re not gone at the marketplace to buy jewelry. Now, let’s get us home and get you out of those wet furs.”
I nodded and transported us home.
Together, we walked up the driveway, crunching across the snow still left from a light dusting several days ago. Tall oaks rose around us, canopying our walkway. As we approached our home, the blue-green glow of bioluminescent lanterns emitted from the main room. When we entered our house, the children flocked to Joshua, lavishing him with kisses.
Paul approached me. “Mama, you look like a bear!”
I growled playfully, making him giggle. As I peeled off my heavy furs, Natalie left her father’s embrace and walked over to me, hands on her hips.
“You’re late. Again.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re always late.”
“Not always.” Twenty-five percent of the time was nowhere near ‘always.’
Joshua placed a gentle hand on Natalie’s shoulder. “Be easy on your mother. She does a lot of important work.”
“We’re important,” she replied, her gaze dropping to the floor.
My heart felt an unpleasant surge of guilt. “Of course you are. That’s why I’ll always come back home—even if I’m late on occasion.”
Natalie seemed to accept my statement, although she didn’t soften enough to grant me a hug.
I slumped in the kitchen chair, numb to the screaming around me.
I had slain evil, mastered swordsmanship, fought giants, earned an advanced degree in chemistry, ended a civil war, freed an entombed wizard, and rescued an island of people from a harbor wave, but none of these feats prepared me for motherhood.
Rebekah screamed relentlessly. Squirming at the table, she refused her cabbage with a raging belligerence, as if I was trying to force boiling lava down her throat. Paul ran through the kitchen with a battle cry as he held his wooden sword high in the air. Natalie vied for my attention, all because a button was missing from her dress.
“Mama. Mama. Mama,” she repeated.
I closed my eyes for a long moment, wishing Joshua was here rather than at work. It was a Saturday, after all—a family day, not a working day.
All of our weekday childcare had the day off, which left only the children and me. I was entirely outnumbered.
Opening my eyes, I looked at the toddler who’d strewn her food all across the table, her lap, and the floor.
“Rebekah,” my calm, firm voice cut through her temper tantrum. “You may leave the table, but you’re not eating again until supper.”
She scowled. “Why?”
I lowered her out of her high chair. “It will take at least that long to clean up this mess.”
She ran out the front door before I’d even finished answering her question.
“Paul, can you keep an eye on your sister?”
My son gave me a laborious sigh before following her out the door. I watched him go. He was growing so fast—already five-years-old. I needed to let the hem of his pants down two centimeters and sew the hole in the knee.
“Mama. Mama. Mama.”
I turned my glaring look towards my oldest child—the one who was supposed to be at the age of reason. Natalie should recognize that I couldn’t address her buttons while dealing with a mutinous toddler and Paul fighting forces of evil in the kitchen. “Natalie, perhaps your button could have waited a little longer, until Rebekah was calm.”
Natalie shook her head, ringlets of soft brown hair dancing around her face. She put a hand on her hip. “Mama, she’s never calm.”
I couldn’t argue the point. “What’s this about your button?”
Natalie opened her palm to show me a blue, glass button.
“Oh. That’s off your lovely green dress.”
“Yes, and I’m wearing it next month to the spring ball, so we’ve got to fix it.”
“Okay, okay.”
Was the spring ball so near? I should have remembered. Natalie had spoken of little else since receiving the Queen’s invitation. I’d been receiving various invitations and politely declining them for so long that I hadn’t even considered that my children might have reached the age at which they’d want to go.
I knew Natalie had visions of ballrooms and fancy dresses dancing through her head. I blamed the princess children’s books my in-laws had bought her. They were beautifully illustrated, and Natalie loved to read them, but they did nothing to represent reality. In reality, she needed an education and an occupation—not royal balls and fancy dresses.
I smiled at her, reminding myself to let children be children, as my mother had always reminded me. If one’s imagination couldn’t be let loose in childhood, when could it?
“Of course. We’ll have it fixed before the ball. And you’ll look beautiful.”
“Will I talk with the Queen?”
“I’ll do my best.”
A procession of people would be waiting before the ball started to meet Queen Rebekah the Fourth. We’d have to arrive early and stand in line for close to an hour for little more than a brief introduction. Perhaps I could request more of an audience—not the day of the ball, obviously, but at some other time. I could ask for the Queen to spend a little time with my family.
What should I call my relationship with the Queen? Stronger than an acquaintance, but not friendly.
Yet, we had a bond and a mutual respect—enough that I suspected she’d grant us her company for a brunch or afternoon tea, despite her busy schedule.
“Why don’t I deliver a request for all of us to visit her majesty?”
Natalie’s face brightened before her brow crinkled. “Even Rebekah?”
I ran fingers through her soft hair. “Good point. Perhaps Rebekah’s presence will depend upon the time of day and her mood.” She might do well at a brunch, but as the day advanced, she became more of a tyrant.
“Thank you, Mama. That will be wonderful!” Natalie spun around the room.
“It may take some time to free her schedule,” I warned, “so we must be patient.”
Natalie nodded with an expression that suggested there’d be no element of patience.
C B Samet, Honor
