Mam lifted an inquiring brow when Isadora entered the kitchen after making sure Sanna made it to Luteis without harm. Elliot dealt with a skinned, bloody knee and hiccuping cries on the other side of the room.
“Sanna is fine,” Isa said to Mam’s silent question. “Just needs a break. I think the noise is overwhelming. Luteis was waiting outside.”
A crestfallen expression followed. Mam erased it behind a courageous smile.
“Thank you, Isa. I’ve managed to pull together something of a nut cake, as you saw. Doesn’t have much air to it—it’s more like a dense bread—but it’s lightly sweet from some honey we managed to scrounge together.”
“Looks delicious!”
With a spell, Isadora conjured the pastries Max had paid for. An idea that she suspected came from Max, but Wally executed. Mam reared back, eyes wide.
“Oh!”
“From Max.” She smiled, hoping it didn’t show the trepidation she felt around saying my husband. “He apologizes for not being able to come, but Network affairs are hard for him to break away from right now. And he hasn’t officially met the family. Would have been weird to pull attention away from the handfasting and onto him.”
Mam touched a triangular pastry with awe. “Tell him thank you.”
Though Mam had been raised in the Networks, she hadn’t left Letum Wood or the Dragonmaster families in decades. A quick nod affirmed Mam’s appreciation. Isadora thought of summoning the flowers he sent from the other room, but decided against it at the last moment. Later, she’d notice.
To Isadora’s surprise, she missed Max and wanted him by her side. The moment to introduce him to her family would come. For certain, it wasn’t now. Not at the merging point of two grieving families and a broken community. Dragons parted from witches forever. Their leader sightless as a result, struck low.
As little change as possible is what the Dragonmaster families needed.
The pastry crumbled a bit at the end when Mam broke a piece away and placed it on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes closed.
“Oh,” she murmured. “That is delicious. So very rich and flaky.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
Normally, it would shine with a light glaze of sugar across the top, but lacking supplies from all of Greta’s wars made sugar difficult to forage. It might take months to rebalance food supplies, if that could be done at all. With borders closing and exports shut down, all lay in chaos.
Isadora reached for a wooden plate, sanded smooth and square, as Mam pressed a sharp knife into the pastries. A pathetic wedding cake, indeed, but better than water and limp, bitter greens.
“You looked lovely up there, Mam.”
Mam gave her a humored glance. Elliot slipped out of the room, gathering the hiccuping child by the hand and leading them out.
“Thank you,” Mam said, her gaze following him. Once gone, she said in a lower tone, “Well, what are your thoughts about all of this?”
“That you’re wise.”
Mam kept a careful eye on her as she balanced a thin slice of Leto nut cake on the knife edge. She carefully placed it onto the waiting plate.
“You’re not . . . upset because Elliot isn’t your father?”
“Of course not, Mam. As you’re aware,” she drawled. They’d had this discussion before, but insecurity lingered in Mam’s eyes.
“Well.” Mam shrugged. “Saying it and seeing it are two different things. After the year or two we’ve had . . .”
She trailed away. Isadora understood the quiet resilience in Mam’s voice. The need for safety, yet approval. The feeling that she was no longer a child in Mam’s eyes propelled her out of the moment with a sense of shock.
Did handfasting Max change the dynamic, or was this a simple result from growing up?
She couldn’t help but wonder how Mam felt about Sanna. Did she view Sanna as an adult, or as an adult child? The difference spanned a vast chasm. Isadora pulled another plate off the stack, held it up.
“Tell me about life with the Ambassador of the Central Network.”
“Ah . . . he always surprises me. He lives in a lovely estate named Wildrose Manor.”
“He?”
Heat blossomed across her chest. “We, I mean. We live in Wildrose Manor.”
A hint of a smile threatened at the edge of Mam’s lips. “A manor?”
Isadora nodded.
“Sounds intriguing.”
“It’s very . . . vast.”
Mam paused, eyebrow lifted. “You don’t like it?”
“I do,” she rushed to say. “I do. It’s just . . . so big. I’m used to small and cozy and easy to clean.”
A chortle rolled out of Mam as she sank the knife into her rounded cake. “Yes, you are the daughter I always knew. Pragmatic and in no way interested in housekeeping.”
Isadora fought with a smile.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter what size it is, it’s just . . . not home,” Isa said softly. Mam paused, reached over. Her hand rested on Isadora’s arm.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “But I think you’ll soon find that home isn’t a place. Home is where your witches are.”
“What if he’s not really mine?”
Barely repressed curiosity filled Mam’s gaze, but Isadora shook her head. “Never mind. That’s not a fair question to ask. Not yet. It’s too soon in our handfasting to tell. Anyway, can we talk about something else?”
“Sure.”
Contemplative quiet followed while they plated a slice of cake, and part of a pastry, for each witch present. The time loosened Isadora’s bunching nerves. Talking about Max with Mam was . . . so strange. Like mixing oil and water. Her two lives would never truly merge.
“Mam?”
“Yes, Isa.”
“Will you be happy?”
Mam paused, seemed to think about the question, and said, “I am content and that’s all I ever wanted after Rian passed. Elliot is a good man. His children are well-behaved. There will be companionship and mutual respect and warmth. It’s enough.”
Something cold settled deep in Isadora’s stomach. Authenticity rang from Mam’s words. Isa didn’t doubt that, should Mam have the chance to change the past, she’d bring Daid back from the dead and forget Elliot existed. Since that was impossible, Mam had to make do with what she had. A relationship built out of practicality and trust.
Eventually, could she forge something like that with Max?
No, her heart whispered. It’s too late for that.
Indeed, she loved him far too much for practicality already. Resolution filled her with renewed strength. Maybe she didn’t love Wildrose, nor feel as if it were home. Maybe she didn’t understand her husband or how their two impossibly different lives would ever mold together.
But by the gods, she would die trying. No matter what came of her experiment, she would figure out if love was enough.