The day and time for basketball tryouts were finally posted the next morning—Wednesday, right after school. During lunch, Jacob called up Scott—the older teen he used to practice with—and arranged to get together with the guys both Monday and Tuesday as soon as class got out.
The Makalos were busy with the people pulled from the scented air, and since Dad had told Jacob to focus on basketball, he didn’t feel guilty practicing.
They played for three hours on Monday—Scott making sure Jacob knew the ins and outs of tryouts, what would happen and how things would go—then finally called it quits.
That evening, Mom helped him ice his shoulders and upper arms so they wouldn’t get sore. Tuesday wasn’t nearly as grueling, though, and Jacob had time leftover to do homework with Aloren.
***
“Uh, Jacob . . .” Aloren tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Mom was curled up on the couch, reading a book, and Jacob and Aloren had just finished working on assignments for history and science.
“Yeah?” He grabbed her math book, glad she was a level or two below him—made it easier to check her work.
“Kevin’s going to help me with my math homework. Also, he wants to come pick me up for school. And take me home. You don’t need to key me from the tree anymore.”
Jacob dropped the book, gawking at her. “That’s . . . that’s ridiculous.”
“Why?” She paused. “You don’t like him very much, do you?”
“No, and for good reason. He’s a bully and a complete jerk.” Jacob had been about to say something about Kevin smashing him against the drinking fountain a couple of months ago, but decided against it.
“But he lets you play now, so what’s the problem?” She took a deep breath. “Never mind. It’s just that I’m . . . roma—I really like him, Jacob.”
What? What was she talking about? There was no way! “It’s only been a week! How’s that possible?”
She didn’t answer for a moment, instead opening her backpack and pulling out her art stuff. “I don’t know. He’s kind to me, and I find him very attractive.”
Jacob blew out his breath in exasperation. “Well, that’s just great. Most girls do.” Most girls thought Jacob was good looking, too. Why didn’t Aloren? And wasn’t he nice to her? He’d rescued her, after all. Didn’t that count for anything?
No one spoke for a while. Jacob leaned against the couch, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t feel like doing homework anymore. Aloren shuffled through her art papers, but he could tell she wasn’t concentrating on them.
Mom must have sensed the tension. She set her book aside. “Aloren, why don’t you tell us about your family? I haven’t heard a lot about your mom.”
Aloren fiddled with her backpack. “I . . .”
“That is, if you’re comfortable with it. I’ve been meaning to ask, but didn’t want to upset you.”
“Oh, Your Majesty, you could never upset me. And you’re free to ask anything you wish to know.”
“Come on, Aloren,” Jacob said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. “Just treat her like she’s a normal person. Mom’s not a queen here.”
Aloren looked at Jacob, horrified. “I couldn’t possibly! She’s . . . she’s . . .”
“You don’t treat me like royalty.”
“That’s different.”
“How? Technically—”
“That’s enough,” Mom said. “Aloren, he’s right. Here, I’m his mother, and that’s perfectly fine. In Eklaron, it’s different. I would expect you to wash my feet, mend my clothes, watch over my horses, and serve me food.”
Aloren’s mouth popped open, then she must have seen the twinkle in Mom’s eyes because they both laughed. Jacob jerked the zipper down on his hoodie and yanked his arms out of the sleeves. Aloren took things way too seriously sometimes.
“I’m okay talking about my mother. It doesn’t bother me. What would you like to know?”
“How did she die?”
“She slipped away quietly. Gallus thinks she went into a coma.”
“What caused it? Do you know?”
Aloren rested against the arm chair behind her. “She’d sustained many injuries before I was born—possibly while she was pregnant with me—and her mind was never quite right after that. Her health was pretty bad, too.”
“That’s too bad.” Mom leaned forward. “Did she ever talk to you about your family? Where you came from?”
“Yes, but by the time I was old enough to understand, she’d already forgotten my father’s name and who her parents were. I’ll probably never know if half of the stories she told were even true. Her energy to talk left soon after she got really sick, and by the time she passed, she hadn’t spoken or moved for several months.”
Aloren looked at the art papers in her hands. Jacob peered at her from the corner of his eye—no tears. Oh, good.
“What did she look like?” Mom asked.
“She was very lovely. Brown hair—a little darker than mine. And the prettiest, brightest smile you’d ever see. She was quiet—always said my father was the outgoing one. She missed him a great deal and spoke of him all the time.”
The front door opened, and Dad stepped through, coming home from work. He put his briefcase down, hung up his coat, then kissed Mom and said hello to Jacob and Aloren.
“Dinner’s in the Crock-Pot,” Mom said. “We’ll be eating in an hour.”
He nodded, loosening his tie, and went to the family room, probably to unwind from work.
Mom turned back to Aloren. “Did your mother always live in Macaria?”
Jacob frowned. “So many questions. Aloren, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”
Aloren shook her head. “Honestly, Jacob, I don’t mind. It helps to talk about her.” She turned back to Mom. “She was from Maivoryl City—lived there her whole life.”
“Hmmm.” Mom picked up her book again and fingered the pages, a contemplative expression crossing her face. “What did she do there? Was she employed?”
“Yes. As a lady-in-waiting, I think, for someone fairly high up—a noble woman, perhaps. She didn’t quite remember everything.”
Mom nodded slowly. “I should remember her, then. Brown hair. Most everyone had brown hair.” She looked blankly at the wall opposite her, concentrating. Finally, she shook her head and looked back at Aloren. “I’m assuming your father also worked in Maivoryl. What did he do?”
“If what she said was true, he worked in stables somewhere.”
“Really? That’s . . . that’s very interesting.” She put the book down, scooting to the edge of the couch. “What did he look like?” she asked, urgency in her voice.
Jacob perked up—the expression on his mom’s face told him this wasn’t a random question.
“I don’t know. She never told me.”
“What are you getting at, Mom?” Jacob asked.
“Nothing, dear. Only . . .” She paused. The colors for nervousness and excitement flowed in the air around her. “Aloren, what was your mother’s name?”
“She called herself Mide. Gallus said her name was technically Midian of the North, but she never used—”
Mom gasped, surprise and excitement flooding her features. “Oh, my . . .” She sprang to her feet, dropping the book on the couch. “Dmitri! Dmitri, come here!”
Jacob jumped up too, eager to find out why his mom was so excited.
Dad rushed into the room, panic on his face. “What’s going on?”
Mom grabbed his hand, her face shining. Jacob was astonished to see tears in her eyes.
“Dear, guess who Aloren’s mother was? Guess?” She practically bounced up and down.
“I don’t know . . .”
“Midian!”
“Of the North? Are you sure?” Excitement crossed his features. “That would mean . . . Her dad was Kelson!”