Ruein: Fires of Haraden: Action/Adventure Necromancy Series (Books of Ruein Book 2), G.O. Turner [little bear else holmelund minarik txt] 📗

it should mean more than it did. Ruein checked Arim. This was to be their first days away. They’d be fine. Right?

She peered down at Liv from her hood, a vacant uncertainty. Her lips parted. “Are you cert—”

“Ruein…I paid witness in the Chapel. His light…his judgment shown down upon you. You never stopped being their mother.” Liv upheld a closed fist to her. “That’s all I need to know.”

Faith. Must be nice.

Ruein raised and lowered her own fist, knocking against her sister’s. Then she cued Loress forward.

5

The afternoon had waned by the time Ruein and the children traversed the city and entered the forest of her new home. It wasn’t really Ruein’s as much as it was their fallen leader’s pride and dream.

While most elves nurtured a treeflet over decades, Aequen had crafted his in only a span of seasons. It was a masterpiece of woodwork; lathed, carved, and slotted, this place in the wooded eaves had come into being via pegs and mallets.

It had been fitting for his mixed life as both human and elf.

Now his pride-filled oak had been bequeathed to the Khoranas. Maybe Liv was right. In some ways, this was better for the kids than their old cabin. Perhaps the carved sylvan murals and vistas seen from over fluted balconies could somehow make up for the loss of their mother and father.

Ruein stowed her armor and gear within Aequen’s old ceiling hatch. Her adventuring chest now resided alongside her husband’s in the secret cubby. No sense in battle garb just for these two hobgoblins.

While Arim and Nayr launched into their explorations, Ruein retired into something more…family friendly. She slipped into her linen blouse and stays, which didn’t require much of a cinch. Tanned leggings slid on like old gloves. Her death’s-head dagger found an innocuous place by her waistline. However, her most overriding feature she’d never allow. As if a nervous tic, Ruein reaffirmed her illusions again and again. She thanked the sylvan gods that Aequen’s hat had been crafted by an arcane master.

The three flitted away the day about the grounds of the flet, as well as along the stream passing beside the home. Ruein was grateful to have so much to keep the children distracted. The wonder of this autumn forest was more than she deserved.

So much better knowing this was for them and not her.

Dappled light shifted through the leaves. Oranges deepened into umber as the sun sank beyond their view. Evening settled in. Ruein went about hooking lanterns throughout the flet.

She found an old familiarity in mundane chores. Tending to meals, brushing Arim’s hair, and dressing them in nightshirts allayed her more dour tendencies.

Arim and Nayr did not fuss as she escorted them into Aequen’s master room. It was theirs now. Ruein had no use for it.

Suspended by entwining vines from each corner, the bed would comfort them as they slumbered amidst swaying breezes. Layers of cushioned fabrics would keep them warm on such cool nights.

An afternoon of play had them spent. Laden eyes fought to hold what last bits of wakefulness remained. On the verge of drifting off, Ruein tucked blankets in about them.

Arim hugged her oaken toy bear under her chin. “Mommy, can bears truly talk?” she asked softly.

“Only to druids.”

Little Nayr prodded his sister. “You a drood.”

“Am I?”

Ruein settled upon the foot of their bed. “That’s entirely up to you, dear. Would you want to be?”

The weary girl dangled her toy out before her. “Can we have a real bear? That way daddy here all day, too.”

“Ah.” Yes. Arim’s stories upon waking. Kaea had mentioned these. “You see him…in your dreams? He visits still?”

“Sometimes. Be better if he were here.”

Nayr shook his head. “Uh-uh. Real bear is monster. Eat you.”

Fair enough. Ruein stood. “Listen to your brother. I wouldn’t consider them monsters, but if you come across a bear in the wild, you’d best believe it’s not your pappa.”

“Oh, alright.” She curled her toy into a hug and rolled on her side.

As Ruein unhooked the lantern, Arim’s voice cracked, “I miss daddy.” The three-year-old struggled to hold back a tide she was too little for.

Her sorrow called for something…some comfort. A real mother would know how. Yet for Ruein, this was but one lost tether to her heart. She vacantly looked over them. Share your truth. “We all do, dear. Your mother even more than I can say.”

Arim looked to her. “Should I tell daddy?”

It hadn’t occurred to Ruein. Could she?

Ruein found her hand drifting to her hair. She’d ample enough cause to believe. Arim had known things—portents. She’d been the one to convince her grandfather of an early return. Perhaps in her dreams, she could…

What could she ask? What would he say?

Does he see? Is he still here? Would he want this…her curse…to go on? Would they be better off if… Could he even answer?

What have I become?

A maelstrom of the possible whirled in the back of her mind. So many things that…couldn’t be asked. Her finger unspooled from a lock of silver hair.

Arim was only three. She would have no way to convey. No turn of phrase would provide their mother with answers.

Ruein closed her eyes and rested her hand upon Arim’s blanket. When she reopened them, she mustered a smile. “When you see your father…give him a hug for me. Now, close your eyes. Get some rest.”

Extinguishing the flame, Ruein turned to see that it was no longer the only light.

Minute pulses bobbed in and out, fireflies flitted through the open bedroom. Perhaps in homage to the one they’d shared this place with. Ruein paused at the door, watching them dip and flow through the wide chamber and out over the branches.

They were good.

This place would be good for them.

Past gentle breezes and the chirps of crickets, there came a distant pitch on the air. A melodic voice traveled the main road. Not uncommon for merchants to traipse from one town to the next. Yet normally those voices would be heading toward