Serenya
Kaelith’s mother didn’t speak on the drive back from the brunch.
Not even when I helped her into the car or complimented her pearl gloves that shimmered against her cane-holding hand. She sat stiffly, posture perfect, eyes straight ahead, as if she were still seated among the highborn ladies of the charity committee, not returning home with a commoner she couldn’t quite scrub clean.
I kept my hands folded in my lap and my mouth shut. The silence between us stretched, icy and unfamiliar. I tried not to flinch every time she adjusted her shawl or cleared her throat. She hadn’t been this quiet all morning, at the brunch, she’d been composed but gracious, gently correcting my missteps with a smile and guiding me through the maze of wealthy wives and sharp-tongued dowagers.
But u
