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“She is,” Lancelot put in. “Petra helped my daughter-in-law Caroline deal with the aftereffects of the Dragon War.” He grimaced. “Post-traumatic stress from the final battle has kept all our healers busy.”
“Yeah,” Ridge agreed. “I’ve been meaning to see Petra myself.”
Well, that was a pretty solid recommendation. “So when will I be able to see my mother?”
The healer shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, since I’m not a psyche specialist. But given her condition, I’d say at least a week.”
“By then, Petra will have her healthier than she’s been since Karen died,” Grace told Kat kindly. “She’ll feel as if she’s been reborn.”
Kat stared in astonishment. “In one week?” God, what if they’d been able to get this kind of help fifteen years ago? How much pain could have been avoided? For that matter, what about all the other mentally ill people on Earth? What about all the sick and dying, the starving, the victims of war and genocide? “Well, aren’t we fortunate,” she said, then winced at the bitterness in her own voice. She sounded like an ungrateful bitch. “I’m sorry. Thank you so much for everything you’re doing for my mother. I’m very grateful, and I know she will be.”
The healer waved the thanks away. “Think nothing of it, dear.” She studied Kat a moment, her gaze penetrating. “When was the last time you ate? You look a little pale.”
“Ah.” Kat frowned, trying to remember. “I had dinner around five P.M.”
“It’s almost three in the morning now. You should get something.”
“I’ll take care of her.” Ridge rested a strong hand on her shoulder. She gave him yet another tired smile. Seemed she’d been doing that a lot tonight, probably because he’d been beside her for every step of this ordeal.
Something to think about, there.
“Sounds good.” The healer touched Kat on the shoulder. “Try to get some rest. You’ve had a rough night.”
She nodded mutely and followed the others out of the room as the healer bustled off to check on another patient.
&nbs
p; Together, Kat, Ridge, Grace, and Lancelot walked down the hall to a reception area. Comfortable armchairs clustered around a crackling fireplace trimmed with pine boughs and Christmas lights.
Lance opened the gleaming front door, and the four exited to descend a set of stone steps to the cobblestone street beyond.
The sky was still dark, but streetlamps shed pools of warm, bright light. The air felt cold and sharp against Kat’s face, and snowflakes danced and fluttered through the shafts of light.
“I am sorry,” Lancelot said roughly, turning to face Kat, shoulders drawing back under her gaze. “I wish I had known your mother had gotten pregnant.”
“But you did find us eventually.” Kat eyed him, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “So it wasn’t impossible, if you’d bothered to check. Which might have been the logical thing to do, considering you hadn’t worn a condom.”
“We don’t,” Lancelot said, the words clipped. “The Gift is genetic. Unmarried knights”—he slanted a glance at his wife—“are expected to father children whenever possible. Sexually transmitted diseases aren’t a problem for us, so . . . ”
She stiffened, stared. “You got my mother pregnant on purpose?”
“I didn’t know whether she was fertile, or if she’d made arrangements of her own.” He sighed. “I know that sounds callous.”
“It is callous—Dad.” Kat rocked forward on her toes and glared up into his eyes. “Regardless of all the other shit that happened, you gave her another mouth to feed and did absolutely nothing to help support me.”
Lancelot met her furious gaze without flinching, though a flush spread across his high cheekbones. “Yes, I got her pregnant. And no, I made no effort to find out if she needed help. I can’t change that, but I would if I could. And I will do everything in my power to make it right.”
Yeah, right, Kat thought bitterly.
Lancelot pulled a thick gold signet ring off his finger. “I asked Grace to prepare this for you. If you need me, say my name, and it will bring me to you. At any time.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “And yes, I know it would have been nice to have it fifteen years ago.”
In her anger, Kat wanted to snarl something dramatic and throw the ring in his face. But judging by the icy dignity in his eyes, he was expecting just that, so she gave him a slight, cold nod instead and accepted it. “Thank you.”
He gave her a courtier’s bow that looked automatic and completely natural, then reached for his wife’s hand. “We’ll see you later, Kat. Ridge.”
The four exchanged nods—Grace’s was a little cool—then turned and went their separate ways.
Silence spun out between Ridge and Kat, filled only by the click of their heels on the cobblestones. “I don’t understand how she can just ignore what he does.” Her voice sounded clipped to her own ears, smoky with anger and frustration.
