Page 240 of Keldori By Daybreak

I nodded. It was the only response I could afford with how tightly I was clamping my jaw shut in a bid to keep from breaking.

Sorcha nodded back approvingly, and when I moved forward as if to hug her, she spared us both by raising a hand between us.

“Do not feel obligated to hug me. Neither of us wants that.”

My laugh sounded more like a strangled sob. I took a moment to gather myself, and when I was calm enough, I admitted, “You’re surprisingly insightful for an old hag, Sorcha.”

She beamed with pride, though I wasn’t sure if it was for herself or me. “I know. Your grandmother hated it.” She turned towards Mom as Aoife joined her, ready to walk up to the memorial reception together. “Eliza? Game Night is Thursday. Five o’clock up at the library. You’re the newest player, so you’re on snack duty.”

Mom’s eyebrows rose in awkward surprise. “Oh, that’s too kind of you, Sorcha, but—”

“It wasn’t an invitation. You’ll be there. We’re down a member without Ethel and what’s the point of Game Night if not to humble a Saergrim at backgammon?”

Mom gave in with a smile and small bow of her head. “Five o’clock. Friday.”

“Nothing with raisins,” Aoife warned. “Sorcha will complain for weeks.”

Sorcha reached out to gently squeeze my hand in hers as she and Aoife passed back down the dock.

Mom sighed behind me, and the sound of her shoes falling against the wooden planks pulled my attention to her. She sat at the edge of the dock with her feet in the water, watching the sunset. They were always spectacular this time of year, this one particularly so, painting the sky in a wash of pinks, oranges, and deep reds, but it felt wasted on such a solemn occasion.

“We should’ve spent more time here,” Mom murmured. “I thought it was for the best, keeping you away from Keel Watch. The people here were all ghosts. I thought you’d be lonely.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, low and sad. My mother didn’t need the reminder that I’d grown up lonely anyway.

I kicked my shoes off next to hers, then lowered myself to sit beside her with my feet in the water. She put an arm around me, and I wished I were shorter or she taller so I could rest my head on her shoulder. I leaned against her the best I could.

“Did I do the right thing?” I whispered. “Keeping the Rift open?”

Mom sighed. “I don’t know yet. Your grandmother and the three Sovereigns did what they could to protect everyone when they exiled Magicians to Skalterra, but who’s to say what they did was right either? And if it was the right thing for them to do, that doesn’t mean that it’s the right thing for us to do now, four hundred years later. What did you think of Skalterra?”

The question caught me off guard, and I thought for a moment on Ergoth, Ferrin, rotsbane, Tamora, and corrupt guards. And then I thought of Davyn and his daughter sailing us to the Tortoise, the people of Willow’s Grave, the children playing on the docks of Riverstead, and all my friends that I would happily die and kill for.

“I think it was wonderful,” I said. “It had dangerous parts, but so does Keldori.”

“Then we have to hope that the better parts of both our worlds outweigh the dangerous ones.”

A new fear rose in my chest.

“But what if I wasn’t trying to do the right thing? What if I was being selfish? I didn’t want you to be sealed away. I kept it open because it was best for me, not because it was best for anyone else.”

The setting sun turned Mom’s cheeks orange, and her hair was like soft fire in the light. Her brow furrowed as she found her thoughts on the glowing horizon.

“The first night home from the hospital, I cried as you slept in my arms because I knew you’d never be that little again. The day I dropped you off at school for the first time, I cried then too,” she said. “Not because I was going to miss you or because I was worried, but because I knew that the baby girl who walked into that classroom would not be the same girl who walked out. You were only three but suddenly, you looked so old. It’s happened over and over for the last eighteen years. That’s motherhood. At every milestone worth celebrating, we’re also grieving the versions of our children we’ll never get back.”

“I don’t know what this has to do with the Rift,” I whispered.

“No version of you has ever been selfish, but the daughter I left at the beginning of summer is not the same daughter who came back to me.” Mom turned to face me and pressed a hand against my cheek. “And the daughter who came home, she isn’t selfish either. She is so beautiful and confident and kind and strong, and she is the furthest thing from selfish. She’s made impossible decisions, often at her own expense. She’s faced impossible adversaries. Wren, I’m so proud, but damn if I didn’t cry that first night back from the Rift thinking about that tiny baby I held in my arms eighteen years ago.”

I wrapped my arms around her. It was strange to hear her talk about how I was always changing when she’d always been my constant. Reliable, steady, and willing to wreck lawn ornaments in my defense, she’d always just been Mom.

“I’m sorry everything keeps changing,” I whispered.

“No, don’t be. It may be the worst part of being a mother, but it’s also the best.” Mom’s laugh was watery and weak. “But I’m going to be honest. I don’t know how to do this without my mom.”

Sorcha’s words—the ones I hated, the ones I’d heard all week—came back to me.

“She would be so proud of you,” I said.