Chapter 16: His mother’s fury

“How was Aldein’s company?” he asked, accepting the plate of stew and fresh bread that his mother set before him.

“Educational,” Garrick replied with a chuckle.

“That man has opinions about everything from grain prices to the political situation in the capital. Some of them are even worth listening to.”

As they ate, his father regaled him with stories from his younger days—tales of adventure and misadventure that seemed to grow more elaborate with each telling. He spoke of the year he’d spent trading in the lowland cities, of the exotic goods and stranger customs he’d encountered there. He told him about the summer he’d helped drive a herd of horses to the great fair at Camlynn and the week he’d spent lost in the forests east of the village after taking what he’d thought was a shortcut.

“The world’s a bigger place than these mountains might suggest,” he said, gesturing toward the window where the peaks stood silhouetted against the star-filled sky.

“But home is where a man’s roots grow deep. Never forget that, son. No matter how far the Origin might carry you, this valley will always be part of who you are.”

The words carried weight beyond their simple meaning, and Jaenor found himself nodding thoughtfully as he considered them.

His mother sat at the table, listening to her husband. She kept glancing towards her son and husband; a smile hung on her lips. She seemed content that two men she loved were present before her.

As the meal ended, Garrick’s eyes grew heavy.

Jaenor helped him to his bed, the old man’s snores filling the room.

Jaenor turned to rest for the night, but a clatter from the kitchen stopped him.

His mother stood in the kitchen, her auburn hair tied back, her dress clinging to her slender frame.

He looked at her wide hips; unlike the two women he slept with, her figure was different and mesmerised him every time he saw.

Those handful of ass jiggled underneath her dress as she moved around the kitchen.

He slowly moved and hugged her from behind.

“Jaenor,” she said, her voice low, a dish slipping from her hands. She could tell it was him; his smell and his breath, she knew.

“Your father is in the house,” she said in a low tone.

“He’s asleep; wouldn’t get up even if there was an earthquake.” She turned around to face him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But I think we should still be careful.”

Then she moved closer and smelt him again, and her eyes narrowed.

Fuck!

Jaenor could tell she got him again.

Her eyes blazing like storm-lit skies over Watch Hill. She stood with a bowl in one hand and the other on her hip, like some wrathful kitchen goddess preparing to smite him with a rolling pin.

“Did you sleep with her again?” Her voice cut through the room like a well-honed sickle through wheat. She put the bowl down with a clatter, her hands trembling, not with fear but with fury barely contained. Her eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto his, and Jaenor felt the air thicken, the kitchen suddenly too small.

Damn!

Jaenor swallowed, his throat dry.

Jaenor didn’t answer at first. The mud on his boots was still wet, his shirt still wrinkled from quick fingers and tangled limbs.

He could’ve lied. Should’ve. But the way Rosa looked at him—like she knew every lie he’d ever rehearsed before he opened his mouth—made it pointless.

“Mother, don’t be angry. Mother, please. Listen to what I have to say—” He moved towards her, again.

“No, Jaenor!”

She shoved him, just enough to make his shoulder thump against the wall. It wasn’t hard—she wasn’t a warrior—but it was sharp with fury.

She held her hands up, palms out, as if warding off his words.

“What did I tell you yesterday? Hmm? I won’t tolerate another woman’s smell on you. Not in this house. Not near me.”

Jaenor’s mouth opened, but Rosa wasn’t finished.

“I’m not mad that you slept with her.”

“It’s not that. Burn me, I told you — I know you have a large appetite, boy. I’m not blind, and I’m not some jealous tavern maid. But if you’re going to touch me, wash first. Wash off their smell on you.”

Jaenor still didn’t understand her fixation on the smell. Like, she wasn’t angry with him sleeping with them, but she didn’t like having their smell on him. Jaenor scratched his head in confusion.

She stepped closer. Not yelling now — quieter, more dangerous.

“I can smell her. Her sweat, her hair, her desperation — it’s on your neck, your chest, your trousers. And then you come back here? To me? Like nothing happened?”

He looked away, but she reached up and gripped his chin, making him look at her. Her voice dropped to a murmur that curled in the air like smoke.

“You can lie with anyone you like, Jaenor. That’s your right. The Light didn’t put you under vows. But don’t bring her into my bed. Don’t come to me still wrapped in another woman’s scent.”

“Wash first. Or don’t come at all.”

She let go.

The air between them felt tight, brittle. The fire crackled in the hearth, but it didn’t warm either of them.

Jaenor exhaled, ashamed, and a little bit aroused in some way he didn’t have the words to explain. Rosa turned her back to him and stirred the stew, but her hands were shaking.

“I won’t tell you again,” she said quietly. “Not because I’ll forgive you next time… but because I won’t even speak to you.”

He nodded once, slowly.

“Yes, mother.”

And that was it.

No more shouting. No tears. Just the heavy, complicated silence of two people who had long since crossed a line the rest of the world would never understand.

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