Page 91 of Between Despair and Hope

I forced a laugh, wrapping an arm around her and turning her toward the door.

“It was a mutual decision, little one,” I lied. “Are you sure you don’t want me to just get the charcoals and bring them back up?”

“Actually, I plan to stay down there. The lighting is better in the dining room.”

She swiped most of the papers from the desk into a leather folio, and I noticed one looked like a certain prince we both knew. I said nothing though and instead pulled it from her and placed it under my arm. “You’ll need both hands,” I explained.

A moment later, with one hand on the banister and the other arm looped with mine, she tentatively took one step down.

“Let me know if you need to stop.”

She nodded but didn’t speak as we continued our way down each step, and before long, we were both at the bottom. When she turned toward me and gave me a hug, I froze. I hadn’t expected that at all.

“Thank you, Lavenia,” she said, pulling away from me. “Mama and—they talk about you a lot. You gave her the oils for my hair.” She grinned wide. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” I replied, feeling pleased to have helped her.

She cleared her throat and fiddled with her dress. “She told me about how—how you were the first person she told about me getting taken.”

“She was very frightened—understandably.”

“And I imagine you were angry?” she asked as we made our way down the hall toward the living and dining area.

“Why would I be angry?”

“Well, because she showed up out of nowhere to ask for help. I don’t know. I’d be pretty mad if my friend hid from me and all of a sudden just showed up. It’s nice of you to forgive her.”

Pulling out a chair for her at the dining table, I placed the folio next to the array of charcoals and blank paper left behind from her previous session. “There was nothing to forgive. It was hard on all of us when your aunt died, your mother especially.”

“She said he didn’t know about me. Is that true?” She sat down in the chair, squeaking across the wooden floor as she pulled up close to the table.

“If he would have known about you, there’s nothing anyone could have done to stop him from finding you. I could have found your mother for him—he asked me to do it. But I refused to compel your grandfather. I wanted to respect Emma’s wishes. But if I knew you were his? I would have done what he asked of me.”

“You really think Mama didn’t know? I mean…I’ve read enough books.” She flushed. “How could she not know?”

I laughed, more out of surprise than anything else. “Your mother lets you read those kinds of books?”

“Well, no. But I’ve snuck some of hers. I’ll be sixteen in a few months. It’s not like—”

“You don’t have to explain.” I waved away her embarrassment. “I haven’t asked about the specifics of the situation because I don’t want to know. But I’m confident your mother wouldn’t have kept you from Rainier if she knew. She’s a good person, Elora.”

“I know,” she said, a bit too quickly. “Thank you for bringing me downstairs. And for finally coming to meet me.”

“I’m sorry—”

“I’m kidding. Not everyone has time to rearrange their schedules for a secret love child.”

I snorted. “Have you called yourself that in front of them?”

“What do you think?” She smirked, and I chuckled, easing into the chair beside her.

“You think you can show me how to draw like that?” I asked, nodding toward one of the charcoal drawings.

“No,” she replied. I barked a laugh. The girl was a delight, so much like both of her parents. A sly smile tugged at her lips as her cheeks pinked. She slid a blank sheet over to me as she said, “I can certainly try, but I’m not even that good with them. I’m better with paint.”

The two of us sat together for the better part of an hour, and I doodled with no real finesse as I learned about the girl beside me. Though I’d seen Rainier and her white hair made me think of Lucia, her personality was pure Emma. Granted, she looked like her too, but her mannerisms were her mother’s. Her kindness and sense of humor belonged to her too. She was a sweet and funny girl, and time got away from us.

By the end of the hour, black dust covered her hands and face, her animated style of speaking causing her to move her hands everywhere and make a mess. She strategically avoided mentioning the father who raised her in her stories, but I could tell it saddened her. I couldn’t imagine how she felt. Moments of fatherly love and kindness between Soren and me were near non-existent, but it seemed Faxon had truly cared about her until he found out the truth. I couldn’t imagine it. Elora didn’t deserve that.

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