Page 112 of A Bolt of Magic

“Mother!” I gasp, my voice still rough from sleep and the sounds I made beneath Kian’s touch. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Why are you—?”

Kian stirs beside me, his eyes opening as he registers my distress. When he sees my mother, he immediately sits up, the sheet falling to his waist and exposing the broad expanse of his chest with its intricate royal marking. To his credit, he doesn’t scramble for modesty; instead, he simply meets my mother's cold stare with steady composure, though I can feel the tension radiating from his body.

“Good morning.” She smiles, but it lacks all sincerity. “I thought you should know,” she continues, her voice precisely controlled and giving nothing away, “that your grandmother is having another rare lucid moment. It’s quite miraculous that it’s happening again. I thought you’d want to see her while she’s…aware. I know how disappointed you were yesterday.”

She’s right. I went to see my grandmother the previous day, and she was…she was barely there. She didn’t know who I was. She couldn’t speak, save for a few mumbled words that made no sense. It was a relief when she went back to sleep.

“You will need to hurry because she tires quickly,” my mother adds when I don’t respond quickly enough.

My embarrassment battles with concern and relief. Another chance to speak with my grandmother, to perhaps say the things I couldn’t yesterday.

“Of course. Thank you for coming to tell me. Could you give us a few minutes to get dressed?” I ask, acutely aware of how disheveled I must look.

Her eyes move to Kian once more, her expression unreadable but somehow managing to convey deep disapproval without saying a word.

“I’ll wait outside for you both,” she says, her tone making it clear that this is not a request. The way she looks at Kian in her cold, assessing way makes something protective flare in my chest.

The moment the door closes behind her, Kian and I spring into action. We dress quickly and in silence, the easy intimacy of moments before replaced by rushed efficiency. I splash water on my face and run my fingers through my tangled hair while Kian pulls on his clothes with sharp, jerky movements.

“I’m sorry about that,” I whisper as I button my dress. “She has terrible timing.”

“It’s fine,” he says, throwing me a half smile. “She isn’t my mother.”

I smile back. “Do you know what?”

“What?”

“I don’t care anymore what she thinks.” I feel so much lighter inside just saying it because it’s true.

Kian kisses me. It’s a quick brush of the lips. “Thank you for last night.”

“Thank you, back.” I sigh. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“Your mother made it clear that she wants me there, too.”

“I suppose she did. Let’s go.”

Then we’re hurrying down to where the carriage waits, my mother already seated inside with perfect posture and a face like carved stone. The ride to her house is excruciating. She sits stiff and formal, radiating disapproval like heat from a forge, even though she doesn’t voice it directly.

“Do you still plan on departing today?” she asks Kian, her tone politely conversational but with an edge that could cut glass.

“I’ll finish packing as soon as we return, and since I don’t have much, it won’t take me long,” Kian replies carefully.

This seems to placate her somewhat; her shoulders relax by the smallest margin, and she gives a satisfied nod. “Of course. I’m sure your fellow kings are eager for your return. I will ensurethat you have safe passage and that the defensive spells and wards are still set up to accommodate you.”

“That would be wonderful…thank you.”

We arrive at my mother’s house soon after and go inside.

“There’s tea in the sitting room if you’d like some,” she tells him. “Perhaps we can talk while McColl visits with her grandmother.”

I get the distinct impression that she is trying to separate us, although I can’t say why. I know that Kian can look after himself. So, I make my way to my grandmother’s room. My heart is both hopeful and heavy. When I open the door, I find her sitting up in bed, her eyes clear and focused in a way they weren’t yesterday.

“McColl, my darling girl,” she says, her voice stronger than before. “I thought I had dreamed you up, but you’re real and truly here.”

“I am, Grandmother.”

“I’m so happy,” she says in a shaky voice that gives away her age. “Come here to me.” She holds out her arms.

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