An oppressive weariness fell upon me, and my mind struggled with how the same story could paint an entirely different picture when told from another point of view. She wasn’t denying that she’d chosen herself and her career over being with us, but now I could see it from her perspective. Could understand how difficult it had been for her.

“It was so hard after you left. My heart was broken, and I had no money. I could barely afford to feed myself, and eventually, I came to believe your father was right. I couldn’t take care of my babies, and you three were better off with him. Better off without me.” A fresh swell of tears stormed down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Cécile. You deserved a better mother.” Her eyes met mine. “I do love you, and I always have. I hope you know that.”

I wasn’t blind: I knew she was selfish, but no one was perfect. Everyone had flaws. She’d been put in a situation where there were no easy choices. I well knew how that felt. What it was like knowing there would be horrible consequences no matter what path I took.

“I love you too, Mama.” Rising, I swayed wearily, my feet feeling like lead as I walked over to wrap my arms around her. I was so tired. She guided me back to the settee, and I settled down, feet tucked up and my head on her lap. Her hands gently stroked my hair, and she sang, her voice hitching and catching a bit from crying.

My head was fuzzy and numb, my tongue thick in my mouth. So tired, so tired.

“Where were you, Cécile?” Her voice was soft. “Where were you all those months?”

I wanted to tell her, to trust her, but Tristan’s emotions were growing again in the back of my head. Unease. Everything merged, and I couldn’t tell if he was worried, or whether I was. I shifted, tried to rise, but my limbs felt weak. My mother smoothed my hair down my back and I settled.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she said. “I thought you were dead, or that maybe you’d hated the idea of coming to stay with me so much that you’d run away.”

“No.” The word was muddled, but I needed her to know that wasn’t it. That I had wanted to be with her. “Didn’t… didn’t go by choice.”

“Who took you?”

My teeth clenched together, the fire in the hearth seeming to blaze brighter than the sun. It hurt my eyes. “A boy from the Hollow.”

“Where did he take you?”

I squeezed them shut. “Under the mountain.”

“For what purpose?”

Everything was fading into black, a darkness foreign and stained with uncertainty. I fought it, trying to stay awake, to feel the heat on my face, and my mother’s touch. “He sold me to them. To the trolls.”

She stiffened, but I hardly felt it. My senses were numb. Everything was slipping.