Goddess bless me, it was short. However, someone let another elf under the mountain. Thorne, they call him. A pretentious gnat with his nose so far up the elvish leader’s ass that he can’t see his precious sky.
It’s put me in a foul mood, only made worse by the noise of the humans being situated for the evening. The world feels like it’s spinning out of control. People pour out of Hammerhead Hall and rush past me with blankets, spell lights, buckets, and various bags filled with what appears to be clothes.
The only grace I’m granted is the gentle nighttime song that rings from the clock tower in the middle of the city—four in the morning.
Mother should still be asleep, and hopefully, I’ll get to rest within the hour. My pace picks up, and I move quickly through the houses.
While many murmur a greeting or send me a kind smile, none stop to speak with me. Not even the stone benders I am charged with leading as one of the city’s council members.
A small voice in the back of my mind says to me that Tirin would’ve come to greet me if he were still alive.
A strange emotion knots in my chest. I’d been quiet most of the trek back from Zlosa—I likely wouldn’t have spoken at all if Melisa hadn’t come to my side and stuck there.
Strange woman.
I push forward, ignoring the familiar twinge of pain that’s become so normal in the past months. I quickly cross the distance through the residential section and arrive at the door to my mother’s house.
Seeing the circular dwelling with the curved rectangular door tightens the muscles between my shoulder blades. I moved back into this house after Tirin’s death, but it’s still filled with a lifetime of struggle.
I grab the handle, pull it open, and step inside. The spell lights are off, but a foul smell is coming from the small kitchen.
Holding my breath, I venture into the space. A pile of pots and plates is in the small sink. I groan.
Mother doesn’t like to eat with the others, but if the dishes are still dirty… I wonder if she’s eaten at all since I left. My palms sweat as I hurry into her room.
The door is open, so it’s easy to push inside without being heard. When I see her lying on the bed, chest rising and falling under ancient woven blankets, I relax. Then I notice a plate next to her nightstand.
Several, actually.
I let out a sigh of relief, creeping over and picking up the dirty dishes.
Svanna, the advisor who leads the miners, must’ve cared for her while I was gone. Making a note to thank her, I return to the kitchen and start to wash.
Luckily, Ma is only one person. It doesn’t take me long to scrape away the grime and filth, but scrubbing the smell out of the bronze sink takes ages.
Just as I start wiping down the counters, I hear a soft voice whisper behind me.
“Fihlius,” she starts.Son, in Enduar.
I hum a greeting but don’t stop cleaning until her hand touches my shoulder. Finally, I turn to look at her.
Mer’Leuel was a proud Enduar woman, but time has worn her down. It’s chipped away at the delicate features of her once beautiful face and replaced them with loose skin. Her hair is hastily tied into a low bun, with dozens of silver strands escaping down her neck and back. Most days, I have to help her style her locks since her eyesight has faded in the last half century.
Her brown nightgown is crumpled, and the lines around her mouth pull down.
“My son. Please,stop,” she says again, this time more firmly. She comes around and takes the scouring tool from my hand. “I will do it.”
“But you didn’t do it, not for a week,” I say, pressing my lips together.
Her frown deepens. “If I had known you were coming, I would’ve cleaned.”
I wave her off and lock away the frustration and embarrassment burning up my neck. “It is fine. I am glad to see you are well.”
She takes a deep breath and draws me from the kitchen area to the common room. There is a long sofa and several chairs. She sits, but I glare at the spot that used to be occupied by Tirin.
“Did you already eat?” she asks.
I nod. “I grabbed a little food before visiting.”