Chapter 150: The Daughter’s Arrival
Lysa had been watching from the window since dawn, her stomach knotted with dread as the eastern carriage arrived at noon. Seren was standing beside her. She squeezed her hand.
"She’s just a child," Seren said.
"She’s a child who hates me."
"You don’t know that."
"I wrote to her. Rowan wrote to her. She didn’t respond." Lysa’s voice trembled. "She’s been ignoring us for weeks. And now she’s here."
Seren squeezed her hand again. "Whatever happens, I’m here. Rowan is here. You’re not alone."
The carriage door opened.
Iris stepped out.
She was thirteen, big for her age, with dark hair and sharp features. Her mother’s eyes; Lysa recognized them from Rowan’s description. She wore traveling clothes and a scowl that could curdle milk.
Rowan approached her. "Iris."
"Father." The word was flat, empty. "You said I should come. I am here."
"I’m glad."
"Don’t be." She looked past him, toward the palace, toward the window where Lysa stood. "Is she here?"
Rowan nodded. "She’s inside."
"Then let’s get this over with."
The meeting took place in the garden.
Lysa had chosen the location deliberately: neutral ground, open space, nowhere to hide. Iris sat on the stone bench by the fountain, her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond Lysa’s shoulder.
Rowan stood between them, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Iris," he said, "this is Lysa."
"I know who she is." Iris’s voice was cold. "The human attendant. The queen’s friend. My father’s..."
She didn’t finish the sentence.
Lysa sat on the bench across from her. Not too close. Not too far.
"Iris. I’m not going to pretend this is easy. It’s not. You’re angry. You’re hurt. You have every right to be."
"You don’t get to tell me what I have a right to feel."
"You’re right. I don’t." Lysa kept her voice calm. "But I’m not here to tell you how to feel. I’m here to meet you. To know you. Because I love your father, and you’re part of him."
Iris’s jaw tightened. "You don’t love him. You don’t even know him."
"I know he carries a scar on his chest from the border. I know he writes letters to you that he’s afraid to send. I know he sits by this fountain at night and talks about your mother like she was made of starlight."
Iris’s eyes glistened, but she didn’t look away.
"He told you about her?"
"He told me everything."
The silence stretched.
Iris’s arms uncrossed. Her hands trembled in her lap.
"You’re not her," she said finally. "My mother. You’re not her."
Lysa shook her head. "I’m not. I could never be. She was your mother. She gave you life. She loved you before you were born."
Iris’s voice cracked. "Then why are you here? Why are you trying to replace her?"
"I’m not." Lysa leaned forward. "I don’t want to replace her. I want to be *me*. Lysa. The woman who loves your father. The woman who would like to know you. Not as a daughter, but as a person."
"That’s the same thing."
"It’s not." Lysa’s voice was gentle. "A daughter is a role. A person is who you are. I want to know who you are. What you love. What you hate. What makes you laugh."
Iris stared at her.
"You’re strange."
"I’ve been told."
"My mother wasn’t strange. She was normal. She baked bread and sang off-key and told me stories about wolves who danced with the moon."
"She sounds wonderful."
"She was." Iris’s voice dropped to a whisper. "And now she’s gone. And you’re here. And I hate it."
Rowan stepped forward.
"Iris."
She looked at him. Her eyes were red, but she wasn’t crying.
"I’m not asking you to love her. I’m not asking you to accept her. I’m asking you to give her a chance. The same chance I’m asking her to give you."
"You’re taking her side."
"There are no sides. There’s just us. Trying to figure out how to be a family."
Iris’s face crumpled. "We’re not a family. We haven’t been a family since Mother died."
"Then let’s become one. Slowly. Carefully. One step at a time." Rowan knelt before her. "I know I failed you. I know I wasn’t there. I know I chose patrols over bedtime stories and duty over love. I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m asking you to let me try."
Iris was silent for a long moment.
Then she looked at Lysa.
"If you hurt him, I’ll make you regret it."
Lysa nodded. "I would expect nothing less."
They walked back to the palace together; Rowan in the middle, Iris on one side, Lysa on the other. There was no touching, nor talking. They just walked in silence.
At the door, Iris stopped.
"I’m not going to call you anything. Not yet."
"That’s fine."
"And I’m not going to pretend I like you."
"I wouldn’t ask you to."
Iris studied her for a moment. Then she nodded; a small, grudging acknowledgment.
"Your hair is stupid."
Lysa laughed. "I’ll take that under advisement."
Iris almost smiled.
***
That night, Rowan found Lysa in the garden.
"She’s asleep," he said. "First time in weeks, she said. She’s been having nightmares."
"About her mother?"
"About losing me. About losing everyone." He sat beside her on the bench. "She’s terrified, Lysa. Not of you, but of caring. Of letting someone in and having them leave."
"She learned that from you."
"I know." He took her hand. "But you’re teaching her something new. That staying is possible. That love doesn’t have to mean loss."
Lysa leaned against him. "She called my hair stupid."
"It’s not stupid. It’s beautiful."
"She’s thirteen. Everything is stupid."
Rowan laughed; a real laugh, surprised at himself. "She’s going to be a handful."
"Good. I like handfuls."
They sat in silence, the fountain splashing, the stars coming out.
This will take time.
But tonight, they had taken a step.
Tomorrow, they would take another.
