a lesson in running away (the art of returning)

Dear Keefe: Be Grateful. (This Is Not A Request.)

My dear son,

One day, you will understand why I do this.

One day, you will remember that I am a mother and you are still only a child. You do not know the years I've lived. You do not know my secrets. You do not know me.

But I have been teaching you. And you have been learning. You always were a good learner— I tried to convince your father of that, I really did. It's due to his own stubbornness that he didn't listen.

It's his stubbornness that you inherited. His inability to let things go. My apologies for comparing you to him— I know you hate that. Hate it more than you hate me. I am doing what is best for you, and I am stubborn too.

You won't stop chasing me. Fine.

I will not let you go either.

Love,

Mom

...

Keefe watches Fitz's hair blow back in the harsh wind, the note in his hand flapping until he fears it will be ripped right out into open air.

But Gisela glimmers into sight before he can, the skirt of her maroon dress whipping against her legs. It stands stark against the green of the grass and the green of the four-seasons tree she lands beside. She'd worn that in Loamnore that day, and he doesn't know if she's been able to change in the month since. Has she bothered coming back to Candleshade since she left them? Since the truth came out?

"Where is my son?" Gisela asks like she already knows. She doesn't look anywhere but Fitz, the stray hairs from her bun whisking around her head. For a moment, Keefe fears that she's somehow a telepath scanning the area for hidden minds.

"Not here," Fitz lies. He holds the paper in his hands up high enough for her to see it. "I found the note you left for him, and I'm here in his place."

Gisela laughs. "And, pray tell, why on earth would I want you?"

...

Dear Keefe,

You are still running, and I am glad to be the cause of it.

The only problem is that you are running away from me, too. And in doing so, you are running away from yourself.

Your legacy will come for you whether you want it to or not. The gears have already begun turning, and I am the only one who can keep them going. If they jam, you will die.

You need me, Keefe. All boys need their mothers.

And I need you. You are irreplaceable, precious, one-of-a-kind. All boys need their mothers, and all mothers need their children.

Come and find me before it's too late.

Love,

Mom.

...

"Because I'm important to Sophie." Fitz looks like a greek god lined up with the sun. It reflects off his eyes, turning the teal to gold. The branches of the tree cast shadows across his skin, dappling it in alternating dark and bright. He brings the note back to his side and it crumples in his fists. "I'm her cognate. They need me to help her find secrets—ones like the location of Elysian."

Sophie shifts next to him, on their stomachs in the grass. Nerves flow into Keefe in a distracting wave, gold flecks scraping against his skin in uncomfortable anxiety. She agreed to this, even helping Fitz write his speech, but still doubt lingers, shared by Biana on her other side.