Nirrin (Forestfolk, Book 3)

Chapter 13b

Sometime later, I found myself following Niralessa along a small path through the woods. I still couldn't get over how green her skin was.

"I'm sorry it's taken this long to speak with you," she began. "I imagine you must have questions."

Did I ever. I blurted the biggest question on my mind. "Are you really my mother?"

"Yes."

"And Corin is my father?"

"Yes."

"But how? I mean, I know how—I'm no stranger to men—but, you know, what happened to me? Why am I not one of you?" An even more important question eclipsed everything else, and my voice grew quiet. Like if I asked it too loudly, I would scare away the answer. "Why did you get rid of me?"

Niralessa stopped walking and faced me. "It was the hardest thing I've ever done."

This was not an answer for me, and I spoke with an icy edge. "Not raising your own child is the hardest thing you've ever done?"

Her lips, green like the rest of her, thinned. "No. Giving away my own flesh and blood. It nearly killed me."

I stared at her guarded face, looked into her hard brown eyes for some hint of affection. "You seem to be doing fine to me."

"You know nothing." Her eyes flickered with emotion before she turned away from me and resumed our walk through the woods.

"Then tell me something!" I couldn't stop the resentment from increasing my volume. "Why did you throw me away?"

She whirled around, brown eyes flashing. "I did not throw you away! I wanted a better life for you!"

My chin jutted forward. "You know what's worse than growing up without a mother? Feeling like a cast-off that other people have to put up with. Spending your life wondering why you weren't good enough for your parents to keep."

She gave me a scornful huff. "Words of a spoiled, privileged child. You want to know what worse is? How about worrying whether there's enough food? Or being chased away with spears? Or tossed into the river to drown because you look strange?"

I didn't really hear everything she said, because I was still stuck on one word. "You think I'm spoiled?"

"Nirrin—" She reached out to grip my shoulders to make her point.

I slipped out of her grasp. "Oh, no you don't! You're not escaping this discussion again just because I'm more than you can handle. If I sleep, it's going to be because I'm sleepy." My chest heaved with the ragged breaths I was taking. This conversation wasn't anything like I had imagined. She was supposed to apologize and wrap me in her arms, telling me how wrong she was to have left me behind.

Niralessa let her arms drop to her sides. "Nirrin, you don't understand." Her voice seemed to have lost its fight. "You had a chance to live a normal life, away from worry and persecution. So I gave it to you."

"So dumping me with strangers was your gift to me."

She ignored my sarcasm. "Yes."

The resentment I carried was a tight, furious ball in my chest. It refused to loosen, and prevented me from seeing reason. I didn't want to hear any more. "We're done here."

She didn't try to stop me. Didn't call my name. Just watched me go.

Irrational tears pricked my eyes as I stalked back the way we came. She hadn't wanted me then, and still didn't want me now. What did I expect, anyway? A happy reunion? Tears of joy instead of frustration?

I was so naïve. She was right. Maybe I was a spoiled child, expecting everything to go my way.

I rushed past a surprised Corin, who stood with a small pile of kindling in his arms.

"Nirrin!"

I paused. Raw emotions crowded out all rational thought, but his voice triggered a faraway memory. An ambiguous but soothing one.

"Nirrin." He set the twigs down, brushed off his hands, and came closer. "You seem upset."

"Hmm, I wonder if it's because my own mother freely admits she didn't want me." The bitterness in my voice sounded so ugly to my ears.

"You're twisting her words," he said gently. "What she wanted was to give you a better life, safe and carefree. We both did."

"So that's why you didn't stop her."

"Believe me, it was no easy decision. We went back and forth for weeks. And afterward . . . we were so depressed. Your mother wouldn't leave our tent for days." He laid a hand on my arm. "You were our child. We loved you."

My throat tightened. How long had I waited to hear those words? And now . . . they were past tense. "I'm sorry, I can't—" I shook my head, unable to finish. I withdrew my arm from his grasp and scurried away.

So many emotions. So many votes. I hope. :)