Ah, and he is stronger than he first appeared. The dead queen’s eyes light up with interest, her grip tightening minutely around his struggle, before deigning to release him as requested. There is fear there, the kind of feral fear of a snared mountain cat, or a serpent that turns at last to face an oncoming forest blaze, and burn. Perhaps this is what killed him, she thinks – standing to fight when sense should have made him run.
Will it become a habit?
“Do you!” Her laughter is feather-light, as much music as her normal speech. It is not derisive; if anything, she sounds charmed. She leans back in her chair, and there is a shadow of Electra in the upward tilt of her chin, the flash of secrets across her gaze. His defiance, it seems, delights her. Or at least, she is unperturbed by it, relaxes into the tension between them as if shrugging on a well-worn coat. Her fingers drum idly on the table between them, tapping out the rhythm of some long-buried spell.
“Electra,” she breathes, “named for the flash of fire in her, and the blaze of sun she was born beneath. On the day I birthed them, there was such sunshine – I believed it was an omen.” Her smile is secretive, softening against the memory. Her drumming fingers abruptly stop. “I was lucky, to arrive here in place where I could record some memories before they faded. One should never forget their children.” For a moment her eyes are faraway, or perhaps turned inward, reflecting on some private memory before sharpening into hard focus again, capturing his gaze. She does not humor his second demand as quickly, content to watch his face as she pronounces her name, and drops this pearl of insight into his empty cup. For she knows he cannot know her – cannot know anything of importance, if he does not know this story. It is a shame her daughter remains such a liar that she endangers everyone she loves.
“Allow me this one game, Jack. A mother likes to test her daughter’s lover. I had to know what sort of man you are, before I told you. Would I have glimpsed that generosity if you had known?” That secret smile again, that knowing smile, as if she had glimpsed much more than his generosity – as if she’d seen exactly what had transpired between them, in those private moments stolen from the living world. “Though, I am surprised you did not guess it. I suppose she always did favor her father.”
She rises, then, moves toward the bookcase on steps that seem to float. In this, too, her daughter resembles her – the regal bearing, the sway of her hips – but the similarities stop soon after. Her fingers skim the spines of the books beside her. When she turns back toward him, her face has softened into contrition, every edge obliterated by the shadows she’s stepped into.
“I will hide nothing from you, dear one. How could I? You are the only way I might speak to my daughter again, and that is my one desire, the only thing left to me. Though I suspect she warned you away from me. Our relationship was strained.” Her smile is apologetic as she confesses this, her gaze downcast.
“When you see her again,” she ventures, in a whisper, “Please tell her I forgive her.”
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