Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.

A/N: This chapter may be particularly triggering. All warnings listed on chapter 1.

Chapter 7: The Between

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The dinner we prepared for Midwinter's Day was easily fit for a king. Grandmother kept me busy in the kitchen most of the day, sending Grandfather out to the market and the bakery and liquor shop for some fine Vintish wine. I barely had time to think as we baked pastries, chopped vegetables, and put a large hunk of beef to roast. Grandmother had spared no expense, seasoning it with all manner of spices: sage, garlic, thyme, and rosemary in addition to salt and pepper. The smell of it cooking slowly above the oak-fueled fire was tantalizing, and by the time night began to fall and Mother and Father arrived with snow dusting their hair, my mouth was practically watering in anticipation.

I was busy setting the candlelit table when they arrived, and Grandfather had been the one to open the door. I turned at the blast of cold air mixed with excited shouts wafting into the sitting room to see Mother and Father at the doorway. Mother was loosely holding her rebec case, and she turned to look at me, meeting my eyes across the room. Her face was pale and drawn, thinner than I remembered it. Her hair was limp, hanging around her face with none of its usual bounce. But it was her expression that froze my breath. Her dark eyes were hooded and dull within the shadows. Sadness pooled in their depths, heavier than anything I had ever seen.

I faltered then, my half-woven plans falling to pieces in the face of her raw grief. I had done it. It was my fault. I dropped the forks haphazardly on the table and all but ran from the room, barely managing a nod in her direction. Her face fell as I turned away, but I was too overcome by guilt to stop. Whatever I said to her, it had to be perfect. The gap between us had grown so deep. No half-baked apology would do.

Dinner, then, was an uncomfortable affair. I avoided Mother's eyes, picking at my plate of roasted beef and vegetables. The smell that had excited me earlier now all but turned my stomach, which was tense as a drum. Grandmother shot me several disappointed looks as she served the wine and passed around slices of fresh bread. I stared down at my plate, my face flushing with shame as Grandfather made brave attempts at stifled conversation. Grandmother joined in, lending her warm, ringing voice to the effort. I stole glances at them as they spoke, eyeing Father and Mother both. Father chewed his food slowly and fully, his face a stoic mask as he gave short replies to the questions his parents peppered him with. Like me, Mother remained mostly silent, shaking her head or offering one-word answers when addressed directly. It all but broke my heart.

I was so lost in the swirling tempest of my mind that Grandfather had to call my name twice before I realized he was addressing me. I glanced up from my mostly full plate to see them all staring in my direction.

"Yes?" I said weakly, glancing furtively at Mother before turning to my grandfather. He gave me a reassuring smile.

"I was just telling your parents what a big help you've been the past few days. Helping with all the cooking." He turned back to my parents. "She made all the dinner breads, you know. Nulia barely helped. Didn't she do a wonderful job?"

Father smiled thinly. "Absolutely. She always does."

"Thank you," I said quietly. I shot another look at Mother. She was staring down at the barely eaten piece of bread on her plate.

"I quite agree," she said softly. "You've really grown. This is wonderful."

She made no move to pick the bread up again and my stomach twisted.

"We've also made a pie," Grandmother said. "And picked up several pastries besides. I reckon it's quite time for dessert. If you've no objections?"

"Jolly good," Grandfather said, passing his plate along to Grandmother, who started to stack them.

I hurried to help her, grabbing Father's empty plate. Grandmother reached Mother first.

"It'll take us a little while to get dessert ready," she said, as she reached for Mother's plate. "We could do with a bit of entertainment. Althea, perhaps you could play for us?"

Mother looked at her blankly.

"I saw you brought along your instrument," Grandmother clarified. "If you were intending to play, now is a good time."

"Play," Mother said softly, as if the word were a long forgotten stranger that she was meeting again for the first time. Her lips twisted into the smallest of smiles. "Yes, I suppose I could play."

"Wonderful," Grandmother said, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Why don't you go ahead and set up while we clear the table, and then we'll sit and listen."

"That's fine." Mother stood slowly and walked back to the door to collect her rebec, her steps light and careful. I watched her for a moment in the gently flickering light of the room before following Grandmother into the kitchen with a stack of plates.

"You would do well to speak your apology soon," Grandmother said when we were alone. I joined her at the washbasin, handing her my dishes. "Your mother has lost one daughter already, but she looks as though she has lost two."

"I know," I whispered, nodding miserably.

Grandmother glanced over at me, taking my torn expression into account. "Ah, child," she said gently. "It is not so hard as all that. You need only speak your heart. If you carry these words locked up inside, they shall weigh you down like stones."

We finished clearing the table in silence and I brought out the pie and pastries as Grandmother set a kettle of water to boil. Then we returned to the sitting room, where Mother stood with her rebec raised, waiting. I sat down on the couch beside Father, turning my eyes to her as she brought the bow to the strings.

Then she played.

It wasn't any song that I had ever heard, and yet I knew it well. The music was deep and haunting, flowing through the cracks in my half-healed heart like molten lead and setting them aflame. It burned through me, resonating in its familiarity, chilling me from the inside out. She didn't sing, didn't say a word. The music sang for her, drawing her anguish out in lilting notes. Each turning of the bow was like a knife twisting into my skin. I felt the coolness of tears on my face before I realized I was crying.

It was heartbreaking. Devastating.

She lowered her hands at last, and the final notes of music faded into the night. I was still. My chest frozen. My lungs airless. We sat motionless in the sudden silence. There was not a creak, not a single rustle of cloth. Not a breath to spare. The entire world had stilled, asleep in the flickering candlelight. The music was gone, and yet it was still there. It was echoing in my heart, which had played this song so many times before. It sounded a little different when it was inside of me; tuned to my own melody. Mother's song was accented with the unmistakable turnings of her being. And yet it was the soul of my own sorrow, dressed in her clothes and played back at me. She had given voice to my broken heart.

But this grief she played was sharper, even, than the one I knew. The notes rang out, true and raw and free. There were no marks of healing on her heart. No wrappings. No plaster. How could there be, when her heart was full of song, and that song was sharp as broken glass?

The tears ran from my eyes, relentless. How could she carry so much, all locked away in silence? How could she stand, live, breathe with her heart all full of hurt, so piercing it cut?

There was a sudden sound, breaking the spell Mother had cast upon the room, and I turned to see Father clambering abruptly to his feet beside me. His face was set and hard, his hands balled into fists. In the flickering candlelight, I thought I saw his eyes shimmer before he turned away.

"I have to return to the shop. I have stayed too long." His voice was rough, barely holding on to itself.

"Now?" Grandmother said, shaking herself into movement as if waking from a dream. "It is the solstice. Don't be ridiculous. Who will be shopping now?"

Father reached for his coat, his movements jerky. "People are daring on Midwinter's Night, Mother. They drink and fall, and need medicine for their hurts. I must go."

"Harlan," Mother said, turning to him, her tone pleading. Her cheeks were tearstained, but she didn't seem to notice them enough to wipe them away. "Please. I…"

"I'm sorry, Althea." He stepped to her, bringing his lips to her cheek for the space of a moment as he grasped her hand. "They're waiting."

Then he was gone, slipping out the door over Grandmother's protestations that he at least stay for dessert.

No one was much in the mood for pie after he left.

It was after the pie was cleared and the dishes put away that I approached Mother in the empty sitting room at last.

Grandmother had taken Grandfather firmly by the arm and led him into the kitchen, leaving Mother and me alone. She stood by the window, gazing out at the reveling crowds that pushed past the house. Somewhere across the city, I knew Tehlu was stalking Encanis through the streets, firmly settled atop a horse-drawn carriage. It would all end before the clock struck midnight, and the year would begin anew. So too, I hoped, would my rift with Mother. I approached her slowly, my heart clenching and unclenching in my chest like a fist squeezed too tight.

"Mother…" I spoke softly, her name slipping out before I quite knew the shape of what I wanted to say.

She turned, her face white in the dim candlelight. Her eyes found mine. Held them.

"I'm sorry."

Faced with the raw intensity of her gaze, all my half-woven explanations unraveled into loose and tangled threads. I could do nothing but whisper out an apology. She watched me in silence. Her eyes were dark, barely reflecting the light.

"I'm so sorry," I repeated, the words coming easier now that I'd said them once before. "Can we talk about her? Denna?" Mother was still, watching me. "I didn't mean to hurt you… I didn't mean those things I said," I pressed, my voice cracking. "They were horrible."

"They were true," Mother said simply.

"No," I murmured, chills spreading down my arms at her flat tone. "Mother, they aren't."

"They are." Her words sounded dull and empty, like she had spoken them a thousand times before. "You're right to blame me for what happened. The fault is mine."

"That isn't… I didn't mean…"

"It's all right," she said softly. "You've spoken your heart. There is no shame in that."

She turned back to the window, the flickering lights outside reflecting across her pale face.

"No," I said forcefully, shaking my head. Pleading with her to understand. I thought back to Grandmother's words. To how raw my heart had felt all this time. "I spoke out of grief. It all… it hurt so much. Like your song… But I understand now. I know that it was Denna's choice. I know you couldn't force her. And I know it made no difference. Six days… There was nothing we could have done."

"Maybe," she said softly, still gazing out upon the street. "I fear it all makes little difference. She is gone."

"It wasn't your fault, Mother."

She drew in a sharp breath, turning to look at me again. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You are ever as kind as I raised you to be. You make me proud, little bird." She paused, seemingly remembering that I had rejected her favorite term of endearment.

"It's okay," I said quickly. "You can call me that." My heart ached for her to.

She offered me a sad smile. "I always have, even when you didn't hear it."

"So you aren't angry with me?" The words fluttered in my chest, tumbling around like frightened butterflies as I waited for her answer.

"No," she said, her voice gently reassuring. "Of course not. I never could be."

My face broke into a smile then, the warmth of it spreading through my whole being. Smiling. I had forgotten how wonderful it was.

"I'm so glad!" I gasped, and then I flung my arms around her, burying my face in her rough hair. Sobbing until I tasted salt. She hugged me, her arms wrapping around me with a light grip.

She held me for a while in silence, my hot tears running freely into the thin fabric of her dress. I lost track of the time. It could have been hours or minutes. After a while, I realized she was murmuring soothingly against my hair. A familiar litany of nursery rhymes, long ingrained into the bones of my blissful childhood. I closed my eyes, letting her quiet voice transport me to moments long gone and far away until my heart stopped beating out of time.

"You're doing better," she said, her voice muffled a bit by my hair. She seemed unable or unwilling to let go of me. "I'm so glad. I've worried that you were carrying too much within your heart."

I nodded, sniffling so I wouldn't get snot on her dress.

"They say it gets easier with time," she said gently.

I nodded again, more firmly this time. "I didn't believe it, but now I reckon it's true."

"Time heals most." She hugged me tighter for a moment then let go of me at last.

"It is late, little bird." She brushed a hand against my cheek. "I must go."

I took a deep breath. "I'll come with you… I'm ready to come home."

She smiled at that, the corners of her mouth twisting slightly upward. Then she reached out, taking my hand. "Not this time."

"But—" I began.

She shook her head, her manner firm. "Not now. It's best you stay here a while. Go on." She squeezed my hand when I didn't move and then brought her lips to my cheek, her touch light as a breath. "Being with your grandparents has been good for you."

"But I want to be with you," I said, my eyes tearing up again. "I want to come home so we can be a family again."

"Don't worry about me." She let go of my hand. "We'll always be family, no matter where we are. You, me, your father… Denna. But it's your happiness that matters now. I love you."

She stepped back and reached for her coat, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"I love you too," I said slowly, staring as she walked to the door. She nodded once and slipped out of the house. The shrill noises of the night enveloped her, and she was gone.

I stood still in the suddenly empty room, my heart beating between relief and confusion. She wasn't angry. She still loved me. The thought filled me with warmth. I had spoken my heart, and we were all right again. We were all right.

But she didn't want me to come home… Why? Had she not forgiven me for my rash words after all? Did she need more time? Would she keep me away until then?

What if she didn't forgive me?

The thought filled me with terrible, crippling anxiety.

Had I ruined it all? Was it unfixable?

"How did it go?"

I turned to see Grandmother standing at the threshold to the kitchen. She smiled at me, her eyes crinkling.

"I don't— I don't know," I said honestly, twisting my hands together. I felt the familiar shape of Mother's ring upon my hand and worked it anxiously around my finger. "I apologized, Grandmother. We… we talked. But she left." I started crying then. I couldn't help it. "She said she loved me. But what if… what if it wasn't true?"

"Hush," Grandmother said, stepping close to me and wrapping her arms around my trembling shoulders. "Of course it's true, child. You are talking nonsense."

"Then why didn't she want me to come home?" I cried miserably. "I've ruined it all. I ruined it..."

I turned, twisting my face away from Grandmother in shame. And then I saw it — Mother's rebec case. It was sitting by the couch, sheathed in shadow and forgotten.

"Her rebec!" I gasped, pulling away from Grandmother to grab it. "She's left it."

"She must have forgotten it," Grandmother said reasonably. "We can return it tomorrow. It will give you an opportunity to continue your talk."

I shook my head with a determined fierceness. "It's her heart, Grandmother. She needs it. To play her song."

And then, before I was quite aware of it, I was running for the door with the rebec case clasped firmly in my hand, deaf to Grandmother's protestations.

The night air was frigid and alive with the buzz of a thousand conversations crashing against each other. The streets teemed with bodies. People stood on the frost-bitten cobblestones, drinking and laughing. They walked, their excited shouts ringing through the air. Several streets away, I could hear the uniform roar of a crowd; the voices a disparate harmony.

I hurried forward, pressing the rebec against my chest in a feeble attempt to guard against the chill. I hadn't bothered to grab a coat. Grandmother would be furious.

My ears tuned for the noise, I heard the front door open behind me and Grandmother shout my name in a hard tone. She was angry. I darted around a Cealdish couple that walked slowly with their hands interlaced and then fumbled my way through a group of six laughing people who seemed too drunk to pay me any mind. The house was now lost to sight, and Grandmother's voice harder to make out through the clamor that cloaked the street. I turned away from the faint traces of her voice and hurried through the growing crowd, following the familiar road that led to our house as the cold seeped through the thin material of my dress and settled in my bones.

The streets grew busier, filling up around me as I jogged briskly in the chill air. The shouts grew louder, and I could hear the chiming of bells swelling in the distance; the sounds of hooves drawing near; the creaking of wood. Torches lit up the street, bouncing in the hands of the converging masses and throwing the faces around me into shadow. I could just make out the litany of priests growing louder above the din, swelling into a ringing harmony that hovered on the edge of song. Tehlu must be closing in on Encanis nearby. The procession always finished in Tehlu Town.

My hands nearly numb with cold, I turned the corner onto Harney Road — a street wide enough to boast a paved lane for riding and raised cobblestone footpaths besides. The crowd lined the street on both sides, jostling for room on the cobblestones as a majestic wagon drawn by four white horses rolled slowly into view. Tehlu stood at its head, clad in robes of white and masked in silver. The wagon was flanked by a procession of solemn priests, their grey robes weighed down with chains of heavy iron. They chanted in unison, ringing their bells in an underscoring cacophony.

I heard a sudden shout to my right, growing to a swell before I could make out the words, and I whirled to see a dark shape dart across the road. Encanis. He slipped into the unruly crowd, the pitch black of his cloak vanishing like a shadow fleeing from candlelight. Still running despite the futility of it all.

Tehlu had seen.

I turned back, watching as Tehlu raised a silver horn to his lips. It caught the flickering torchlight, its long curved shape gleaming as he blew out a long and mournful note. It rang through the night, sharp and clear and sad above the din.

I'm coming.

It chilled me right down to my bones, the sound reverberating through me.

Death is coming for you, demon.

The wagon sped up, the horses spurred on by the haunting sound of the horn (and the quick hands of the priests beside). The crowd was screaming its approval, singing the hymns of the church as they jostled me from every side. There was a growing wave of movement within the sea of people across the road, as if a current was crashing in on itself and the water boiling over. And then the black shape of Encanis was shoved forward, back out onto the road to await Tehlu's justice. The screaming and singing intensified, so loud that I thought my ears would break.

Tehlu blew the horn again, the melody ripping through me. Seizing my heart.

Justice is upon you; cold and hard with all the weight of iron.

That was when I saw her.

The flaming lights of Tehlu's procession lit the road ahead, giving it a surreal flickering quality, and I saw the familiar shape of her hovering on the edge of the path. I saw just a glimpse of her. Just a flash, really. Enough for the light to spill in a glowing halo around her hair. To cement the shape of her coat; drawn tightly to her chest and flaring out around her ankles. To see the broken, hopeless grief etched in every line and hollow of her face. She was marked by her stillness; a solitary statue within the surging crowd. Standing in the in-between. Between Tehlu and Encanis. Between the full home she had left, and the empty one that waited. Between the worlds where one daughter stood waiting and another lay buried beneath the cold, hard ground.

Between the cobblestone footpath and the smooth pavement of the road.

Hovering.

A chill fear took hold of me then, colder and harder than the frigid winter air. This one bypassed my skin and sank straight into my heart. It wasn't a fear I understood. But it was one I knew. I knew its shape, if not its colors. I had seen it before, had felt it as I picked at a waterskin outside a door sealed shut. This fear lived on edges. Tied them together with tattered thread like a veil hovering between two worlds.

I surged forward, the rebec case crashing into shins and elbows. The crowd thrummed around me. A living, breathing thing. I screamed her name. I pushed. Ran. Stumbled. My eyes searching for hers. But she was looking only to the sky. The horses drew to a trot, Tehlu's wagon pulling ahead of its priestly contingent to close in on Encanis. The wagon was drawing nearer, fifteen feet from where Mother stood. Ten feet. Five feet. Level.

With all the painful grace of eternity shattering, she stepped off the cobblestones and onto the smooth pavement of the busy road.

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A/N: Guys, sorry for this sad, sad, horrible chapter... If you or someone you know is considering suicide, please talk to someone. There are so many resources out there for help. Please reach out. You are loved. You are worthy of life. And, well, I'm literally no one useful, but if you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here.