Connections

[Oriena]

He was tiptoeing around her, and she hated that, knowing that he was spending the silence berating himself, and worse, trying to fathom how best to placate her. Nox was always malleable. He’d be whatever he thought others most wanted him to be, and probably feel sorry for himself while he was doing it. That made a different sort of anger swell in her chest; she had very little patience for that kind of pandering. But she kept herself turned away, busy watching the kettle boil, or the snow falling beyond the window above the sink. She’d let him in, which was more than anyone else could have expected, but it didn’t mean she had to make nice just so that his feelings didn’t get hurt in the process. If the silence bothered him and he ran away with his tail between his legs… well, he’d hardly be the first.

“What happened to the nice Russian boy?” Dezhda said instead of acknowledging the apology. Ori had no idea whether she even considered it an intrusion or not; she rarely knew exactly what was going on inside her mother’s head. Which was probably for the best. The woman didn’t wait for an answer, just grunted and shrugged away her own question, and Ori didn’t give one anyway. Presumably she had meant Mik. That had been a bad day for delusions; she was surprised her mother remembered him at all.

The first cup of tea Oriena left on the counter, tucked beside the oven, with a few murmured words in Russian. Apology to the domovoi and placation for her mother, who eased a fraction in her chair when she heard, and continued to eyeball Nox with interest. Or maybe it was suspicion – hard to say, depending on who she actually thought Nox was given his unusual entrance. Ori didn’t bring people home, never had. “This storm is going to be bad,” she told him matter-of-factly. Despite all the forecasts to the contrary, Dezhda was adamant of that.