WolfeBlade: de Wolfe Pack Generations by Kathryn Veque (top 20 books to read .TXT) 📗

to me to say to you what I believe Helene would have said to you on this day of days.”

Andreas’ humored expression faded. “You do not have to, Bonny,” he said, putting his hands on the old man who had once been one of the most powerful knights in the north. “I know my mother is here, in spirit.”

Paris looked at him closely. “You are my only living link to her, Dray,” he said, suddenly seeming quite sober. “You are the closest thing I have to her. When I look at you, I see the shape of her face. You have her smile. You are all that is left of her.”

Andreas was quickly becoming emotional, something he didn’t particularly want to do. “Bonny, I’ve gone all day without thinking of her overly,” he said. “I will be honest when I say it is painful for me not to have her here. I appreciate what you are saying and I miss her greatly as well, but I do not want to go to my marital bed crying for my mother, if you know what I mean. I would look foolish.”

Paris chuckled. “I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to make you sad. I simply meant to remember her. This would have been a very important moment for her.”

Andreas nodded. “I know,” he said, sighing. “And for me. When I look at all of the grandchildren here tonight, it makes me think of Arista and Acacia, wondering what kind of women they would have grown up to be. Arista was lively and annoying, and Acacia was gentle and creative. I did not get to see them often because they were born when I was fostering, but when I returned home from time to time, I remember sitting on the floor with them while they played their games. Sometimes they would run circles around me while I tried to grab them, or they would put dried posies in my hair. Silly things, really, but sweet things. They were sweet.”

He was smiling in remembrance which made Paris smile, too. “They were very much like me,” he said. “A little wild, I suppose. Do you know who reminds me of them? Hector and Evelyn’s boys, Atreus and Hermes. They are such idiots sometimes. But Acacia and Arista reminded me of them greatly when they were young.”

Andreas put his hand behind his grandfather’s neck, pulling the man close. “I promise I will not forget my mother,” he assured him softly. “I would never forget her. She was my best friend when I was young and I have missed her every day since we lost her. She is always in my heart, Bonny, and I shall remember her to my own children. They will know her.”

Paris smiled at his grandson, one he had a soft spot for. He patted him on the cheek before digging into the pocket of his fine tunic and pulling forth an item. He took Andreas’ hand and pressed it into his palm. Andreas held it up, looking at it. It was small and gold, a little brooch with a flower in the center of it. The petals were red stones, garnets, while the center was black onyx.

He looked at Paris curiously.

“A flower?”

“A poppy,” Paris said. “I used to always call your mother my ‘fragile flower’ because she was a sweet, delicate lass. Athena was always tall and strong and sure of herself, but Helene was gentler. Quieter. A fragile lass, like an angel. The day she married your father, I gave her that brooch. It was to remind her that she would always be my fragile flower. When your father cleared away her things long after her death, he gave that brooch back to your grandmother, but she gave it to me, knowing I had been the one to give it to Helene. I realize that it is meant for a woman, Dray, but that is all I have to give you of your mother. I gave it to her on her wedding day and, tonight, I give it to you on yours. To remember her by.”

Tears came to Andreas’ eyes as he looked at it. He was so touched, something given to his mother, now given to him. It meant the world to him.

“Thank you, Bonny,” he said huskily, leaning over to kiss the man on the head. “I did not know about this. I shall treasure it always.”

“Good,” Paris said. “It belongs with you. I do not know if you were ever told this, Dray, but your parents’ marriage – and your birth – did not go as planned.”

Andreas was blinking away tears, grinning as he looked at his grandfather. “What you mean to say is that my mother was pregnant with me before she married my father.”

“Oh, you know about that, do you?”

“Aye, I know that.”

Paris watched Andreas pin the brooch onto his fine silk tunic and the sight of it choked him up. “You were the grandchild who nearly bought about the breakup of the House of de Wolfe and the House of de Norville,” he said. “I remember holding you right after you were born, wondering if you would be worth the trouble.”

Andreas glanced up from admiring his mother’s brooch. “Am I?”

Paris’ eyes glimmered at him. “Very much so,” he said. “You are a fine tribute to both houses. You may bear the de Wolfe name, but you look like a de Norville.”

Andreas chuckled. “So I have heard.”

Paris’ gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before he patted him on the cheek. “Go, now,” he said, turning Andreas back towards the great hall. “Do not keep your wife waiting.”

Andreas hugged his grandfather tightly. “I will not,” he said softly. “Thank you, Bonny. For everything.”

The two of them headed back into the hall, Paris retreating to the table where his youngest daughter, Cassiopeia, sat as Andreas continued to the dais where his wife was sitting with the women. He leaned on the table, catching his wife’s eye.

“Gavy,”