Page 23 of Dark Princess Ascending

"And I work in maintenance," Daniil said. "It's the same job I did at Igor's compound, but now I do it with joy."

Peter watched his mother's expression shift as Daniil described their struggles—the constant fear, the oppression, the ways they'd maintained their sense of community and tried to lead as normal lives as they could.

Thankfully, he hadn't mentioned what Marina had been forced to do with the Kra-ell. Not that it was a secret, but he didn't want his mother to make her feel uncomfortable about something she had very little control over, if any.

"What about school?" his mother asked. "Peter tells me that all of you speak three languages. Did you have official schooling, or did you just pick it up?"

"We had schooling," Marina said. "But it was just the basics. Most of what I've learned has been from reading books. At least the Kra-ell didn't restrict that. We were allowed to order books from a catalog, and we had a system of borrowing books from one another."

Peter saw something soften in his mother's face. "Is that how you learned English?"

Marina set down her fork. "I learned some English while still in the compound, mostly by watching movies and reading children's books. But I learned the most after arriving at Safe Haven. I studied every free moment I had. I wanted to integrate, to be part of this wonderful new country the clan brought us to."

"That's admirable," his mother said. "What kind of work did you do at Safe Haven?"

Peter tensed at the question, seeing Marina's discomfort. "I worked in housekeeping," she said quietly. "Safe Haven is a resort, and they need people to maintain the guest rooms."

To Peter's surprise, his mother nodded approvingly. "There's no shame in any kind of work as long as it is legal. I've done my share of odd jobs over the centuries."

Peter stared at her. "You have?"

"Of course." She took a sip of her drink. "In my youth, which was a very long time ago, the clan wasn't nearly as wealthy as it is now. Everyone had to contribute however they could. I've done everything from serving ale in taverns to raising chickens and selling eggs."

"I remember the chickens," Peter said. How had he forgotten that part of his childhood? "You used to send me each morning to collect the eggs."

"And you hated me for it," his mother laughed. "But you did it, and we made do. Every morning, rain or shine, summer or winter, I walked to the nearby village with my basket of eggs and sold them until there were none left."

The atmosphere around the table shifted perceptibly as the three parents found common ground in their experiences of hard work and survival, and Peter watched in amazement as his mother engaged enthusiastically in swapping stories about the old times with Marina's parents. The walls between them were crumbling as they found unexpected connections.

Marina caught his eye across the table, her expression a mix of relief and wonder. He reached for her hand under the table, squeezing gently.

"Tell us about the tavern," Peter said. "I've never heard that story before."

He was fascinated by this glimpse into her past.

"Oh, those were interesting times," she said. "Ilearned a lot about human nature during that time."

"The stories you must have heard," Daniil said. "The drink loosens people's tongues."

"Oh, I did, and the fights I broke up!" His mother laughed. "My immortal strength came in handy. I developed a reputation as Iron-fist Catrina. Men wanted to arm-wrestle me, and the barman took wagers, and he gave me a cut of the winnings after everyone left. I made more from those than from what he paid me and the tips combined."

This was a whole new side of his mother that Peter had never been aware of.

He shook his head. "I can't believe you did all that and never told me."

His mother shrugged. "It was a long time before you were born. I saw no reason to encourage your adventurous streak by telling you stories from my own somewhat scandalous youth."

"We all do what we must to survive," Daniil said. "To make better lives for ourselves and for our children."

His mother nodded. "Yes, we do."

Peter felt something tight in his chest begin to loosen. They weren't fully there yet—his mother hadn't completely accepted Marina—but this was progress. Finding these common threads of experience, these shared understandings, was a start.

As the conversation continued, flowing morenaturally now, Peter felt hope growing. His mother was seeing Marina and her family as people—complex, resilient, worthy people—rather than just humans who weren't good enough.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a beginning.

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