“Goldene Haar!'' he exclaims and takes one of my long braids into his hand. I am not certain I heard right. Did he say ''golden hair'' about my braids?Are you Jewish? The question startles me. ''Yes, I am Jewish.'' How old are you? I am thirteen.'' ''You are tall for your age. Is this your mother?'' He touches Mommy lightly on the shoulder. ''You go with your mother.”

“I beg your pardon for questioning your judgement," she said. "It is nothing to me, after all, if it proves faulty. I am not the one responsible for the Marquess of Atherton's heir and sole offspring. I am not the one who will be toppled from my pedestal if the world learns I have not only permitted but encouraged my nephew to associate with the most shocking persons. I am not the one who-""I wish you were the one who had heard of the rule Silence is Golden," he said.”

“No!" He recoiled. "You and I are finished.""Son..." I started.But he rounded on me. "Do you think me so soft that calling me son might change my mind? How long did you sit on this information? Or am I to believe you only discovered it now? My mother's blood may stain another's hands, but Charles Lee is no less a monster, and all he does, he does by your command.”

“I am who I am, I am Korwahk, I am warrior, I am Dax and you must accept me as what I am. I may have forced my body on yours but I did not force your love, you gave it to me knowing who I am. As we live our lives, you cannot decide to disagree with parts of that and then decide to take your love away, Circe. I’ll not live like that. Therefore, you need to reflect on this, come to your peace with it and never, my golden queen, never request another such concession from me.”

“What... what are you doing here?"He's shaking his head as he walks my way; a steaming coffee mug is in his hand."What am I doing here? I live here.""Y-you do? How did I get here?"He starts to laugh. "You don't remember?""No... I really don't."He places the mug in front of me. "You called me on your cell. I found you spaced out of your mind in an alley behind the bar. You were talking to a cat. You claimed it was your mother.”

“Did you know Grandfather would give the poems to me?” I ask.“We thought he might,” my mother says.“Why didn’t you stop him?”“We didn’t want to take away your choices,” my mother says.“But Grandfather never did tell me about the Rising,” I say.“I think he wanted you to find your own way,” my mother says. She smiles. “In that way, he was a true rebel. I think that’s why he chose that argument with your father as his favorite memory. Though he was upset when the fight happened, later he came to see that your father was strong in choosing his own path, and he admired him for it.”