Chapter Eighty-Seven: ‘Thy bitter heart, bear down...’

Despite how spacious it was, Vanessa Goffe’s private chamber was almost full. Boxes from the old home in Brighton had arrived a few days ago. Most of them, she didn’t know what to do with. Part of her just wanted to burn everything and forget about it, but her less impulsive side fought against that notion.

There was still no electricity. According to Madame Carthrace, the new generator would arrive in a few days, but Vanessa wasn’t terribly bothered about it. She’d always liked candlelight well enough. It reminded her of her childhood. The quieter moments of it, at least.

Without a working television to occupy her attention, Vanessa had taken to reading. It didn’t really matter what the book was, nor did it matter if she retained any of it. Just the distraction of fresh words in her mind was enough. This current one about war during the last century was a morbid bore through the majority of its pages, but the part about the Jungle Wars managed to hold her interest. She recalled Mr. Norez mentioning them at their dinner with the Queen.

Forty years, those conflicts had lasted, each one progressively bloodier and more expansive than the last, and all stemming from the same dispute over the Corvana Jungle. Apparently, the land had been thought worthless by all seven of the countries through which it extended, until someone discovered a network of diamond mines therein. Of those seven countries, only Jesbol, Melmoore, and Corrico still existed today. The successive wars ruined all of the others.

Vanessa rested the book on the nightstand by her bed and rubbed her eyes.

She didn’t often leave this dark room. Some days, she didn’t even get out of bed. Sleep was perhaps the only thing she actually looked forward to anymore. It was the easiest way to avoid thinking about Samuel.

More than once, she’d considered ending her own life. Maybe burn herself along with all of those boxes. Poetic, but probably a terrible way to go. In the end, she realized that, regardless of the method, she simply didn’t have the conviction. And she didn’t know why, either. She didn’t feel afraid of dying, necessarily, and if there was any point left in living, she couldn’t tell what it was; but even still, she didn’t want to go through with it. Maybe it was just the natural human impulse. Or maybe it was the knowledge that Samuel wouldn’t have approved.

Suicide would have been difficult, anyway. For whatever reason, Amelia Carthrace seemed to think it necessary to keep Vanessa apprised of the reconstruction’s progress on a daily basis, and Jamal Easton checked in even more frequently. The man never said so, but Vanessa was fairly certain that Hector had ordered him to make sure that she was eating. She had lost quite a bit of weight recently--not that it was any of that stupid boy’s business.

Hector rarely came to her himself. She couldn’t tell if he was just that busy or if it’d finally sunk in that she didn’t want to see him. Regardless of the cause, today proved to be an exception.

The knock at her door stirred her out of her flat-eyed daze.

“...Mom? Can I come in?”

There wasn’t much point in refusing, she felt. “Yes.”

Hector entered. He looked around her room, taking in the mess and probably judging her for it. “I’m going to Sair for a little while,” he told her. “I’ll be back soon.”

Vanessa eyed her son for a long moment, debating whether or not she wanted to respond. She decided against it.

Hector didn’t seem to appreciate her silence. His annoyed stare was something she had become well-acquainted with during their few recent encounters. “I came to see if there was anything you needed before I leave,” he said.

The lack of hesitation in his voice did not escape Vanessa’s notice. He was telling her that he was going to leave the country. Telling her. Not asking for permission. Not even hoping for approval, by the sound of it.

He was changing. She could see it with each new visit he paid her. The young Lord Goffe. It seemed like he was genuinely starting to believe himself worthy of the title.

How ridiculous everything had become.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she said blankly.

That wasn’t enough to get him to leave, however. “...How have you been doing? Mr. Easton said you haven’t left this room in almost a week.”

Her eyes glazed over. “It’s comfortable.”

“Mom, I... I worry about you.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. Her impulse was to ask why, but she already knew what he would say. The same thing as before--because she was his mother and because he loved her.

And she did not wish to hear that again.

It made no sense whatsoever. How could he love her? After everything that had happened, everything she’d said to him, how the hell could that be possible?

She’d always found it strange. Mothers were supposed to feel something different for their children, weren’t they? Maternal instinct? Where was hers? She’d never felt it. From the moment she first realized she was pregnant, she’d kept expecting something to change, some switch to be flipped inside of her. She thought, surely, she would be able to feel it when she held him in her arms for the first time. It was the only thing that let her endure those nine horrific months. But no. All she’d felt was relief that it was finally over. And afterward, she thought it might come when he took his first steps. Or when he could feed himself. Or dress himself. Or go to school on his own.

But nothing. Not really. He was just some child. No different from anyone else’s. The only distinction was that she had a societal obligation to this one. So she pretended. She played the role as best as she was able.

She had never loved him, not truly. And yet now, he was the only family she had left. Worse, he was the only person to whom she had any meaningful connection. Friends? She’d never excelled at making those in the first place, but the few she’d possessed had abandoned her the second they learned her son was a fugitive.

It was all his fault. He’d ripped her out of the world and placed her here. She’d already decided that she would never forgive him for that. She knew she would carry that grudge all the way to her grave.

However.

There was still... something. A conflict. She’d realized it after Hector returned from his fight with Abolish.

If he died, she would be entirely alone.

Even if he was to blame for everything, even if she didn’t want to be around him, Hector really was all she had now. Vanessa genuinely didn’t know what she would do if Hector died, too. Pitiful as it was, she didn’t think she had it in her to go back out into the world again and build a new life for herself from scratch.

A small part of her wanted to admit this to him right now. The notion flared up in her mind, and for a terrible moment, as Hector again stood there waiting for her response, Vanessa wasn’t sure what was going to come out of her mouth.

But she struggled in silence for long enough that Hector apparently took it to mean that she wanted him to leave. “Alright,” was all he said as he turned for the door.

“Hector,” she blurted.

He stopped and looked back at her.

She hesitated, unsure of what she was about to say. “...Is your trip going to be dangerous?”

The question seemed to confuse him. “Um... probably, yeah.”

“Then... be careful.”

Hector stared at her like she’d just confessed to murder.

She immediately regretted what she said and looked away, filling her vision with the empty wall next to her.

“...I will. Th--uh... th-thanks, Mom...”

She shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead as she listened to him leave.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

The helipad atop Rhein’s Keep hadn’t been used in a while. It was mostly reserved to non-servant VIPs, which they hadn’t had many of, as of late. Today was different, however.

Lawrence’s blue tie lashed against the wind as he waited by the staircase. He checked his watch. It wasn’t like Parson Miles to be late.

Dergoz sat on Lawrence’s shoulder, fidgeting impatiently. ‘Why did it have to be Parson?’ he said privately.

‘Could be worse,’ said Lawrence. ‘Could have been Jackson. Or Sanko.’

‘We might end up seeing the latter anyway, if this conflict doesn’t get resolved soon.’

‘Something to look forward to.’

‘You do realize that she will kill us both if she learns of our involvement, right?’

‘Of course. I was being facetious.’

‘Hilarious.’

‘Perhaps Parson will protect us.’

‘Now I know you’re joking.’

There came the sound of a distant tearing, that of a jet through the sky, and Lawrence searched the eastern horizon. Sure enough, he saw the speck there on its rapid approach. Rather than a jet, however, it was just one lone man.

Parson didn’t need to slow down at all. He just stopped in an instant and was standing right there on the helipad. And after a beat, a surging gale caught up to him, so strong that it might have knocked Lawrence off his feet if he hadn’t braced himself.

Part of the man was missing. His white-and-gray airman’s uniform flapped against the wind where his legs and arms should have been. After a couple blinks, however, the limbs returned to him--but not by way of regrowth. Rather, the flesh swirled back into existence, as if springing from the wind itself.

As the air settled down again, Lawrence approached to greet him.

Captain General Parson Miles grinned as soon as he saw Lawrence, but before they could exchange words, he held up a hand. His ragged overcoat was still flapping wildly, and Parson reached into it to retrieve something. He pulled out a localized vortex, at the center of which were two undisturbed, double-scoop ice cream cones. His reaper melted out from his back. Overra was her name.

“Pretty good, right?” said Parson. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is yes, the second one IS for you. You’re welcome.” He offered an ice cream to Lawrence.

Dergoz sighed publicly, but Lawrence just shrugged and accepted Parson’s generosity.

‘C’mon,’ said Overra, ‘you gotta admit, it’s pretty impressive. He picked ‘em up in Kuros, and they’re not even melting.’

‘What?!’ shouted Dergoz. ‘You stopped in Kuros along the way?! Why?!’

“Uh, to get ice cream. Duh. We were already running late, so I figured a quick pit stop wouldn’t matter.”

‘Tell me you are joking!’ said Dergoz. ‘If you stopped in Kuros, then the Sandlords almost certainly know that you are in Sair now!’

Parson was busy licking his ice cream. It had chocolate sprinkles. “Yeah, so?”

‘So?! So we’re about to go to war with them, you jackass!’

“I thought it was the Rainlords we were having problems with,” said Parson.

Dergoz had to take a moment to calm himself. ‘There is a very real possibility that they could forge an alliance with each other. Which means you’ve just revealed your location to the enemy. For an ice cream.’

“Oh.” He still hadn’t stopped eating. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine. And besides, the Sandlords make really good ice cream. Surprisingly good, in fact. You’d think they’d stink at it, right? Being all about heat and sand and everything.”

‘Agh! Why did you even come here?!’

“Just following orders.”

“From Sermung?” asked Lawrence, figuring it was time to intervene.

‘Lamont, actually, but same difference,’ said Overra.

Lawrence eyed them both up and down. At a glance, Parson was an unassuming young man with golden brown hair and terrible posture. He was one of the oldest servants in the world, but Overra had never let him physically age. Or perhaps he’d asked her not to age him. Either way, it was the kind of thing that tended to make a bad first impression with the other old servants. Lawrence, however, was long past such trivialities with this man. “Why are you alone? I expected you to be in company.”

“Oh, yeah. My awesome tiltwing was shot down in Calthos. Thing was brand new, you believe that? Nearly lost one of my airmen, too, so I decided to make the rest of the trip on my own. Also, I wanted ice cream.”

‘Apologies,’ added Overra. To Lawrence’s eyes, she was quite a strange thing. She was a tornado, compacted in scale but constantly and silently whirling, while also bearing a mouth and eyes that consisted of nothing more than dark splotches. ‘We would have been on time, otherwise.’

“Yeah. You know she hates that sort of thing.”

“It’s no trouble,” said Lawrence, tasting his own ice cream now. Parson hadn’t been wrong about its quality.

They started down the stairs together.

“So where’s Zeff’s head?” said Parson.

Lawrence was expecting that question. Parson had always had a tendency of somersaulting over the pleasantries and bringing up the most sensitive topic as if he were merely asking about the weather.

And it was sensitive, Lawrence knew. Especially for Parson, because Zeff had worked directly under him before Lawrence took over his position here in Sair.

Without a doubt, Parson’s connection to this place and to Zeff was the biggest reason why Dergoz was displeased by his presence. Lawrence couldn’t decide if he was pleased that Zeff couldn’t be revived and interrogated.

“We’re keeping his head in cold storage,” said Lawrence. “We’ve been hoping to ship him out of the country, but the Rainlords are watching us too closely. They’ve been searching every vehicle that leaves this building.”

“Ah. And if you tried to take it yourself, they’d seize the castle, instead.”

“Assuming they don’t gang up on me.”

“Right. I suppose I could take it while you hold down the fort.”

‘We probably shouldn’t remove our one real bargaining chip from the table,’ said Overra. ‘If worse comes to worst, we may need it.’

“True. What about the Elroy kid? You have both him and his reaper, right?”

“Yes. They have already been interrogated, but if you would like to do it yourself, I will arrange a room for you.”

“Maybe. Haven’t decided yet.”

‘What of Gema Elroy?’ said Dergoz. ‘Any developments?’

‘No. Apparently, she just disappeared. Even the watchers haven’t been able to track her down. The only thing that seems clear is that she must have someone helping her.’

‘They could be hiding her in Aguarey,’ said Dergoz.

‘Doubtful. We’re fairly certain that she’s still in Intar somewhere. But it’s always possible that she slipped past our net.’

“Invading Aguarey without rock solid intel would be a gigantic mistake,” said Parson.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Tell me,’ said Overra, ‘have any of the Rainlords sided with us?’

Lawrence shook his head. “None in Sair, no. The Blackburns are the only one who haven’t declared for either side.”

‘The Blackburns, huh? Now, that is interesting. I think Parson and I will go talk to them.’

‘Are you kidding?’ said Dergoz. ‘They might take you prisoner!’

Parson shrugged. “Eh, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Dergoz kept his sigh private. ‘How in the world did this man become a captain general?’