EL Official BK5 Chapter 19 - Sins of the Mother, Virtue of the Wife (Patreon)

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Trigger Warning: Markos’s mother unalives herself, sort of mostly.With the ringing of blood in my ears I stayed hunched over on the floor beside the lifeless bunch of my cut hair until the courtroom cleared. Overwhelmed with simultaneous shame and disbelief, my thoughts wheeled away into space like a planet without a sun. This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to me. Not anymore. Not now that I was smarter, and stronger, and bigger than everyone else… Yet it had…

Tentative footsteps approached from the side. They came to a stop near my head, and a figure crouched down, “Markos…” my father’s demure voice called softly and the back of my throat burned. 

I didn’t look up, nor did I answer him. My shoulders trembled and stubborn hot tears dripped directly downward from my lashes to the marble. Anger coursed under my skin, intermixing with shame and regret. For him to have seen this was more than I could handle. All his warnings about blending in, maintaining a mediocre reputation and keeping a low profile, I could hear his thoughts. ‘I told you so’, I imagined him saying with a slow disappointed shake of his head. 

Instead, his hand came to rest on my shoulder, “It’s okay…” he assured, “This game was rigged against you, you never could have won it…”

His words sent a ripple of icy shock through my extremities, leaving me frozen in place. Was he saying what I thought he was? 

“...It was prearranged…” I whispered, horsely.

“...It was…” Emmerich confirmed, “Lord Edwin was hoarding weapons intended for the Klein family, you found his stock, and your theft led to his discovery… Lazarus handled the problem in a rash manner. He needed someone else to take the blame…”

The pieces connected in a perfect outcome that I had failed to see, except for one. “...Did the twins know? When they led me up to that tower?” I murmured.

“No. Lazarus hadn’t intended to be caught in the act… The council discussed this beforehand… You were just unlucky this time. Try not to bear the weight of it. Losing your hair is better than losing your head…” He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he stood to leave, but I stayed in place long after.

The Klein family were cruel to make a show of this. To undermine all of my accomplishments, and to tarnish my name with a shame like this for all to see forever until my death. I hated them, all of them, and my father for going along with it.

When I could force myself to move, I left the trial room. The air outside was soothing, cool and quiet. The excitement of the day had tempered, but the numb emotions in my stomach had faded to a dull emptiness that left me thirsty like a parched fish. If I walked the streets or simply teleported through them who could say? 

I wandered without direction or cause. The ambition that fueled me had run out, and nothing mattered enough to care about. I made it to the steps of my mothers house as if drawn there. Some deep primal part of me earned for the comfort only a mother can give a child, and though I knew I would never find it with her, instinct drove me to try.

Part of me had almost expected to find my father inside as I turned the wobbly door handle and pushed my way in. Surely he would visit his wife? A fresh basket of food sat on the table as if in confirmation of my assumption, but the man was not present. He had delivered her supplies in my absence and chosen to stay elsewhere. His position as Ælferic’s shadow afforded him greater luxuries the way it did me, and there was no need to subject any of us to the hatred between her and us. 

The small house smelt worse than it had the last time I had been some days ago and I soon realized the basket contained meat which Adelaide had failed to store. I moved on the automated reflex of my childhood to clean. The day had made me smaller, returned me to the helpless child from the Chateau and this was all I could manage. Cleaning someone else’s mess seemed easier than fixing my own life.

When the dishes were washed and the rotten food removed, I went upstairs to find my mother. I knocked quietly on her door, as I always did, before pushing it open knowing well that she would never answer it. The space beyond was dim. The small window let in streetlight and highlighted the frame of furniture. Some of it was moved, and a quiet choked sound like that of a person gasping for air they could not have filled the otherwise soundless room.

If I weren’t already numb, perhaps I would have felt a weight drop into my stomach, or some surge of adrenaline. Instead, I stood immobilized in the doorway drinking in the scene. The furniture was moved to make space for the bed to stand up long ways against the wall.

The woman that twisted my perceptions dangled there. Not quite dead, but not alive either. Her body twitched as it starved, and I watched with indiscriminate apathy. It didn’t seem real. Like something from a dream where you can’t tell if you’re awake or not, but the uncanny sense of wrong fills your bones like molten metal poured into fleshy molds. 

I made no move to help nor to stop her, I simply sat on the floor and watched. Waiting as the world left me forsaken. Mother’s don’t love their children and father’s don’t protect them. Caterpillars are forced to become butterflies or die, but the wind will never show them mercy. The strong rule the universe.

When the person who burned my hands, and spat in my face was at last still, I took a shaky breath in. The tears came again. Uncontrolled and without permission they forced me to curl in on myself against the doorframe. Some things are my fault. I made poor choices and faced the consequences, but so did she. I didn’t want to kill her, but I didn’t want her to live either and that was the choice I made.

However long passed after that I couldn’t say. 

I didn’t tell anyone, she was found later by my father. He blamed himself in the same soft way he always did assuming it was his return that prompted her choice. Perhaps it was. She was buried in the forest, not burned as was common for Fae, but left for the earth as humans are. Some bitter part of me hoped the worms would grow fat off her body, another part felt guilty relief knowing no more ceramic items would be thrown in my direction. But a smaller, quieter part wished she had loved me. 

Instead she had shown me that to be cared for is something that doesn’t exist. One must care only for themselves, for you if you do not, no one will. Love and compassion are rights reserved for those of better moral character than I. Unfortunately for everyone else, I am more like a stubborn plant growing between a crack in the concrete. One might cut me off and try to rip me out, but my roots are deep and twisted. I will never be removed.

***

I sat rigid and silent at the long dining table. Listening to the scrape of metal on ceramic, and the muted squelch of half-raw meat being sliced by razor sharp knives. I stared down at the empty plate before me, nauseated. I had no appetite. With my hair now shorter than my ears, I was a spectacle and the hot breath whispers that circulated the conversation turned my stomach.

There is little the aristocratic Fae of Leùchtend enjoy more than gossip. Their skinny little wrists flap their jewel laden hands in garnished exaggeration as if they were petting some kind of invisible animal before them. They dawn pompous exclamations of surprise with each new sentence spawned from their mouths and my lip curled involuntarily. 

These wispy creatures are the kind of Fae that humans would dance in a circle and make fiddle accompanied folk music about. So far removed from the fearsome reputation we should have that I loath to be the same species. Besides that, most of these low intelligence pheasants were present at the time my hair was cut, they know the extent of what happened. How or why they weave new tales about it I simply cannot fathom.

My father sits beside Ælfric at the head of the table, opposite Lazarus. He hasn’t so much as looked in my direction since the mockery of a trial. Their high nobility excuses them from the lower nobel gossip and they instead discuss the valiant success of their war efforts in Europe. As if it were possible to return without winning in the near century of leave it had taken them. 

I exhaled a short breath as I tried not to let the cynical snort of a laugh rising in my chest escape. There wasn’t one of them that I didn’t hate. “Aren’t you going to eat…?” the quiet squeak came from my right.  

The youngest twin was looking at me, his wide green eyes the size of saucers and brimming with concern. His cheek bore the shiny blue-grey mark of a fist, but no other harm had come to him since his brother lied as he was told. Beside him, !Achaicus was staring at his plate, having not raised his head since the meal began, he focused on it like the food on it might eat him if he dared look away from it. We hadn’t spoken since the court. 

“Shut up and worry about yourself,” I retorted in a harsh, hushed growl. If he hadn’t needed the bathroom in the middle of the night, none of this would have happened. 

!Nathaniel’s plump lips quivered and tears brimmed in his eyes, but he turned away without another word. These stupid little boys. What I wouldn’t give to see them thrown from the tallest tower. 

Across from us, Lucinde was elegantly plucking at her food. Eating only the pieces she liked, and forcing the rest onto the plates of others. She too hadn’t looked at me since the court. With our ‘engagement’ ended, suitors had lined up to wed Lazarus’s daughter, and for the first time, she had worth.

Her father would sell her like a cow at auction to the highest bidder, and she was very good at increasing her worth. Her delicate features weren’t hard to look upon, and few would suspect the cunning intelligence she held behind those bright amethyst eyes of hers. They saw her as a delicate butterfly, not knowing the poisonous moth she was.

When the dinner ended I was to escort the Klein children to their respective rooms, and I did so without speaking to them. Lucinde was first, and then !Nathaniel, leaving only !Achaicus. He walked silently behind me. If not for the quiet click of his heeled boots against the stone floor, I could have pretended he wasn’t there.

We turned the corner into the breezeway between the main and lower towers of the castle. It made up one side of the small courtyard where a water feature sat bubbling away. Atop it was the likeness of an old Fae warrior, unclothed with his one hand carved into a half clenched fist and the other holding a severed head. The one that was part way closed, held the bundle of my hair that Lazarus had cut off. 

He thought it fitting to make the statue look as though it were claiming the victory for all to see, but I couldn’t hate him anymore than I already did. So it was a wasted effort. We passed it, and after another few minutes arrived at !Achaicus’s chamber. I turned to leave him there without a word of farewell, and a tug on my coat stopped me.

The boy had taken hold of the edge of my coat. His eyes glistened and when he tried to speak his voice broke. Whatever he was trying to say came out as a helpless sob and the floodgates burst. Tears and dribble streamed down his face in a shameful display, catching me by surprise. If one of them was going to cry, it wasn’t often this one anymore. 

“I-it’s my f-ault… I-m-” he sucked in a pitiful gasp of air, and somehow managed to latch onto me. 

His damp face pressed into my top, leaving a face-shaped stain on the fabric as all the built up stress poured out of this stupid child. 

“I-m sorry, I’m sorry!” he wailed in one long whine of a sentence.

An unexpected pang of guilt struck somewhere in my chest and I scowled, “Enough, stop being stupid.”

I pushed him away, but it did no good. He made no excuse nor attempt to explain, only began to wither away as if I had struck him. If it was possible for a person to die from their remorse, I suspect he was close to it. With an agitated click of annoyance, I knelt to be at level with him.

“!Achaicus, enough,” I commanded.

His trembling eased, but the self imposed shame remained plastered on his face. I had never expected the heir of Leúchtend to have a conscience, or at least, not for something he had no choice in. Was it possible he was clever enough to lie to save his brother, but not smart enough to realise I knew?

“Your hair…” he whispered.

Whatever resent I had for this little blight evaporated. With the way these children are raised, it’s alarmingly easy to forget these children were not even half a century old. Each of them speaks like an aristocrat, they hold their heads high and order servants without hesitation. Weakness is vulnerability and they show none, except for now. This one was burdened.

“Look at me,” I shook the boy so he would do as I asked, and when his gaze met mine I continued, “It’s just hair.”

!Achaicus stared back blankly, as if I had spoken a language he didn’t understand.

“It was just hair. It’s not like you sentenced me to death, so stop your sniveling…”

It didn’t matter how softly I spoke, he burst into fresh tears and I sighed to myself. He shouldn’t have felt any guilt, I didn’t think that was something that needed explaining. But I must’ve let my resent show too much. Deep in the recesses of my mind I knew it wasn’t these children that were the problem, it was their last name.

“Come with me,” I decided at last, lifting the soggy child into my arms, I marched back the way we had come. Past the fountain, first to !Nathaniel’s room, and then to Lucinde’s. 

I could have walked out of the castle with them, or dropped them off the walls into the ocean, they wouldn’t have fought it. That was the unspoken trust they had in me. But somehow, through their own lack of intelligence, they didn’t comprehend what a waste of my time it would be to harm them. So, through perfect logic, it was necessary to show them.

!Achaicus continued to cry intermittently throughout the journey back to my chambers, which in turn set !Nathaniel down the same teary path. It was only Lucinde who held herself together, comforting her brothers as we travelled. When we arrived, the three of them waited in confused silence as I rummaged through the back of my closet. 

Hidden away under the purposeful clutter in a false bottom compartment, were the items I had stolen from Edwin. The ones that had aided in my farce of a trial to prove my alleged guilt. Selecting four, I dragged the items out. One shimmer mask, a dagger, and two identical swords. 

With three sets of uncertain young eyes watching me, I turned to Lucinde first. Her expression rested in neutral, but her features set with stern heiress arrogance. It wasn’t until I offered her two of the items that the mask cracked, showing through it surprise. 

“W-what?” she stammered, suddenly a deer in headlights.

“We aren’t betrothed anymore. My ability to protect you is limited, you will need these,” I explained, placing the shimmer mask in one of her hands, and the hilt of the dagger in the other.

The girl processed in silence, staring down at her gifts before swallowing hard and glancing back up, “These are… You don’t-” she struggled to maintain her stoicism and lowered her voice to a whisper, “You don’t hate me…?” 

“Why should I?” I issued the challenge.

“I- embarrassed you in the courtroom…”

“Embarrassment is better than engagement.” 

She laughed a tiny sob out, but I ignored it. The understanding between her and I was set, now for the other little brats. Turning to !Achaicus and !Nathaniel, I offered them each one of the twin swords. It didn’t matter which, both weapons were the same and far too heavy for them. 

They understood as their sister did, and it earned a fresh bout of useless emotion. !Achaicus cried for the relief of it, and !Nathaniel cried because his brother did. No matter how much I loathed them, it wasn’t as if I could escape my fate as their servant, and sometimes maybe that was enough.

***

Those little brats grew until they were nearly as tall as I, with the exception of Lucinde remaining below shoulder height. !Nathaniel was sent away, against my protests, and when he returned he was damaged in fresh ways. I hadn’t expected him to attack his twin, of course. But when the eldest of them lay unconscious in my infirmary for weeks I sat with him. 

His long hair had been cut just as mine was and without the weight of its length to pull it down, the sides had an unruly kick to them. He awoke, eventually, with a scowl and a disappointed grunt. Healing him had been no easy task after the beating his father ordered.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake up,” I commented with haughty amusement. 

“I’m sure my father would have preferred if I didn’t,” he answered with a groan as he pushed himself up to sit.

“Perhaps,” I agreed, “You never cease to surprise me, and your brother seems to have taken a shine to leadership, wouldn’t you say so, !Achaicus?”

“You must’ve been away too long, can’t tell us apart anymore,” he muttered and i snorted to myself.

“I see, my mistake, Nathaniel,” I entertained his charade while choosing to antagonise him, “Your hair was cut. What a shame.” 

“...It’s just hair…” he murmured without looking over and some long buried part of me felt a stab of pain for him as he repeated my words. I know I’m not supposed to pick a favourite, but this one had an irritating disposition for poetic ramblings that I rather enjoy.

****** 

Allowing my thoughts to return to the present, Achaicus was still fussing over my collar, straightening it for the hundredth time as he adjusted the bow with symmetrical precision. Soon I would walk down the aisle toward the chaotic human woman who held my heart hostage and a lump caught in my throat. I wasn’t the same person anymore. Somehow, these festering people had filled the empty hole that my heart left when my mother died, when my hair was cut, when I was thrown off a boat, and when my father refused to stand up for me. 

Perhaps it was too good to be true, and they would call it quits on the joke. Achaicus stepped aside for Lucinde to step up and place a flower in my breast pocket. She had arrived with the Orphan and Charles, crowding the small room while I was daydreaming. 

“At least she can’t leave you at the altar, given you’re already technically married,” Lucinde commented, nonchalant with her insult. 

“At least my children won’t have three eyes,” I retorted in as lacking of a tone as I could. 

“Lucinde,” Nathaniel sighed, “Give him a break, it’s only the third time he’s been engaged.”

“I loathe you both,” I muttered. 

The eldest twin had given up his perch on the chair to lay on the daybed, and his orphan brat was draped over him. Laying on his chest like a hunted Vanir rug while Nathaniel petted his hair. It made my lip curl. They had seen every side of one another and both remained… Would my wife remain with me if she knew all my sides?

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