Chapter 202

“Lord Grimm,” the governorness greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today? And at such an early hour?”

I smiled. “My apologies. I made the assumption that you would already be awake and working.”

“I am and I was,” she replied, a tired smile tugging at her lips. “How goes your investigation?”

“Apace,” I answered. “It's still too early to draw conclusions. I'd rather not make accusations I can't support with evidence.”

I spread my hands. “I'm not here to cause problems. I'm here to save lives.”

“And perform puppet shows,” she added. A faint warmth touched her smile.

“And perform puppet shows,” I agreed. “Though I didn't realize anyone was watching.”

“That is the thing, Lord Grimm.” She leaned back slightly in her chair. “You learn who people truly are when they don't think they're being observed.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And who am I?”

“A father of fifteen.” That wasn't the answer I'd expected. “And a caretaker of hundreds.”

“You didn't learn that from a puppet show.”

“Actually, I did.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “It was easy enough to learn that you have fifteen children. The story told me the rest.”

She folded her hands atop her desk. “It showed me you're not a king overseeing subjects from afar. You're a man who genuinely cares for the people under his protection.”

I inclined my head. “I surrender to your powers of observation.”

“As you should.” The corner of her mouth twitched upward.

“Now,” she said, becoming businesslike once more, “what can I do for you on this wet morning?”

“I'd like to understand how your operation works.”

“I believe that can be arranged.” She reached for a quill and made a brief note on a scrap of parchment.

“I'll assign an escort. Someone knowledgeable. Someone who understands the workings of the organization and can answer your questions.”

I smiled. “Thank yo-”

“But.” The single word cut through the room like a knife.

Lady Fenwick set down her quill. “I want to make something very clear, Lord Grimm.”

The warmth vanished from her expression. “I will not tolerate disruptions.” Her gaze locked onto mine. “I will not tolerate anyone undermining the credibility of this organization.” Her voice hardened further. “And I will not, under any circumstances, tolerate the abuse of my wards or my people.”

The room seemed colder somehow. “I do not care whether you are a god.” Every word landed with deliberate precision. “Do I make myself clear?”

For a moment I was reminded that beneath the kindness, beneath the charity, beneath the endless paperwork, this woman ruled one of the most influential cities in Arvellia.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good.” Just like that, some of the tension left her shoulders.

“Stop by tomorrow morning and I'll have someone available.”

I rose from my chair and bowed my head. “Thank you, Lady Fenwick.” I hesitated. “And thank you for everything you've done. For me and your wards. Your people. The people you've helped.”

I smiled. “If we had a dozen more of you, I'm certain the world would be a better place.”

She snorted. “If I didn't know better, Lord Grimm, I'd think you were attempting to court me.”

I laughed.

“I trust you understand how foolish that would be.”

“I've been called a fool before.” I grinned. “But despite your intelligence, your kindness, your influence, and your considerable beauty, I have no intention of courting you.” I gave her a wink. “I already have five women at home. They keep me more than busy enough.”

For the first time since I'd met her, Lady Fenwick looked completely unprepared for what she'd just heard. Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

I decided that was my cue to leave. “Have a wonderful day, my lady.”

I turned and walked out, leaving her staring after me with an expression somewhere between shock, disbelief, and the realization that perhaps everything she'd heard about Lord Grimm had been understating the situation.

* * *

Iolite and I stepped home.

As much as I loved spending time with her, I had an entire family that deserved their share of love.

For a moment I wondered whether learning biolocation would solve that problem. Then the sane part of my brain remembered how disorienting and exhausting the experience had been.

Briva and Morien were playing in the bailey beneath Serah's watchful gaze.

I paused just inside the doorway and watched them.

They were so different - so very much their mothers' daughters.

Briva was Ashlara's child through and through. Half-orc and built from equal parts enthusiasm and violence. She wrestled anything that stood still long enough, growled more than she spoke, and treated every wall, tree, fence, piece of furniture, and person as a climbing challenge personally issued by the universe.

Morien took after Elise. She ran and played with the others, but she was quieter. More thoughtful. She could spend hours sitting alone with a puzzle or a book without becoming bored. She rarely laughed, but her smiles came easily enough, and those little happy noises she made whenever she was excited were worth more than laughter ever could have been.

After a few moments, I let my mana rise. A steady, stalking pulse of guitar echoed through the bailey. Sharp chords followed.

Briva froze. Her head snapped around.

Drums joined the rhythm. The riff sharpened.

“Risin' up, back on the street. Did my time, took my chances...”

Her eyes found me immediately. Briva lowered herself into a crouch. A growl rumbled from her chest and she charged.

“Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet-”

She launched herself at me with a ferocious roar.

“-just a man and his will to survive!”

I caught her before she could tackle me and tossed her high into the air.

She squealed with delight. For a moment she hung against the blue sky. Then she came back down and I caught her again.

The song surged around us as I spun and danced across the bailey, lifting her overhead and carrying her through the air.

Briva loved many things. Fighting. Climbing. Mud.

But nothing in the world made her happier than being treated like a tiny barbarian hero charging into glorious battle.

By the time the song ended, she had her arms wrapped around my neck with all the strength her little body could muster.

I kissed the top of her head. “Good hunt?” I asked.

“GOOD HUNT!” she screamed enthusiastically.

I laughed and set her down.

Immediately she attached herself to my leg.

I wasn't entirely convinced she knew she could walk independently anymore.

I bent down, scooped Morien into my arms, and let a new melody rise.

A bright piano. Layered harmonies. A dozen competing rhythms somehow working together perfectly.

Morien's eyes lit up immediately.

“Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why...”

Her smile spread as I danced with her.

Briva dragged along behind us, stubbornly refusing to release my leg.

I spun Morien through the air. Dipped her dramatically. Bounced her in time with the music.

Her delighted little noises grew more frequent as the song progressed. She loved this one. Not because it was energetic. Not because it was happy. Because it was complicated.

The shifting melodies. The overlapping voices. The constant changes. It fascinated her in a way I still didn't fully understand.

By the time the song ended, her head was resting against my shoulder and Briva was still hanging from my leg like a determined barnacle.

I made my way across the bailey toward Serah. The resulting gait looked less like walking and more like a mad scientist's assistant shambling toward his next victim.

Serah watched my approach with quiet amusement.

I shifted Morien onto one hip, wrapped my free arm around Serah's waist, and kissed her.

A single piano note drifted into the air. Soft. Gentle.

“Some say love, it is a river...”

Serah's expression immediately softened.

I pulled her closer. “...that drowns the tender reed...”

She rested her head against my shoulder. One hand settled over my arm. The other wrapped around Morien, drawing the little one into the embrace.

The four of us swayed together in the morning sunlight.

Briva eventually gave up on my leg and attached herself to Serah instead.

None of us complained.

The song washed over us. Slow. Warm. Comfortable. The kind of moment you wish you could keep forever.

For a little while, the world beyond our walls ceased to exist. No Covenant. No politics. No dead gods. No wars.

Just family.

When the final notes faded away, Serah lifted her head.

“Welcome home,” she said softly.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

Her smile was small but utterly genuine. “I know.”

Then she kissed me.

And for a few precious seconds, everything felt right.

* * *

I found Issa and Naevira sitting together in the grass of the demesne, holding hands and surrounded by drifting moths.

“Hello, ladies,” I called. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Naevira looked up and smiled shyly. “Not at all.”

She’d changed. The golden hair she'd once worn was gone. In its place were strands of fresh green growth braided into elaborate patterns. Small flowers bloomed among them - white petals tinged faintly pink, golden stamens clustered at their centers. The blossoms looked delicate enough to bruise beneath a fingertip.

Issa glanced at her, then back at me. “Nope. Just girl talk.”

My eyes widened. I covered my mouth dramatically. “Girl talk?” I bounced on my heels. “I love girl talk.”

I crossed the remaining distance, kissed Naevira on the head, then settled into the grass behind Issa and wrapped my arms around her shoulders.

She immediately rolled her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Participating in girl talk with my favorite.” I planted an exaggerated kiss on her cheek, complete with an obnoxious smacking sound.

She snorted. “Lilae's your favorite.”

“No. Lilae is my favorite goblin daughter. Brinja is my favorite elven daughter. You're my favorite naga daughter.”

“I'm your only naga daughter.”

“And whose fault is that?”

She opened her mouth, but I answered before she could. “Torvek's.”

Issa stared at me.

“It's definitely Torvek's fault.” I said.

“What?”

“He gathered up the best and brightest of you. I'm sure he could have found another naga.” I shrugged. “But she wouldn't have been the best or brightest.”

She gave me a look that clearly communicated exactly what she thought of that explanation.

I smiled innocently. “Think about it. One goblin boy. One goblin girl. One orc boy. One orc girl. One naga. It's like he was trying to populate Noah's Ark.”

Issa frowned. “What's Noah's Ark?”

“It’s a story from Earth.” I waved a hand. “God decides everybody sucks and floods the world. Before he does, he tells a guy named Noah to build a giant boat and gather two of every animal so they don't all die.”

Both girls stared at me.

“What?” I asked.

Naevira tilted her head. “I thought Earth didn't have gods.”

“Not as we know them.”

“Then who flooded the world?”

“Nobody.”

“You just said God did.”

I pointed at her. “See? That's exactly why religion is dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Issa frowned. “So there are no gods, but people think there are.”

“Pretty much.”

“And they think one of them drowned almost everyone on the planet.”

I shrugged. “Some of them.”

“That sounds evil.”

The answer came so quickly I almost laughed. “It's... more complicated than that.”

“How?”

“Because they were wicked?”

Issa looked horrified. “All of them?”

I shrugged. “I don't know.”

She blinked. “How do you not know?”

“It was a story from Earth. If it happened, it didn’t flood the whole world. But for the people who were there, it probably felt that way.”

“So there are no gods, but people think there are. And they think they’re jerks?”

“He used to be a jerk. Now he's nice.”

“What? Why did he change?”

“Because we killed his son.”

The silence that followed could have frozen lava.

Issa stared at me.

Naevira stared at me.

Several nearby moths seemed to stare at me.

She glared at me. “Wait, they think they scared an imaginary god because they murdered someone? Did they really murder someone? Or is this just pretend, too?”

My joke had turned into a larger theological debate than intended and I suddenly remembered why I never discussed religion.

Because every answer created three more questions. Because Christianity had beautiful ideas mixed with two thousand years of history. Because half the people talking about it disagreed with the other half. And because trying to explain any of that without sounding insane was nearly impossible.

“So… as far as we know, Jesus - the guy who said he was the son of god - was a real person about two thousand years ago. And people did kill him, at least partly for saying he was the son of a god. He also told people that they should be nice to others, and tolerant, help the poor, and generally be good to others.”

Issa started to get upset. “And that’s why they killed him?”

“Uh… I think it was more likely that they thought he was starting a rebellion. Or that the people declared him king, which the emperor didn’t like. I don’t know exactly. It was a long time ago. And in my defense, you're skipping a lot of theology.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Does the theology make the murder better?”

“No.”

“Then I don't think I'm skipping anything.”

I stared at her.

Naevira stared at me.

I ran a hand over my face.

“The real question most people have isn’t whether he was a real person, but whether he was the son of a god.” I sighed. “I was never a believer growing up. But after coming here? I don’t know.”

“I mean, now I know gods exist.” I gestured vaguely around. “I've met them. Argued with them. Been stabbed by them. Some of them have even visited Earth.”

I leaned back on my hands. “And Myrrakai insists Arthyr was real.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Most people on Earth think he wasn't.”

Issa frowned. “But he was.”

“Exactly.”

“So Earth people are wrong.”

“People on Earth are weird,” I replied. “We have a lot of different cultures and stories. Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not. And sometimes people believe something despite all evidence to the contrary. And some people believe things despite absolutely no evidence to support that belief. And your hair looks amazing today, Naevira,” I said, hoping that would change the subject.

She blushed and her hand rose unconsciously to touch the intricate braids woven from living vines.

“Did Brinja help with the braids?”

She nodded.

“The flowers are beautiful.” I looked at Issa. “Don't you agree?”

Issa looked from me to Naevira and back again. “That's not how conversations work.”

“It's exactly how conversations work,” I replied.

“You changed the subject.”

“Yep.”

“Because you don't know the answers.”

“Yep.”

Naevira giggled.

I immediately pointed at her. “See? Girl talk.”

Issa groaned and dropped her face into her hands.