In Constellated Wars - Part Eight
Today's awesome knows no boundaries, for I have caught up on my wordcount. Can I get a glory hallelujah?
It's kind of sad, how happy that makes me. But, hey, it's good to have goals. And meet them. Which is kind of what NaNo is all about.
Also, funky pumpkin eggnog pecan pies were strangely successful. They were actually pretty tasty. Go figure.
And in other news:
“Mèrault. A word, if you please.”
“Yes, sir,” Thierry said, only too glad of an excuse to leave Aubrey’s good-natured teasing and Valeray’s fussing behind.
Or he would have been, if Aubrey hadn’t followed him into d’Adamo’s office.
D’Adamo’s brown-gold gaze was thoughtful as he took in Thierry’s bruises. He didn’t say a word about Aubrey following Thierry in like an overprotective sheep dog. Thierry sighed mentally and resigned himself to Aubrey’s interference.
“I have a letter from Erelim Arriortua saying that you assaulted one of his men in the Market,” d’Adamo said, keeping his eyes on Thierry’s face.
“There was an incident,” Thierry corrected, suppressing the automatic flash of anger. He wasn’t a child, to lose control of his temper at an unjust accusation. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it an assault, though.”
“Especially seeing as it looks like you’re the one who got the shit kicked out of him,” Aubrey put in helpfully.
Thierry glowered at him. If they weren’t in d’Adamo’s office, he might’ve taken a page from Aubrey’s book and kicked his mentor in the shins, but they were, so he didn’t.
“Erelim Arriortua would like you to face a formal tribunal for your actions,” d’Adamo continued, his voice stripped of all emotion.
Thierry felt the blood drain from his face. “He wants me to what?”
“Assaulting a fellow Guardsman’s a serious offense,” d’Adamo said.
“Assuming there was an assault at all,” Aubrey broke in indignantly. “Look at him! He’s so green you can still smell the farm on him. There’s no way he could’ve assaulted one of Arriortua’s animals and gotten away with it. They travel in packs when they’re on duty, and most of the time when they’re not!”
“Aubrey,” Thierry growled, torn between appreciating Aubrey’s support and wanting to throttle him for it.
“I’m right and you know it,” Aubrey told him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t come off the worse for the encounter. It’s obvious that you did.”
“And what if I did?” Thierry demanded. “It’s no business of yours, what I do in my off-hours. You’re not my keeper or my mother, and if I lack sufficient prowess in fighting, maybe you ought to help me get better at that instead of teasing me like I’m a child!”
“You are a child,” Aubrey shot back.
“You’re three years older than me! I’m no more a child than you are!”
“And you couldn’t prove it by the way either of you are acting right now!” d’Adamo shouted over both of them.
Thierry turned guiltily back to the Erelim. His cheeks felt like they were on fire beneath his bruises. “Sorry sir,” he said.
“Sorry,” Aubrey echoed, not sounding noticeably apologetic or cowed.
“What happened, Mèrault?” the Erelim asked.
“Would you like my report?” Thierry offered. “I’m nearly done.”
“A verbal explanation will be sufficient, for the moment,” d’Adamo said.
“Yes, sir,” Thierry said, and went on to explain his intention to find something to eat at the Market, and that he’d stumbled on the fight more or less by accident, but having discovered it, couldn’t leave a child to fight against a grown man and a Guardsman at that. He didn’t stint on adding that Nuhatai had fared better in the fight that he had, emerging from the encounter with fewer bruises save the ones his sister inflicted on him later, but he also added that it might have been a lack of opportunity that had prevented the boy from coming to any lasting harm.
“A chair?” Aubrey repeated, sounding impressed. “You hit him with a chair?”
“He outweighed me by nearly three stone,” Thierry explained. “I couldn’t think of anything else that might stop him.”
“An admirable use of tactics and your surroundings,” d’Adamo murmured. “Although I think we might work on your ability to hold your own against a larger opponent.”
“Sir?” Thierry asked, confused.
“Du Prideaux will see to it,” the Erelim continued.
“Oh, absolutely,” Aubrey said.
“That will be all,” d’Adamo said. “Mèrault, I’d like a formal report on the incident within the hour.”
“So … I’m not going to face a formal tribunal?” Thierry asked.
“Don’t be foolish, of course you won’t,” d’Adamo said irritably. “You did no wrong, and I’ll not suffer one of my Guardsmen to endure what should rightfully be inflicted upon the one making these accusations.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thierry said, almost dizzy with relief. A formal tribunal during his probationary period in his first Guard posting would destroy his chances of ever becoming an Ophanim. It might even destroy his chances with the Guard entirely; it didn’t matter that the accusations were false and likely wouldn’t stand up to much scrutiny. It didn’t take much to ruin a man’s reputation.
“Don’t thank me,” d’Adamo said, still sounding irritated. “You’re mine to punish for your stupidity, not theirs.”
Thierry winced. It was probably only fair that d’Adamo mete out some kind of punishment for the trouble he was putting the Erelim to. D’Adamo was strict as all hell, according to the rest of the Ravensgate Guardsmen, but he was fair. If d’Adamo felt the need to punish someone - for their stupidity or otherwise - then they had doubtless done something to deserve it.
And at any rate, whatever punishment duty d’Adamo chose to inflict would doubtless be less painful than the complete and utter destruction of his career before it had really even begun.
“Your bruises will suffice for now, I think,” d’Adamo said mildly.
Thierry stared. Did that mean what he thought it did?
“You have work to do,” the Erelim reminded him. “Or was I unclear when I said I wanted your report within the hour?”
“No, sir,” Thierry said gratefully. “You’ll have it.”
“Good,” said d’Adamo.
He could see why the others worshiped d’Adamo now. The Erelim had meant it when he’d said that Thierry was his: one of his men to be treated with trust and respect, protected by the Erelim’s influence and shaped according to his will. D’Adamo was a better Erelim than most, especially when compared to the alternatives.
Whatever he became, whether he succeeded in his ambitions or not, it would be in part due to what he learned here.
For the first time, Thierry was grateful to be in Altera in order to learn it.
“You understand now, don’t you?” Aubrey asked him quietly, taking his seat at the desk they shared.
“Yeah,” Thierry said. “I do.”
“Good.” Aubrey bumped his shoulder companionably and grinned. “You’re learning.”
“You know,” Thierry said thoughtfully, neither irritated nor offended by Aubrey’s assumptions of his ignorance the way he would have been a week ago. “I think I am.”
*
The memorial service for Mistress Elanore was held three days later, seven days after her death, as was proper in accordance to Solariel’s worship.
It was odd, Thierry thought, that both the Thaqibans who had ruled the city last and the Solariens who occupied it now should burn their dead, but at least there were facilities for such things on a separate tiny island just outside the city walls. Mistress Elanore’s ashes rested now in a delicate porcelain urn. Madame Savita apparently believed in only the best for her employees, even after they were dead and gone and unlikely to appreciate it.
He was surprised at the number of mourners present. The Oyster Shell’s Mistress of Coins had apparently been well liked by most of the people in the Ravensgate district and a few others. It wasn’t a desire to curry favor with Madame Savita that brought them here - they looked genuinely sorrowed at Mistress Elanore’s loss. It made Thierry feel guilty for coming, because he’d never met the woman until after she was dead, and it felt wrong to listen to the others mourn when he himself felt a growing desire for justice where they felt empty loss and grief.
D’Adamo stood at the front, near Madame Savita and the sirène, sober in the formal uniform he only donned for court functions and funerals. There was a tiny, solemn-faced child in his arms, barely out of babyhood. Two or three years old at best, by Thierry’s estimation. The child had her face pressed against his shoulder, trying to hide or perhaps seeking comfort. D’Adamo’s hand cradled the back of her head, his fingers splayed wide and protective, like a shield.
Thierry didn’t realize who the child was until the Solariel’s priest finished the funeral liturgy. D’Adamo set the child down and led her forward, holding one of her tiny hands in his. The child scooped up a handful of the ashes at his prompting, looking up at him for guidance. D’Adamo scooped up a handful of his own and lifted the girl up in his arms again so she could cast her handful of ash over the city walls, setting her mother’s spirit free. D’Adamo threw his own handful over the wall. Thierry watched him close his ash-stained hand into a fist as he stepped aside, making room for the sirène to do their own mourning.
Casting the ashes back to Orifiel’s keeping or Sachiel’s embrace was more for the benefit of those left behind than it was for the deceased; it brought comfort and closure, although Thierry knew for a fact it was cold comfort when faced with the absence of someone you loved. It was customary for the family of the deceased to cast the first ashes, which made the girl in d’Adamo’s arms Mistress Elanore’s daughter Julia.
D’Adamo had cast the ashes second. And since every Guardsman in the Holy Solarien Empire knew that Ophanim Battistella had but one surviving son, there was really only one reason that d’Adamo would be the second person to touch Mistress Elanore’s ashes, or for him to hold her daughter in his arms.
Julia was his daughter, too.
Thierry slanted a look at Aubrey, trying to see whether or not his mentor was surprised. Aubrey’s usually mobile face was still, showing no more expression than a wooden masthead. If he was surprised to realize that Mistress Elanore’s daughter was also d’Adamo’s, it didn’t show on his face.
Thierry schooled his own expression to stillness and watched the mourners say their good-bye’s.
Sun have mercy. No wonder it seemed like Mistress Elanore had meant something to him. If she’d borne d’Adamo a child -
D’Adamo hadn’t even permitted himself comfort in the form of Julia’s care, the way Thierry had rid himself of grief by caring for Alais after their mother had died. Thierry couldn’t imagine what that felt like.
The sirène filed past d’Adamo and Julia. Some of them reached out and brushed their fingers over Julia’s hair, or offered d’Adamo looks of sympathy. Madame Savita stood next to the Erelim, offering wordless support.
Ferran wasn’t among the mourners. Thierry wondered if that was because he hadn’t known Mistress Elanore, or if he simply felt it prudent not to upset the other mourners with his presence. If it was because of the latter, Thierry almost wished that he’d risked it. He thought d’Adamo might need someone to treat him like just another ordinary person, now that he know what the Erelim had lost.
There was a faint smear of ashes left by the time all of Mistress Elanore’s loved ones had finished saying their good-byes. Thierry ran his fingers through what was left, not so much to cast them away as to remind himself of what was at stake. “We’ll catch whoever did this to you,” he promised the dead woman’s spirit. “I swear it.”
He didn’t stay behind to see if Aubrey offered prayers or promises of his own. It didn’t seem polite somehow. He went to d’Adamo instead, wanting to offer what comfort he could.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. He could have kicked himself for the words a second later. He’d heard that phrase what felt like a hundred times after his father’s death, and it had ceased having any meaning to him after the ninth or tenth repetition. They were just stupid, hollow words that didn’t mean anything except that whoever was saying them couldn’t think of what else to say.
D’Adamo gave a sharp bark of laughter, startling the child in his arms. “She wasn’t mine to lose,” he said, a wealth of emotions in his voice. There was grief, first and foremost, but also a wry sort of fondness that spoke volumes about his relationship with Mistress Elanore. He might not have loved her as a man loved his wife, but she had obviously been his friend, and a well-loved one at that.
“I …” Thierry groped for something to say. Something that wasn’t just an empty platitude - something that might make d’Adamo feel a little bit better. Less alone. “She’s beautiful,” he said instead, gesturing to the child held safe in her father’s arms.
“Takes after her mother,” d’Adamo said, looking down at the girl with pride. “She has Elanore’s coloring.”
“She takes after you too, d’Adamo,” Savita murmured. “You’re pretty enough that finding you a perch in one of my Houses would be no trouble at all, if you ever got tired of being a Guardsman.”
Thierry stared at her, aghast. There was no way Madame Savita considered that an appropriate thing to say at a memorial. She was supposed to be elegance and grace made flesh, everything that a noblewoman was and more.
D’Adamo snorted. “I’d be a terrible whore,” he told Savita.
“You’d do fine,” Savita said. “Right up until you had to talk. Or actually service a client.”
“Exactly,” d’Adamo agreed. “Tell me again why you’d want me in one of your Houses?”
The Lady of the Oyster Shell smiled faintly. “Perhaps I wouldn’t,” she said. “I imagine you do more good keeping the city safe than you would spinning beautiful lies.”
“Elanore was no good at those,” d’Adamo said reminiscently. “She was very honest.”
“Almost to a fault,” Savita agreed. “She’d have made a terrible whore, too.”
Thierry blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him that someone could work in a brothel and not be a whore. He’d assumed -
Well. He would go to the temple tomorrow and pray for forgiveness for thinking ill of the dead and his Erelim. Of course a man like d’Adamo wouldn’t be tempted to visit the sirène. He had too much integrity for that.
“Down, Papa,” Julia said, squirming.
“I’ll take her,” Thierry said, before he really thought about what he was doing. But a blind fool could see that d’Adamo and Madame Savita were friends. Their behavior the night of Mistress Elanore’s death had led him to believe that they weren’t, but that hadn’t been a good night for anyone. It made sense that a friend might be someone to lash out at, in the face of what they’d found.
If d’Adamo wasn’t going to permit himself the comfort of Julia’s care, maybe he could be persuaded to take comfort in his friends. Thierry privately doubted that d’Adamo would, but he’d be damned if he didn’t give the Erelim the opportunity to if he felt like it. He took the Erelim’s daughter and set her down on the ground.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said softly, kneeling down so he was closer to Julia’s height. “My name’s Thierry. I work for your papa.”
Julia looked from Thierry to d’Adamo, who nodded. Julia took two shy steps closer to him, then offered him her hand. “Walk?” she asked.
“As milady wishes,” Thierry said. “Lead the way.” He had to bend over a little so he could keep hold of Julia’s hand. His back protested his treatment of it after five or so minutes spent following where Julia led, but it was worth every painful second that followed to give the Erelim a chance to grieve. He looked back, once, and saw d’Adamo hunched in on himself as if in pain. He looked away before he could tell whether or not the Erelim was crying, but he could see that Savita was. Her tears made a mess of her kohl-rimmed eyes, trailing dark lines of mourning down her cheeks as she pulled the Erelim into her arms and held on.
“Up now?” Julia asked.
“Of course,” Thierry told her, turning so that she couldn’t see d’Adamo or Savita. “See that?” he asked, pointing out over the water. “That’s the continent, where your mama was from, out there in the distance. Your papa too, come to think of it.”
Julia thought about that. “Mama’s gone,” she said. Thierry wondered whether or not she really understood what that meant, or if it was just something the adults around her had repeated so often she’d learned to parrot the words.
“Yes,” he said. “Your mama’s gone. She’s with Solariel now.”
“I want Mama,” Julia said.
Thierry cursed mentally. How did you explain death to a child this young? How did you tell her that her mama wasn’t coming back - not ever.
At five, he’d barely been old enough to understand his mother’s death, but he’d grown up around farmers. Death was a fact of life in his village, and he’d known that dying meant his mother was gone for good. She’d given him a sister, though, and a new mother and sister in Helene in Yvaine, so Thierry hadn’t grieved overmuch. He’d understood.
Julia was too young for that.
“I know,” he whispered. “Oh, sweetheart, I know. My mama’s gone too.”
That seemed to distract Julia, just a little. “Mama gone?” she asked.
“My mama died when I was a little older than you are now,” Thierry explained. He’d never seen the point of talking down to children, although that might have been because he was little more than a child himself when he’d taken on the task of looking after his sisters. “I was five. Do you know how old five is?” he asked.
Julia nodded and held up five fingers.
“Exactly right!” he told her. “I was that many years old when my mama went away. She died giving birth to my sister, Alais. Alais is a festival child - a child come of Carnival, they say in Carelia.” He checked Julia’s face for any sort of comprehension, but she seemed content to let him distract her with a wash of useless adult babble.
She was probably used to having the adults in her life talk over her head, Thierry thought. He had been, when he was a child. He still was, to some extent, although that had more to do with his lack of experience than it did with his age.
So he told her all about each of his five sisters, starting with bossy Isabelle, who was the family matriarch with sons of her own that were near enough to Julia’s age and finishing with wild Charlotte, who was likely to turn all of Helene’s hair silver with her antics before Thierry’s contract was up. He told her about the little things, like Alais’ favorite food or Yvaine’s favorite color, pausing whenever he did so in order to ask Julia what her own favorites were. He stopped asking when it was obvious that she was growing tired, pitching his voice so it was low and soothing and she fell asleep in his arms.
His arms hurt from the strain of holding her close after awhile. He’d forgotten that even a child of two or three grew heavy before long, which he’d always thought was a reminder that he held someone’s whole world in his arms. It was a relief when d’Adamo and Savita came to fetch her. D’Adamo’s face was composed, and Savita’s had been wiped free of cosmetics and tears. Thierry didn’t look too hard at either of them, just in case.
“Thank you, Thierry,” d’Adamo said.
“You’re welcome,” Thierry said, swallowing back the reflexive ‘sir.’ He didn’t want to remind d’Adamo that he was the Ravensgate Erelim. D’Adamo would forsake his grief for duty’s sake soon enough.
D’Adamo lifted his daughter out of Thierry’s arms, settling her easily against his shoulder. “Come,” he said to Savita. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You’ll not stay with her?” Savita asked.
“No,” d’Adamo said. “I can’t. Not yet.”
Thierry watched them walk away, his arms too light and empty without the child. His heart hurt for all of them.
He started at Aubrey’s hand on his shoulder. “That was a kind thing you did for him,” Aubrey said, a mixture of sorrow and approval in his eyes.
“It wasn’t enough,” Thierry said. “He’s not going to let himself feel until it’s over. He’s not even going to let himself be a father to his daughter until we catch whoever did this. How can he do that, Aubrey? I couldn’t bear it, if I were him.”
“I know,” Aubrey said softly. “I couldn’t either.”
“Did you know?” asked Thierry. “That Julia was his daughter?”
Aubrey hesitated. “It’s not entirely a secret,” he hedged. “But it’s not something we speak of, either.”
That meant yes, then, and the ‘we’ meant that the rest of the Ravensgate Guard knew as well. Thierry didn’t blame them for thinking he was to new to be trusted with the Erelim’s secrets, but it still stung.
“Hey,” Aubrey said, catching his shoulder when Thierry would have turned away. “He trusted you with her. The rest of us have never even met her, he’s that protective of her.”
It was obvious that Aubrey was just trying to make him feel better. Thierry felt small-hearted and stupid for the fact that it worked. He shouldn’t be thinking of himself right now. His hurts were nothing to d’Adamo’s.
“We need to find who did this, Aubrey,” Thierry said quietly. “That child needs a father.”
“She’s got her aunties and uncles looking out for her now,” Aubrey said. “She’s probably the safest child in the whole city.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Thierry said, stubborn. “She should be with her family.”
Aubrey sighed. “She is. Family’s more than just blood, you know.”
“Maybe for her,” Thierry said. “And maybe for the sirène, but it isn’t for him.”
“Ah,” said Aubrey, his face darkened with sudden understanding. Julia had aunts and uncles in Savita and the rest of the sirène, but d’Adamo had no one but the legendary Ophanim Battistella, who was doing the Helion’s work in the City of the Sun.
“Well then,” Aubrey said. “Shall we get back to work?”
30980 / 50000
(61.96%)
Also, I read the awesomest ST:Reboot genfic today. It has a Vulcan OC I actually liked and a Kirk with very believable issues but wasn't a fratboy or excessively fucked up. (Although there seems to be a lot of canonical room for Kirk to be excessively fucked up, so I suppose I do not blame the fangirls for that.)
http://lazulisong.livejournal.com/1071739.html#cutid1
Go read!
It's kind of sad, how happy that makes me. But, hey, it's good to have goals. And meet them. Which is kind of what NaNo is all about.
Also, funky pumpkin eggnog pecan pies were strangely successful. They were actually pretty tasty. Go figure.
And in other news:
“Mèrault. A word, if you please.”
“Yes, sir,” Thierry said, only too glad of an excuse to leave Aubrey’s good-natured teasing and Valeray’s fussing behind.
Or he would have been, if Aubrey hadn’t followed him into d’Adamo’s office.
D’Adamo’s brown-gold gaze was thoughtful as he took in Thierry’s bruises. He didn’t say a word about Aubrey following Thierry in like an overprotective sheep dog. Thierry sighed mentally and resigned himself to Aubrey’s interference.
“I have a letter from Erelim Arriortua saying that you assaulted one of his men in the Market,” d’Adamo said, keeping his eyes on Thierry’s face.
“There was an incident,” Thierry corrected, suppressing the automatic flash of anger. He wasn’t a child, to lose control of his temper at an unjust accusation. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it an assault, though.”
“Especially seeing as it looks like you’re the one who got the shit kicked out of him,” Aubrey put in helpfully.
Thierry glowered at him. If they weren’t in d’Adamo’s office, he might’ve taken a page from Aubrey’s book and kicked his mentor in the shins, but they were, so he didn’t.
“Erelim Arriortua would like you to face a formal tribunal for your actions,” d’Adamo continued, his voice stripped of all emotion.
Thierry felt the blood drain from his face. “He wants me to what?”
“Assaulting a fellow Guardsman’s a serious offense,” d’Adamo said.
“Assuming there was an assault at all,” Aubrey broke in indignantly. “Look at him! He’s so green you can still smell the farm on him. There’s no way he could’ve assaulted one of Arriortua’s animals and gotten away with it. They travel in packs when they’re on duty, and most of the time when they’re not!”
“Aubrey,” Thierry growled, torn between appreciating Aubrey’s support and wanting to throttle him for it.
“I’m right and you know it,” Aubrey told him. “You can’t tell me you didn’t come off the worse for the encounter. It’s obvious that you did.”
“And what if I did?” Thierry demanded. “It’s no business of yours, what I do in my off-hours. You’re not my keeper or my mother, and if I lack sufficient prowess in fighting, maybe you ought to help me get better at that instead of teasing me like I’m a child!”
“You are a child,” Aubrey shot back.
“You’re three years older than me! I’m no more a child than you are!”
“And you couldn’t prove it by the way either of you are acting right now!” d’Adamo shouted over both of them.
Thierry turned guiltily back to the Erelim. His cheeks felt like they were on fire beneath his bruises. “Sorry sir,” he said.
“Sorry,” Aubrey echoed, not sounding noticeably apologetic or cowed.
“What happened, Mèrault?” the Erelim asked.
“Would you like my report?” Thierry offered. “I’m nearly done.”
“A verbal explanation will be sufficient, for the moment,” d’Adamo said.
“Yes, sir,” Thierry said, and went on to explain his intention to find something to eat at the Market, and that he’d stumbled on the fight more or less by accident, but having discovered it, couldn’t leave a child to fight against a grown man and a Guardsman at that. He didn’t stint on adding that Nuhatai had fared better in the fight that he had, emerging from the encounter with fewer bruises save the ones his sister inflicted on him later, but he also added that it might have been a lack of opportunity that had prevented the boy from coming to any lasting harm.
“A chair?” Aubrey repeated, sounding impressed. “You hit him with a chair?”
“He outweighed me by nearly three stone,” Thierry explained. “I couldn’t think of anything else that might stop him.”
“An admirable use of tactics and your surroundings,” d’Adamo murmured. “Although I think we might work on your ability to hold your own against a larger opponent.”
“Sir?” Thierry asked, confused.
“Du Prideaux will see to it,” the Erelim continued.
“Oh, absolutely,” Aubrey said.
“That will be all,” d’Adamo said. “Mèrault, I’d like a formal report on the incident within the hour.”
“So … I’m not going to face a formal tribunal?” Thierry asked.
“Don’t be foolish, of course you won’t,” d’Adamo said irritably. “You did no wrong, and I’ll not suffer one of my Guardsmen to endure what should rightfully be inflicted upon the one making these accusations.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thierry said, almost dizzy with relief. A formal tribunal during his probationary period in his first Guard posting would destroy his chances of ever becoming an Ophanim. It might even destroy his chances with the Guard entirely; it didn’t matter that the accusations were false and likely wouldn’t stand up to much scrutiny. It didn’t take much to ruin a man’s reputation.
“Don’t thank me,” d’Adamo said, still sounding irritated. “You’re mine to punish for your stupidity, not theirs.”
Thierry winced. It was probably only fair that d’Adamo mete out some kind of punishment for the trouble he was putting the Erelim to. D’Adamo was strict as all hell, according to the rest of the Ravensgate Guardsmen, but he was fair. If d’Adamo felt the need to punish someone - for their stupidity or otherwise - then they had doubtless done something to deserve it.
And at any rate, whatever punishment duty d’Adamo chose to inflict would doubtless be less painful than the complete and utter destruction of his career before it had really even begun.
“Your bruises will suffice for now, I think,” d’Adamo said mildly.
Thierry stared. Did that mean what he thought it did?
“You have work to do,” the Erelim reminded him. “Or was I unclear when I said I wanted your report within the hour?”
“No, sir,” Thierry said gratefully. “You’ll have it.”
“Good,” said d’Adamo.
He could see why the others worshiped d’Adamo now. The Erelim had meant it when he’d said that Thierry was his: one of his men to be treated with trust and respect, protected by the Erelim’s influence and shaped according to his will. D’Adamo was a better Erelim than most, especially when compared to the alternatives.
Whatever he became, whether he succeeded in his ambitions or not, it would be in part due to what he learned here.
For the first time, Thierry was grateful to be in Altera in order to learn it.
“You understand now, don’t you?” Aubrey asked him quietly, taking his seat at the desk they shared.
“Yeah,” Thierry said. “I do.”
“Good.” Aubrey bumped his shoulder companionably and grinned. “You’re learning.”
“You know,” Thierry said thoughtfully, neither irritated nor offended by Aubrey’s assumptions of his ignorance the way he would have been a week ago. “I think I am.”
*
The memorial service for Mistress Elanore was held three days later, seven days after her death, as was proper in accordance to Solariel’s worship.
It was odd, Thierry thought, that both the Thaqibans who had ruled the city last and the Solariens who occupied it now should burn their dead, but at least there were facilities for such things on a separate tiny island just outside the city walls. Mistress Elanore’s ashes rested now in a delicate porcelain urn. Madame Savita apparently believed in only the best for her employees, even after they were dead and gone and unlikely to appreciate it.
He was surprised at the number of mourners present. The Oyster Shell’s Mistress of Coins had apparently been well liked by most of the people in the Ravensgate district and a few others. It wasn’t a desire to curry favor with Madame Savita that brought them here - they looked genuinely sorrowed at Mistress Elanore’s loss. It made Thierry feel guilty for coming, because he’d never met the woman until after she was dead, and it felt wrong to listen to the others mourn when he himself felt a growing desire for justice where they felt empty loss and grief.
D’Adamo stood at the front, near Madame Savita and the sirène, sober in the formal uniform he only donned for court functions and funerals. There was a tiny, solemn-faced child in his arms, barely out of babyhood. Two or three years old at best, by Thierry’s estimation. The child had her face pressed against his shoulder, trying to hide or perhaps seeking comfort. D’Adamo’s hand cradled the back of her head, his fingers splayed wide and protective, like a shield.
Thierry didn’t realize who the child was until the Solariel’s priest finished the funeral liturgy. D’Adamo set the child down and led her forward, holding one of her tiny hands in his. The child scooped up a handful of the ashes at his prompting, looking up at him for guidance. D’Adamo scooped up a handful of his own and lifted the girl up in his arms again so she could cast her handful of ash over the city walls, setting her mother’s spirit free. D’Adamo threw his own handful over the wall. Thierry watched him close his ash-stained hand into a fist as he stepped aside, making room for the sirène to do their own mourning.
Casting the ashes back to Orifiel’s keeping or Sachiel’s embrace was more for the benefit of those left behind than it was for the deceased; it brought comfort and closure, although Thierry knew for a fact it was cold comfort when faced with the absence of someone you loved. It was customary for the family of the deceased to cast the first ashes, which made the girl in d’Adamo’s arms Mistress Elanore’s daughter Julia.
D’Adamo had cast the ashes second. And since every Guardsman in the Holy Solarien Empire knew that Ophanim Battistella had but one surviving son, there was really only one reason that d’Adamo would be the second person to touch Mistress Elanore’s ashes, or for him to hold her daughter in his arms.
Julia was his daughter, too.
Thierry slanted a look at Aubrey, trying to see whether or not his mentor was surprised. Aubrey’s usually mobile face was still, showing no more expression than a wooden masthead. If he was surprised to realize that Mistress Elanore’s daughter was also d’Adamo’s, it didn’t show on his face.
Thierry schooled his own expression to stillness and watched the mourners say their good-bye’s.
Sun have mercy. No wonder it seemed like Mistress Elanore had meant something to him. If she’d borne d’Adamo a child -
D’Adamo hadn’t even permitted himself comfort in the form of Julia’s care, the way Thierry had rid himself of grief by caring for Alais after their mother had died. Thierry couldn’t imagine what that felt like.
The sirène filed past d’Adamo and Julia. Some of them reached out and brushed their fingers over Julia’s hair, or offered d’Adamo looks of sympathy. Madame Savita stood next to the Erelim, offering wordless support.
Ferran wasn’t among the mourners. Thierry wondered if that was because he hadn’t known Mistress Elanore, or if he simply felt it prudent not to upset the other mourners with his presence. If it was because of the latter, Thierry almost wished that he’d risked it. He thought d’Adamo might need someone to treat him like just another ordinary person, now that he know what the Erelim had lost.
There was a faint smear of ashes left by the time all of Mistress Elanore’s loved ones had finished saying their good-byes. Thierry ran his fingers through what was left, not so much to cast them away as to remind himself of what was at stake. “We’ll catch whoever did this to you,” he promised the dead woman’s spirit. “I swear it.”
He didn’t stay behind to see if Aubrey offered prayers or promises of his own. It didn’t seem polite somehow. He went to d’Adamo instead, wanting to offer what comfort he could.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. He could have kicked himself for the words a second later. He’d heard that phrase what felt like a hundred times after his father’s death, and it had ceased having any meaning to him after the ninth or tenth repetition. They were just stupid, hollow words that didn’t mean anything except that whoever was saying them couldn’t think of what else to say.
D’Adamo gave a sharp bark of laughter, startling the child in his arms. “She wasn’t mine to lose,” he said, a wealth of emotions in his voice. There was grief, first and foremost, but also a wry sort of fondness that spoke volumes about his relationship with Mistress Elanore. He might not have loved her as a man loved his wife, but she had obviously been his friend, and a well-loved one at that.
“I …” Thierry groped for something to say. Something that wasn’t just an empty platitude - something that might make d’Adamo feel a little bit better. Less alone. “She’s beautiful,” he said instead, gesturing to the child held safe in her father’s arms.
“Takes after her mother,” d’Adamo said, looking down at the girl with pride. “She has Elanore’s coloring.”
“She takes after you too, d’Adamo,” Savita murmured. “You’re pretty enough that finding you a perch in one of my Houses would be no trouble at all, if you ever got tired of being a Guardsman.”
Thierry stared at her, aghast. There was no way Madame Savita considered that an appropriate thing to say at a memorial. She was supposed to be elegance and grace made flesh, everything that a noblewoman was and more.
D’Adamo snorted. “I’d be a terrible whore,” he told Savita.
“You’d do fine,” Savita said. “Right up until you had to talk. Or actually service a client.”
“Exactly,” d’Adamo agreed. “Tell me again why you’d want me in one of your Houses?”
The Lady of the Oyster Shell smiled faintly. “Perhaps I wouldn’t,” she said. “I imagine you do more good keeping the city safe than you would spinning beautiful lies.”
“Elanore was no good at those,” d’Adamo said reminiscently. “She was very honest.”
“Almost to a fault,” Savita agreed. “She’d have made a terrible whore, too.”
Thierry blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him that someone could work in a brothel and not be a whore. He’d assumed -
Well. He would go to the temple tomorrow and pray for forgiveness for thinking ill of the dead and his Erelim. Of course a man like d’Adamo wouldn’t be tempted to visit the sirène. He had too much integrity for that.
“Down, Papa,” Julia said, squirming.
“I’ll take her,” Thierry said, before he really thought about what he was doing. But a blind fool could see that d’Adamo and Madame Savita were friends. Their behavior the night of Mistress Elanore’s death had led him to believe that they weren’t, but that hadn’t been a good night for anyone. It made sense that a friend might be someone to lash out at, in the face of what they’d found.
If d’Adamo wasn’t going to permit himself the comfort of Julia’s care, maybe he could be persuaded to take comfort in his friends. Thierry privately doubted that d’Adamo would, but he’d be damned if he didn’t give the Erelim the opportunity to if he felt like it. He took the Erelim’s daughter and set her down on the ground.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said softly, kneeling down so he was closer to Julia’s height. “My name’s Thierry. I work for your papa.”
Julia looked from Thierry to d’Adamo, who nodded. Julia took two shy steps closer to him, then offered him her hand. “Walk?” she asked.
“As milady wishes,” Thierry said. “Lead the way.” He had to bend over a little so he could keep hold of Julia’s hand. His back protested his treatment of it after five or so minutes spent following where Julia led, but it was worth every painful second that followed to give the Erelim a chance to grieve. He looked back, once, and saw d’Adamo hunched in on himself as if in pain. He looked away before he could tell whether or not the Erelim was crying, but he could see that Savita was. Her tears made a mess of her kohl-rimmed eyes, trailing dark lines of mourning down her cheeks as she pulled the Erelim into her arms and held on.
“Up now?” Julia asked.
“Of course,” Thierry told her, turning so that she couldn’t see d’Adamo or Savita. “See that?” he asked, pointing out over the water. “That’s the continent, where your mama was from, out there in the distance. Your papa too, come to think of it.”
Julia thought about that. “Mama’s gone,” she said. Thierry wondered whether or not she really understood what that meant, or if it was just something the adults around her had repeated so often she’d learned to parrot the words.
“Yes,” he said. “Your mama’s gone. She’s with Solariel now.”
“I want Mama,” Julia said.
Thierry cursed mentally. How did you explain death to a child this young? How did you tell her that her mama wasn’t coming back - not ever.
At five, he’d barely been old enough to understand his mother’s death, but he’d grown up around farmers. Death was a fact of life in his village, and he’d known that dying meant his mother was gone for good. She’d given him a sister, though, and a new mother and sister in Helene in Yvaine, so Thierry hadn’t grieved overmuch. He’d understood.
Julia was too young for that.
“I know,” he whispered. “Oh, sweetheart, I know. My mama’s gone too.”
That seemed to distract Julia, just a little. “Mama gone?” she asked.
“My mama died when I was a little older than you are now,” Thierry explained. He’d never seen the point of talking down to children, although that might have been because he was little more than a child himself when he’d taken on the task of looking after his sisters. “I was five. Do you know how old five is?” he asked.
Julia nodded and held up five fingers.
“Exactly right!” he told her. “I was that many years old when my mama went away. She died giving birth to my sister, Alais. Alais is a festival child - a child come of Carnival, they say in Carelia.” He checked Julia’s face for any sort of comprehension, but she seemed content to let him distract her with a wash of useless adult babble.
She was probably used to having the adults in her life talk over her head, Thierry thought. He had been, when he was a child. He still was, to some extent, although that had more to do with his lack of experience than it did with his age.
So he told her all about each of his five sisters, starting with bossy Isabelle, who was the family matriarch with sons of her own that were near enough to Julia’s age and finishing with wild Charlotte, who was likely to turn all of Helene’s hair silver with her antics before Thierry’s contract was up. He told her about the little things, like Alais’ favorite food or Yvaine’s favorite color, pausing whenever he did so in order to ask Julia what her own favorites were. He stopped asking when it was obvious that she was growing tired, pitching his voice so it was low and soothing and she fell asleep in his arms.
His arms hurt from the strain of holding her close after awhile. He’d forgotten that even a child of two or three grew heavy before long, which he’d always thought was a reminder that he held someone’s whole world in his arms. It was a relief when d’Adamo and Savita came to fetch her. D’Adamo’s face was composed, and Savita’s had been wiped free of cosmetics and tears. Thierry didn’t look too hard at either of them, just in case.
“Thank you, Thierry,” d’Adamo said.
“You’re welcome,” Thierry said, swallowing back the reflexive ‘sir.’ He didn’t want to remind d’Adamo that he was the Ravensgate Erelim. D’Adamo would forsake his grief for duty’s sake soon enough.
D’Adamo lifted his daughter out of Thierry’s arms, settling her easily against his shoulder. “Come,” he said to Savita. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You’ll not stay with her?” Savita asked.
“No,” d’Adamo said. “I can’t. Not yet.”
Thierry watched them walk away, his arms too light and empty without the child. His heart hurt for all of them.
He started at Aubrey’s hand on his shoulder. “That was a kind thing you did for him,” Aubrey said, a mixture of sorrow and approval in his eyes.
“It wasn’t enough,” Thierry said. “He’s not going to let himself feel until it’s over. He’s not even going to let himself be a father to his daughter until we catch whoever did this. How can he do that, Aubrey? I couldn’t bear it, if I were him.”
“I know,” Aubrey said softly. “I couldn’t either.”
“Did you know?” asked Thierry. “That Julia was his daughter?”
Aubrey hesitated. “It’s not entirely a secret,” he hedged. “But it’s not something we speak of, either.”
That meant yes, then, and the ‘we’ meant that the rest of the Ravensgate Guard knew as well. Thierry didn’t blame them for thinking he was to new to be trusted with the Erelim’s secrets, but it still stung.
“Hey,” Aubrey said, catching his shoulder when Thierry would have turned away. “He trusted you with her. The rest of us have never even met her, he’s that protective of her.”
It was obvious that Aubrey was just trying to make him feel better. Thierry felt small-hearted and stupid for the fact that it worked. He shouldn’t be thinking of himself right now. His hurts were nothing to d’Adamo’s.
“We need to find who did this, Aubrey,” Thierry said quietly. “That child needs a father.”
“She’s got her aunties and uncles looking out for her now,” Aubrey said. “She’s probably the safest child in the whole city.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Thierry said, stubborn. “She should be with her family.”
Aubrey sighed. “She is. Family’s more than just blood, you know.”
“Maybe for her,” Thierry said. “And maybe for the sirène, but it isn’t for him.”
“Ah,” said Aubrey, his face darkened with sudden understanding. Julia had aunts and uncles in Savita and the rest of the sirène, but d’Adamo had no one but the legendary Ophanim Battistella, who was doing the Helion’s work in the City of the Sun.
“Well then,” Aubrey said. “Shall we get back to work?”
30980 / 50000
(61.96%)
Also, I read the awesomest ST:Reboot genfic today. It has a Vulcan OC I actually liked and a Kirk with very believable issues but wasn't a fratboy or excessively fucked up. (Although there seems to be a lot of canonical room for Kirk to be excessively fucked up, so I suppose I do not blame the fangirls for that.)
http://lazulisong.livejournal.com/1071739.html#cutid1
Go read!