Magic and Loss

Hana was in the kitchen, tending boiling pots and a sizzling skillet, while her husband busied himself setting the table in the dining room, each moving about their tasks as easily as if they were in their own home. The old woman smiled upon spotting me standing in the doorway.

“Did you have a nice nap, dear?” she asked pleasantly. “I checked in on you earlier and saw you were asleep—you must be exhausted after today, given your situation.” She glanced meaningfully at my shrouded midriff.

“Yes, thank you,” I replied. “But you didn’t have to do all this. . . .”

“It’s the least Torn and I can do,” she said as she retrieved a roasting pan from the oven. “You have been extremely good to us—I daresay you have shown far more kindness to us than any human ever has.”

“We’re not all like Chess,” I said with a wry smile. “Although I should point out that you don’t have to be a Kymeran for him to treat you shabbily.”

“Such an awful man!” Hana clucked her tongue in reproach. “Truly dreadful!”

“You should have let me curse him.”

Hana cast a disapproving glance at Torn, who was standing in the doorway of the dining room. “Things were bad enough already without us making it worse. Besides, he was probably wearing protective talismans strong enough to turn back every spell in the book. His type never set foot in Golgotham without loading themselves down with counter-charms.”

“I still should have tried,” Torn grunted. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“You’ve never cursed anyone in your life.” Hana laughed as she kissed his cheek. “You’re not that kind of man; that’s why I married you.”

Torn’s normally taciturn demeanor melted away as he took his wife’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “And all this time I thought it was my good looks and chiseled abs.”

We took dinner that night in the formal dining room. Hana had whipped up an impressive four course meal from items I’d forgotten were even in the kitchen: creamed parsnips, butterscotch yams, braised kale, and roast caribou in blackberry sauce. Torn insisted on serving me, neatly depositing portions of each entree onto my plate with the precision of a brain surgeon.

As I watched him at work, I was suddenly reminded of Clarence, my family’s butler. Clarence had been my friend and confidante throughout childhood, and the only adult in my young life that actively encouraged my artistic streak. I found myself wondering how he was doing, as he was getting on in years, and felt a surge of shame that I had not called him to tell him about the baby. I silently scolded myself for holding the fact my parents were his employers against him.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve ever taken a meal at this table,” Torn said as he sat down. “Back when Hana and I were in service, we normally ate in the kitchen.”

“It’s the first time I’ve eaten in here, as well,” I admitted, glancing up at the twin crystal chandeliers that dangled from the claws of a wrought-iron dragon mounted to the ceiling. “It always seemed a little bit much for just Hexe and me.”

“In the old days, Lord Eben and Lady Lyra took every meal in here,” Hana said wistfully. “Even toward the end, with Lord Eben bedridden, Lady Lyra still dined in this room.”

“Perhaps you could tell me what Hexe’s grandparents were like? He doesn’t really talk about them that much.”

“Lord Eben was what you would call Old School, nowadays,” Torn replied. “He believed in keeping faith with the traditions of our ancestors, and was often very stern in that regard when it came to his children. However, he was far more . . . progressive than his own father. Lord Jynx would have had Hexe smothered at birth and taken Lady Syra’s magic as punishment for daring to bring a half-caste child into the Royal Family.

“As for myself, I found Lord Eben to be a just man—strict at times, but fair-minded when it came to his rulings as justicar. He was particularly well regarded by the dwarven Thanes. As for Lady Lyra, she was a gracious, kindhearted woman. She’s the one who made sure Hana and I were properly pensioned off by the GoBOO. In the old days, retainers were paid out of the Royal Treasury—now we’re considered civil servants.”

“Did they love him?”

“Who? Hexe? They positively adored the boy!” Hana said with a laugh.

“Almost as much as they were ashamed of him,” Torn added sourly.

* * *

After dinner, Torn and Hana insisted on clearing the tables and doing the dishes. The two of them moved like a well-oiled machine, whisking away the plates without having to ask one another a single question. Not that there wasn’t plenty of communication going on between them—but it was done in the shorthand of the exchanged glance, which is unique to the deeply married.

At one point I announced that I was headed down to the basement to fetch a load of fresh towels and bed linens from the dryer. On my way back, I noticed that the kitchen was empty and all the dinner dishes washed and returned to their cabinets. As I reached the second floor landing, I saw that the door to Octavia’s room was shut, although I could hear the muted murmur of voices on the other side.

“She’s what?” Torn’s shout was enough to make me drop the folded blankets I was carrying.

“Must you be so loud?” Hana responded in a hushed voice. “What if she hears you?”

“It’s Syra all over again!” Torn fumed. “He’s just like his father! No respect for tradition!”

“After all this time, can’t you let that go? Tradition has already cost us a son, as well as a grandson. Isn’t that enough? And frankly, he could do a great deal worse, if you ask me.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said as I opened the door to Octavia’s room.

Torn and Hana spun about in guilty surprise, like children caught raiding the cookie jar. “I told you to mind your voice!” Hana hissed.

“You’re Hexe’s other set of grandparents, aren’t you?”

“So you’re finally figuring that out,” Scratch sneered as he strolled into the room. “Will wonders never cease?”

“Yes, it’s true,” Hana admitted. “Horn is our son.”

“Was our son,” Torn interjected stiffly. “I disowned him when I discovered what he’d done. Our family has served the heirs of Adon for countless generations—but he disobeyed the one rule all Servitors must obey: no fraternization. Of course, Lord Eben had to let him go when they discovered the truth, severing a tradition of service that stretched back to the sinking of the spires! He dishonored his family, disgraced his lineage . . . he’s brought nothing but shame on us.”

“But Horn’s the captain of the PTU!” I interjected. “He’s one of the most important people in Golgotham!”

“His place was to serve!” Torn shot back angrily. “Just as I served, and my father before me, and his father before him!”

“But he does serve—except now his duty is to all of Golgotham, not just the Royal Family,” I pointed out.

“The girl’s right, you old grump,” Hana said, folding her arms over her sagging breasts. “I’ve tolerated this grudge against our son long enough! Besides, it’s not like you don’t have a scrapbook of newspaper clippings detailing every arrest he’s ever made and promotion he’s received.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth about who you are?” I asked.

“Force of habit, I suppose,” Torn sighed. “The only way we were allowed to be a part of Hexe’s life was if we never revealed the true nature of our relationship to him. Lord Eben made us swear an oath of secrecy. Should we break it, we would be banished from Golgotham.”

“Ugh. How awful! That must have been difficult for you.”

“Yes, but we got used to it,” Hana said as she took her husband’s hand in hers. “At least we had access to our grandson when he was young, even if we couldn’t tell him who we were. That all changed when Lord Eben died and Lady Syra became the Witch Queen. Once we were pensioned off, we were no longer able to see Hexe on a regular basis. Oh, Lady Syra would send us snapshots now and then, but that’s not the same. The last time we actually laid eyes on him was at Lady Lyra’s funeral, fifteen years ago. He was already growing into a fine young man.”