A bewildering time passed, and once evening fell, Theodore wrapped things up and took Chela away. She had so many questions, she didn’t know what to say. As they walked in silence, they passed a man at the main gates.
“”
Somewhat older than Theodore, the man scowled at the sight of him. Theodore ignored that entirely.
“Evening, Mr. Walpole,” he said. “Apologies for greeting you on our way out.”
“…No matter. I had not intended to see you at all. At least you didn’t stay the night.”
With that, the man quickly sped on past. But a few steps beyond, he turned back, his voice laden with fury.
“If you’re done here, begone. What look did my wife wear to butter you up, McFarlane stud horse?”
This hit Chela hard. She didn’t grasp the meaning of it but could tell from the man’s tone this was an unbearable insult. She started to turn, but Theodore tugged her hand, leading her away. As if letting these words taint his daughter’s ears was far more unbearable than the insults themselves.
When the manor was out of sight behind the hill, they drew to a halt. Chela looked up at her father, whose face betrayed no emotion.
“Father, was that—?”
“Sorry, Chela. Let me wash my mouth out first.”
Talking over her, he pulled a potion from his pocket and swirled it around inside his mouth—as if he could not bear the unpleasant sensation clinging to him otherwise.
Chela watched, waiting. At last, the bottle was empty, and he put it away.
Theodore looked grimly down at her. “I’m sure you’ve worked it out. I must share my blood with the woman we met; that man is her husband. The act itself is yet to come, but there are stages to work through. Connections between houses are always a chore.”
He sounded tired. She’d guessed as much but, with that confirmation, reconsidered what she’d seen. Even from the sidelines, she’d sensed no pleasure there. Thus, she could imagine just how unpleasant it had been for him—and what that meant for her own future.
“…So someday, I’ll be like you were today?” she asked.
“You won’t have to go to them. I like to brag about how light on my feet I am, so I make the trip, but given the repute of the McFarlane family, it’s more appropriate for them to come to you. There is no need to be friendly and please them—that is their task. If you are not inclined, you may merely sit there in silence, sipping your tea.”
Theodore spoke in a flat tone, perfectly aware that would be no comfort at all. If his daughter was the type of mage who enjoyed treating people like dirt or bewitching them with her charm, that would be one thing—but those qualities were as far from Chela as could be. Yet, that did not free her from the obligations of her blood.
Their positions were different, but the witch earlier was much the same. Her duty was to capture Theodore and bring profit to her house; her feelings on the matter played no part. She was used to it, but he could not know if she enjoyed it. Perhaps the distinction had long since ceased to matter. The more of a mage you were, the more that was the case—as Theodore himself knew all too well. He’d been known to act accordingly.
Theodore turned, gazing at the ordinaries’ town set against the hill, drenched in the light of the setting sun. Chela followed his gaze. The beauty of this view was the sole saving grace, as far as he was concerned. It prevented this precious time spent with his daughter from being an entirely unpleasant one.
“My role in this is partially a penalty. I made a big mistake once and must share my blood with more than other relatives. Grandmother is still furious with me. My mistake led directly to the miracle of your birth, yet still, she cannot get over it.”
Theodore’s eyes reflected the reddening sky.
Over time, Chela had gathered that her parents had not exactly met peacefully. She’d never once thought to ask about the whole story. That wasn’t what mattered to her. She had a dad and a mom, and they both loved her.
But she had long nursed some doubts in her mind, and she took this moment to voice them.
“…Two questions, Father.”
“Yes? Go ahead.”
“I know that you don’t like that woman. That you were here out of duty as a McFarlane. But—why is it you don’t love Mother?”
He looked down to find tears in Chela’s eyes. Theodore pursed his lips. Not surprised. He’d known this question would come eventually.
“That’s a hard question,” he said. “I respect her talents and her character; as partners, we get along fine. Just—if you ask if I can say I love her with the same confidence I do you…that’s much harder for me. When I met her, I’d long since turned my back on such things.”
This was not a question that could be answered in a word. Chela was smart enough to realize the truth was far more complex than she could yet understand, and so she fell silent. Pressing further would just make him suffer.
With some difficulty, she put her feelings away. Telling herself to be satisfied that at least he had not said he didn’t love Mishakua. Theodore sensed all that and thus was infinitely disgusted with himself.
Why couldn’t he answer her? That entire day, his daughter had not asked him for one thing.
“…Okay, then. The other question…”
Her emotions in check, Chela looked up at him again. Her gaze made him fear what was coming next. He felt as if another blow like that one would make him unable to bear being himself.
“…Do you need a smoke, Father?”
The absolutely last thing he’d expected. It took him several seconds before an awkward smile appeared on his lips.
“…Well, isn’t that a surprise? I’ve never smoked in front of you!”
“I’ve smelled it on you sometimes. Always when you seemed unusually unhappy.”
Chela gave him a sad look, like she was ready to cry—and Theodore scooped her up into his arms, well aware this hug was an escape.
“No need for that. I’m with you right now. As long as I can get a hug from you, all my bad feelings go away. I only smoke when I can’t do that.”
Despite his inner turmoil, the platitudes came out all too easily. But he could not let this discussion end there. His feelings didn’t matter. Those were never worthy of consideration. All that mattered was his daughter before him.
“Chela, my darling daughter.”
“Yes?” she said quietly.
He could tell she knew this next part would be important. Knowing it made him a terrible father, he said it anyway.
“You’re a smart girl, so I’m sure you know. You will never get to love or have a family in any normal way.”
“…I know.”
Chela nodded slowly. Neither frustrated nor upset about it. A fact that made Theodore’s heart ache all the more.
A child this wise and kind, and I’m throwing her to the pits of hell. Pushing her onto the path of a spell that will lead her far from human happiness. That truth can never be changed. So at the very least—I can only hope she will find a light to shine upon that treacherous descent.
“If there is hope—then hope for good friends. That alone, we are allowed. If nothing else.”
His voice shook. Once, he’d had a light of his own. Those words carved themselves deep into Chela’s heart, showing her where to place the love she had. In bonds where the value of her blood did not exist, where her heart was allowed to be merely human. Only precious friends were allowed that—and thus, she sought that future more than anything.