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WITHIN the gatehouse was a private room where a nun could speak with a guest through a lattice. Lucas and I took Kiki and Leik with us to speak in this room with Sister Margaret. Through the window secured with a beautiful lattice that looked like lace, Lucas and I sat in front of a simple table for four, facing the nun.
“In short, Lucas, your mother is the daughter of Marquess Diascia,” I explained. “Your father, a man also called Lucas, arrived at the port city and was a fisherman from Lapisasther. He’s three years older than your mother, and as stated, you share his name.”
The journal that Matilda Stock left behind documented her daily life and thoughts. She met with Lucas’s father and eloped; the two lived happily. She found out she was pregnant and had parted ways with her husband before she was dragged back home. She was then shoved into a convent. Her journal entry ended the night before she’d left.
“Your mother didn’t agree with the ways of her house,” I said. “She must’ve felt isolated and went to a village in the suburbs as part of her volunteer work. It was there that she met your father and fell in love. I believe your parents eloped. But a while after she learned of her pregnancy, your father didn’t return from one of his fishing trips. Your mother was discovered by her family and was forced to live in a convent. Her house wanted her to secretly give birth, get rid of the baby, and return home as an unmarried woman who had never met a man.”
Matilda’s vehement wishes to never return home had been scribbled into her journal again and again. She believed in her husband and felt lonely giving birth by herself, but she was dying to see her baby in her arms. Her candid thoughts had been jotted down.
“Her house had given her an ultimatum,” I continued. “If she gave birth to a girl, she and her daughter would be brought back home. If she gave birth to a boy, the child must either be abandoned or deemed a stillbirth.”
Beyond the latticework, Sister Margaret covered her eyes with her handkerchief as she did her best to stifle her sobs. I couldn’t even look at my husband’s face. All I could do was read the truth out loud.
“As we all know, your mother gave birth to a son, a boy who shared the same striking hair and eyes as his father,” I said. “Your mother left any proof of her ties to her house in the convent and fled to a connection that she had through her volunteer work. She fled to Westmierden, a city far from her home where many vagrants settled. She prayed that any child would fit right into the crowd, no matter how different he looked.”
Indeed, Matilda had succeeded. No one could’ve guessed that the former daughter of a marquess fled to the city of coals soon after giving birth.
“She decided to wait for your father,” I went on. “Even if something happened to him, as long as she protected her son, she believed she’d be able to meet her husband again. Her journal entries stop here.”
Sister Marget gazed down, pale-faced. “When she first came here, she hid everything about her origin. The higher ranks of the church simply told us that a new nun would arrive soon. I’m quite sure that her family had wanted to isolate her here until she gave birth. She said nothing about it.”
I nodded. “Back then, I’m certain that there was a grisly fight for the throne. Tensions ran high in the faction of the first prince as they desperately tried to prevent his younger brother from succeeding as king. It’s not difficult to imagine this situation. During such a crucial time, those in the first prince’s faction, who valued the purity of noble blood above all else, must’ve wanted a daughter of the house of the Traditional Twelve to be in a political marriage. The marquesses were struggling to find successors as it was.”
Yet, Matilda had eloped and given birth to a boy carrying the blood of a foreigner, which the first prince’s faction despised most of all. It was rather understandable for Matilda to flee to the streets.
Lucas sighed deeply as he ran both hands through his hair in hopes of hiding his face. He was at a loss for words at the harsh truth that he faced. “So if I wasn’t born, my mother could’ve returned home,” Lucas muttered to himself.
There was nothing we could say. We couldn’t possibly say a word. How were we even supposed to console him? Even Lucas had no idea how to process this truth; his mother had tossed everything away to protect her son.
Time passed, and Lucas finally looked up as though he was trying to put the past behind him. “Thank you for giving my mother’s belongings to Iris,” he said. “I’ll continue to leave my mother’s grave in your care.”
“I understand,” Sister Margaret replied. She tightly gripped Lucas’s hand through the latticework as she struggled to speak. “Even if it’s tough to hear, I hope you will stand strong. We’re all on your side. Lucas, I’m sorry. Had we supported Sister Matilda more…”
“Don’t apologize. It’s thanks to everyone here that I’m still alive.” He pacified the sobbing nun and looked at me with determination. “Iris, we’ll be visiting my mother’s home. Now’s the time if we want to settle the score with my past.”
“I understand,” I replied with a nod at his firm gaze.
We once again thanked Sister Margaret and left.
“Lucas, please don’t push yourself too much,” Sister Margaret called before we parted. “We’ll be waiting for you to return.”
“Thank you. I leave my mom in your hands,” Lucas replied.
They spoke like old friends before we finally left the convent.