The day after Conrart left, she sat in her room for a very long time with her head in her hands, feeling, she told herself, only what she had earned sending away so many sons to the same fate. The other residents of the castle understood how little there was to be said. Gwendal had muttered a few words before locking himself in his office, and Anissina and Gunter stood silent in the throne room as she wept, leaving her only when they were at last called away by other duties. She hadn't seen Wolfram in two days.
Only her brother would be foolish enough to approach her at a time like this, and sure enough, he entered the room as the maids were quietly wheeling out her uneaten lunch. They pointedly cut a wide path around him as they left, but he seemed not to notice.
"You're wasting food, Celi," he said, with a look behind him to make sure he was heard. "Our friends in the kitchens worked hard to make that, you know." The door slammed in response. He turned back to her, frowning. "They're getting sloppy about noise lately. I'll have to have Raven speak to them about it."
"Brother," she said, and her voice didn't shake at all. She was long since out of tears. "Tell me we're doing the right thing."
He looked perturbed. "I don't have the time for this, Celi. There's work to be done and I haven't seen you all day."
"This war," she repeated, louder this time. "Tell me we have a reason for all these deaths. Tell me there was no other choice."
"Of course there was no other choice. We can't just let them do whatever they please on our borders. Our pride as mazoku demands—"
"Your pride? We're fighting this war for your pride?"
"Our pride, I said. All of ours; this family's, this nation's—" He checked himself suddenly. "I don't know how you got me into the argument, Celi, but rest assured I have no interest in finishing it. I have work to do today."
"Raven has work to do, you mean." It was childish, but she didn't regret it.
"I believe we're done here," he said coldly. "When you feel like having a rational conversation, do let me know." His cape swished as he turned towards the door, and it struck her all at once how immaculate he was, beard neatly trimmed and boots shining as if this were any ordinary day.
She was on her feet before she knew it. "Stoffel, my son left yesterday for the most dangerous part of the border. Conrart, your nephew. Please tell me you feel something."
He had turned in surprise at the use of his name, and now as she reached him he drew back uncomfortably.
"It was his decision to volunteer," he said stiffly. "I see no reason to regret the choices he makes of his own free will."
"You know why he was forced to volunteer them! Don't tell me you believe he's a traitor."
"Certainly not!" he snapped. "You make it sound as if I want my own nephew dead."
"No, that would hardly be proper, would it?"
He seemed about to react to that, but then he went on: "If anything, I admire his decision to defend the family name."
"His name," she said weakly. "You think he did it for his name, and not for himself and his friends?"
"And do you think he did it without a thought that his mother, his brothers might be tarred with the same brush before long?"
Her response seemed to stick in her throat as she gazed at him dumbly. "That's not true. You know that's not true. How can you think anyone would believe that of us?"
"They'd believe it of you the same way they believe it of him. Lord Gegenhuber suggested the possibility of divided sympathies and every half-human in the country was instantly guilty. Do you really think it would stop there?"
"He 'suggested' more than that and you know it." But there was clearly nothing to be gained by arguing with him. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?" The words felt heavy, less like the question she had intended and more like an admission of her own foolishness.
He was smiling now, satisfied that he had won. She couldn't take that smile now, not at a time like this. She took hold of the front of his shirt and stared up at him, desperate for some kind of emotion. "Conrart is going to die out there. Do you care about that one bit?"
He flinched, and for an instant his eyes darted to the side, unable to meet hers. She let go. "You do care." But the relief didn't last long. "Then how can you let him go? You could have stopped him."
He was smoothing down his uniform, still not looking at her. Her words hung in the air for a minute, then two. At last he spoke.
"I couldn't have stopped him. He's too much like you. He has a confidence that I—" He stopped, then looked at her again with one of his false smiles. "Besides, I know how much stock the boy puts in my word. I'm hardly his favorite uncle." He was back to his usual self.
"But this whole war… Why any of it? How can your pride be so much more important than all these men and their families?"
"I hope you're not suggesting that I don't understand the feeling of loss. I simply happen to hold my country as a higher priority than my own feelings."
He was halfway to the door before she could speak. The numbness was gone, and all the anger she had felt since the news first came had returned in full force.
"I hope you're not referring to the throne," she said, still almost breathless with rage. "I know that not becoming Maou got more emotion out of you than anything else in nearly two hundred years of existence, but rest assured that that was nothing compared to what I feel knowing that my son has gone off to die in this war I let you start on my behalf."
He paused, a hand on the doorknob. "I do know that," he said without turning. "You have always been much better at feeling than I have. That boy—Conrart—takes after you there." He was silent for a moment. "I'm sure I don't care as much as an uncle ought to, but believe me, I would have stopped him if I could. Even I can see it in a man's eyes when he loves something enough to die for it, and a man like me can't stand up against that."
She wasn't out of tears after all. "And all the other men we've sent off—what did they love enough to die for? How many mothers do you think have felt what I'm feeling now?"
"You really shouldn't have been the Maou, Celi. You weren't made for these kinds of times. You're too used to being loved." He laughed, but for once he wasn't trying to pretend any kind of amusement. "Don't you think you're lucky to have a big brother around to take on all the responsibility? That's what men like me are for, you know. They may hate me while I'm alive, but in five hundred years I'll be the man who saved Shin Makoku. And this I do know, so don't try to argue with me here."
"Oh, brother, it's not about what they think of us! Don't you understand?"
He was silent for another few moments. "I won't pretend to," he said at last. "I told you I haven't been blessed with that depth of feeling. The most I can say is that I've brought a lot on you, but you don't need to worry that I'll try to stick you with the blame." He started to open the door, then turned to look at her. "I didn't intend for Conrart to get swept up in this, I promise you that. If this is the last straw… I could always count on you and Raven at least, but perhaps I've relied on that too much. At any rate, the kingdom shouldn't learn of any kind of split between the Maou and the regent, so I must ask that you conceal any—"
She sighed. "I could never hate you, brother, no matter how much I sometimes think I should."
He didn't seem sure how to respond; she could almost see him working to block out the second half of the sentence until a look of relief came across his face.
"Well then," he said, with something of his normal demeanor returning. "I'll be leaving now. I, er, I suppose the day's work can wait until you feel prepared." He exited hastily, opening the door a second time after shutting his cape in it.
She ate dinner that night and slept briefly. The next day she returned to her duties, and a few months later she wept again when she was the only mother to see her son return alive from Luttenburg. Stoffel seemed to consider the matter ended there. It was true that she could never be angry for long, but somehow until the war was over she could never stop crying for long, either.