SUPER-SPECIAL THANK YOU to all who reviewed! :) EllieStone, Zaivex (I'm happy you're back!), Da_Undertoad, polarbear257, Sassysplash, and Jett-Wolfe98!

I posted this chapter with the last one, but didn't like it so I fixed it. :) Sorry for the cliffhanger! I meant to have this one and the last one up at the same time but it just had to be changed.

Da_Undertoad: Thanks for the review! :D I'm sorrry! This one is a little longer; I hope it makes up for it. :)

Sassysplash: I'm sorry. :( Thank you for the review. :D

All original characters and plotline belong to Scott Westerfeld; I own nothing!

:)

It was that evening that Father's condition worsened significantly. His body was no longer able to process the copious amounts of alcohol he had been drinking for his whole life, and from what the doctor had said it simply gave up. Evidently he had been struggling with it for quite some time, but of course Ernst had been too wrapped up in his own affairs to notice.

The time Ernst had spent in the military as a cavalry officer desensitized him from death for the most part. It was an experience he had seen before, and would likely see again. Still, however, sitting there at his father's side in his last moments was something he would never forget.

"Ernst," he called weakly.

"Yes?"

Father motioned for him to come closer, which Ernst did. He leaned in close, close enough to be able to smell the sickeningly sweet scent of brandy on his breath, until his ear was nearly pressed to the old man's mouth.

"You're the Count now, son," he whispered. "You've done it."

Ernst thought for a moment. "Done what?"

"Where is your heart, Ernst?"

Ernst paused. The words gave him chills. "Pardon?"

"Where is your heart?" he whispered again.

He turned to his mother with a confused look. She shook her head at him tearfully. "The doctor said he might be like this. It's the medicine. You don't have to stay, dear," she said as she kneeled beside her husband, taking his hand.

Ernst stepped outside into the hall, closing the door softly behind him. Emile and Heinrich were there. Heinrich looked morose from where he was sitting and Emile's usual stoic, hard expression was slightly softened.

"Is he…?" Heinrich asked quietly.

He shook his head. "Not yet. He seems rather… delirious."

Heinrich nodded slowly and looked back at the ground. The three of them kicked at the carpet in the hallway idly until a shriek was heard from inside their father's room.

Mother was there, weeping over Father's lifeless body. Emile knelt beside her and gently pulled her into an embrace while Ernst and Heinrich stood by the door.

"Maybe he didn't want you to come back," Heinrich remarked quietly.

Ernst set his jaw, determined not to get upset. It had been taxing, for everyone insisted on bringing up the subject. "From what he said in the message," he said, moving so the doctor had room to get by, "I think he did."

"You know how Father is. What did he say to you, by the way?"

Ernst didn't answer as he thought of the words. They became louder each time he repeated them in his mind. He didn't have to think about it much, but the more he did, the more he knew exactly where his heart was, and it wasn't here.

Within the hour, he tore out of the house. He rode without stopping: his horse collapsed half a mile from the cabin. The poor mare wasn't used to such rugged terrain as Zethos was. She was made for light riding, not to be sturdy for long trips. Ernst forced her to drink, got her to her feet, set her loose and continued the rest of the way on foot.

When the house finally came into view, he felt a strange jolt of disappointment. Without realizing it, he'd been expecting to see smoke coming from the chimney, light in the windows; maybe catch a glimpse of Esmé. She'd be singing and smile when she caught him looking at her.

But the house was dark. No smoke from the chimney; the only light was from the fading moon and the stars.

"No," he said aloud.

He walked past the vardo; its green and gold colors seemed ugly and garish in this light. Thought it had really been used as a storage space, Ernst had started to find it slightly charming against the side of the house. Now it looked abandoned and threatening. Zethos' tether just next to it was empty. He double-checked the stable just to be sure, but the horse was gone.

He opened the door and was greeted by a silence, and a heavy almost tangible darkness. He walked through the house, hoping with every turn that she would be just around the corner. When he entered their small bedroom, a small, unbidden hope, perhaps out of routine, burrowed itself in his heart that he'd find her sleeping peacefully. He'd step too loudly and make the floor creak, as he often did. She would stretch, smile up at him, and bid him good morning.

But she wasn't there. No, the bed was made up perfectly with the brightly colored quilt that she had sewn neatly spread out over the top. He reached out and touched the frayed edges lightly. It had been made out of several of her old skirts. Without thinking, he lifted the side she had always favored to his face and inhaled, hoping to catch some trace of her. Indeed, he smelled the sweet scent of cherries.

And then he remembered. He ran from the bedroom and straight out of the house. His feet ached and screamed with every step but he forced himself to ignore it until he reached the cherry grove.

And owl called. The silhouettes of the trees against the pink sky loomed overhead, fading as the sun continued to rise. The trees were lined perfectly in a row, perfectly still, most laden with fruit, a few still holding blossoms. He smelled the blossoms but not her.

She was gone.

He checked all the usual places – and the unusual – but she had left. Just as he'd told her to do.

"Esmeralda!" he shouted. The name echoed off the trees and bounced back to him.

He called her name wearily, but the only answer was from the birds. As he trudged back to the cabin, he heard a rapid pecking, and looked up to see a woodpecker; its green body and scarlet head pecking at the tree outside of the kitchen window. It looked down at him and called. He glared at it.

He staggered back inside not even bothering to close the door behind him. He collapsed in a chair – her favorite - buried his face in his hands, and without his permission, tears began to stream down his cheeks. He didn't deserve it a bit, but the sobs became uncontrollable. He wept for Esmé and their child and his foolish, selfish decisions and that stupid woodpecker that would not stop. He wept that he would never meet their son; that the boy would grow up fatherless. He wept at the thought of Esmé finding comfort in someone else's arms. He hated that he had become exactly what his father wanted to be: the exact opposite of what he himself wanted. He had never felt so overwhelmed or foolish in his life.

. . .

Time passed; how much, Ernst wasn't sure. But he couldn't bring himself to move. He had no desire to leave. He sat there, in her chair, miserable as the sun rose and illuminated the small house. Everything was in order, just as it was when he had left. Though he did notice the table was set for two, something Esmé must have done in anticipation of his return.

It was Heinrich that had found him long after the sun had come up. Ernst didn't feel surprised when he saw him pull up on a horse. He was, after all, the only other person that knew where the cabin was.

Ernst sat in the chair motionless even as his brother approached. His eyes and head hurt; he felt ill and perhaps a little bit stunned. His throat felt like he had eaten glass and his heart ached.

"Ernst?" Heinrich called softly.

He turned away from him, not wanting to be seen like this his little brother of all people.

Heinrich didn't take the hint, for he knelt down beside the chair and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Mother sent me."

He closed his eyes, trying to compose himself. Heinrich pulled him into a stiff hug. "It's all right to be upset, you know."

He almost laughed at the words coming from his baby brother's mouth and appreciated the embrace.

But Heinrich didn't seem to mind. He held his brother's gaze and asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

He thought for a moment. There was nothing he could ask of Heinrich that could possibly be done. It was his entire fault, after all; none of this responsibility fell on Heinrich. "I wish I knew if she was all right."

"She's so smart, Ernst! She's lived on the road her whole life, right? And maybe she found more gypsies."

Ernst nodded, appreciative of Heinrich's words but nothing would make him feel better.

"The world isn't as big as you think, brother. Maybe you'll meet her again someday. I hope you do."

Ernst pushed the thought from his mind: he had just let her go; he couldn't the torturous thought of hope right now.

"Let's go home, yes?"

Ernst sighed. "Yes, let's go."

He rose from the chair as Count Volger. Heinrich had brought a spare horse and Volger took it back home. Heinrich had stopped on the way back, an errand for their mother and had told him he'd catch up. When he returned home and saw that Heinrich wasn't back, he asked his mother where she had sent him.

She had told Heinrich of no errand, and she didn't have any idea where he was.

It was the last time Volger ever saw his youngest brother.

"Hello! I'm Wolfgang."

Volger found himself quite unable to move as the young man called Wolfgang smiled and extended his hand.

Had the Count known who was coming into his room, he might have been surprised. But he didn't feel surprised at all. Perhaps he was shell-shocked and that simply robbed him of any extreme emotion, but he didn't feel much of anything. The only thing that he was certain of was the inability to move. He wanted to and he meant to, but his body wouldn't allow him.

The Count cleared his throat, crossed and then uncrossed his ankles; nervous habits that he rarely fell into. Dukes, princes, and even the kaiser he had met and spoken to, but Count Volger found himself fidgeting and anxious in the presence of a common sailor.

But when his eyes met those of said sailor, he felt a peculiar warmth in his chest and had a strong feeling that this wasn't just anyone.

Of course there had been countless false alarms, when the Count catch a glance of a child walking down he street. Those were terrible: it made his heart race and he'd feel a quick sensation of hopefulness, only to have it dashed away when the person turned around. He'd scan the crowd whenever he saw a caravan of gypsies, no matter where he was, always looking for someone he;d never met. While he had no idea what their son looked like, he always thought that he'd be look like a Volger. Tall, lean, fair. It was difficult imagining a male version of Esmé, after all.

However, this person carried absolutely none of the Volger family traits from what he could see, save for his height. He was tall; tall enough that he craned his neck down as he entered the room out of fear of scraping his head against the ceiling. His hair was long, dark; his complexion tanned by the sun. His eyes were bright and golden; familiar.

The young man called Wolfgang cleared his throat and cocked his head a bit to the side quizzically.

"Hello! I'm Wolfgang," he repeated cheerfully as he extended his hand towards the Count once again. "I believe we met the other night. Well, sort of."

The Count forced the thoughts out of his mind and far away and focused on the situation in front of him. He straightened up and regained his composure. He cleared his throat. "Hello."

Whenever Volger would catch a glimpse of someone that he thought might be his son and was filled with hope, soon followed the natural counterpart: doubt. It crept in slowly at first until his mind was filled; seeping with it. And then he would see the suspect's face and feel completely foolish. He had come to expect it, and wasn't the least bit fazed when he felt it trickle into his mind just then.

Amber eyes weren't that uncommon, were they? It could just be the lighting. And he worked on a ship: of course his skin was tanned by the sun and his hair unkempt. Esmeralda wasn't the only tan person in the world. And how did the Count know that his son looked like this?

Wolfgang looked expectantly at him, waiting for a response.

"Count Volger," he said, rising to introduce himself and shaking his hand. "Thank you for that, the other night. I do appreciate it."

Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he saw Alek standing next to the doorframe. He looked at the Count and then at the Wolfgang with wide eyes. Volger wondered for a moment why Alek was there and why he was hovering in the door, but that didn't matter at the moment.

Wolfgang smiled politely. "I'm glad to see you're doing well."

The Count blinked, just as he began to lose his train of thought, and forced himself to focus. "Yes, thank you."

"You work in the navigational room?" Wolfgang asked as his eyes drifted around the room.

"I do," Volger answered, and he was glad that Wolfgang was looking around the room because quite without his own consent, he found himself unable to stop staring at Wolfgang; studying him. He certainly didn't look twenty; he seemed much older. But that could have been the scruffy beard.

Wolfgang's yellow eyes stopped when the fell on the desk. "Where did you get that?" he asked, motioning to the necklace.

It was there, sitting just beside the Count's hand. He had been polishing the stone, turning it about in his hand.

Volger cleared his throat. "I... found it."

"I can't believe it!" Wolfgang exclaimed. Volger's eyes followed him as he picked it up. "I'd been looking everywhere for it, hadn't I, Alek?"

Alek must have left, for he didn't answer Wolfgang and was no longer in the room. Wolfgang didn't seem to mind, however, and hardly noticed as he proceeded to fasten the chain round his neck. "Thanks very much! I owe you a favor. I am glad you found it. You don't know how much trouble you may have saved me from," he added with a slight chuckle.

The Count raised an eyebrow at his boldness. Then again, Wolfgang probably wasn't raised as he was.

"Well," Wolfgang said after a moment of silence. "It was lovely meeting you officially. I hope to see you! And thank you again, really, for finding this."

And with that, he turned on his heel, whistling cheerfully, and began walking out of the room.

Wolfgang! Wait just a moment. There's something I need to ask you.

The Count played the imaginary scene out in his mind. He could have easily stopped Wolfgang; he wasn't even to the door yet. Most of him wanted to stop him and tell him, but a small part of him didn't. Part of him didn't want to know.

"Wolfgang," he called, standing from the desk.

He stopped to look at him. "Yes?"

The Count had searched for twenty years; he had never really thought about what he was going to do once he found him.

"...Thank you for coming."

Wolfgang smiled at him. "Have a nice evening, Count."

Once the door was closed, Volger sank back into his seat. The doubt that followed hope was soon replaced by a slight feeling of regret. The Count was quite used to that, so he pushed the feeling away and conceded to go to bed.

He rolled over and rubbed his eyes. He let out a sigh.

How can he breath like that? he thought to himself, glaring over at the Bauer-shaped lump that was snoring like a train.

Sleep had become a privilege, but not just because of Bauer. He rolled over again, away from the noise.

Volger was completely mistaken all together. It had happened countless times, after all.

He ran through the checklist for the thousandth time, but he didn't have to. Something in his heart was tugging at him; pestering him about it.

But really: what was he going to say?

He growled at Bauer, whose breathing seemed to only get louder. Really, did he have a lung problem?

The Count tore the sheets away and set both feet on the floor.