Liir didn't have to say anything for Glinda to know he thought her grief to be false and cheap. But those words, false and cheap that is, described her whole life. How else could she express herself when that was all she had? No matter how real and powerful her grief was. She took the boy to Cherrystone. He could contact Shell to take the boy into Southstairs. She had written him to tell him of his sisters' deaths and that was more than she cared to contact him. Nessarose's passing meant that Glinda no longer had to endure Shell. At least that was how Glinda took it. Nessa had encouraged Shell to 'get to know' Glinda and by the by, Glinda had come to be with child. She'd had a girl she named Gitel. No one knew about the child. Not even Nessa or Shell. Glinda had gone into hiding and when the girl was born, she left her at the Cloister of Saint Glinda claiming the child had been found upon her doorstep. She had laughed lightly saying the House of Glinda the Good had been mistaken for the Cloister of Glinda the Saint.
Liir had made her think of the daughter she had given up. He made her think of Elphaba and when she had run into Fiyero and he had smelled of her beloved. Her tears and moods had been erratic with the boy but she'd done what she could to help him. She had had a lot to do, with being instated as leader of Oz, with mourning Elphaba in the bitter final way only Death can instigate.
Less than half a year later, the underground rebellion against Glinda the Good had gone too far for Glinda to risk staying in office any longer. Chuffrey had been poisoned and he would have died. Instead he was bound to a wheelchair, drool glistening on his chin. He had been a robust man before and Glinda could only imagine how he hated this. She had done healing spell after healing spell, elixirs, medicines, anything she could think of. She had kept him alive. To what avail? She was certain he wished she had let him die instead.
She had asked them to have Liir be one of the boys to attend her stepping down ceremony. She had wanted to see that he was well for her own eyes. But any and all that knew her were in danger so she pretended not to know him, looked at him without seeming to. He hated her for it. She didn't blame the boy. She hated herself for it too. She wanted to ask if he had found the girl…Nor, was it? She wanted to offer more help to him but the best help she could give him was to pretend she had no idea and no interest in who he was.