Disclaimer: I'm only playing in Pat's beautiful playground.

Chapter 9: In the Wings

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In the beginning, the things I noticed were minor. So small and insignificant that it was easy to pretend I hadn't encountered them at all. The spices Father bought ran out, and he didn't replenish them. It didn't seem remarkable; I had been spending my free time attempting to tend to Mother's garden after all, and I had plenty of herbs that I could pull freshly from the soil. Father complimented my resourcefulness, and we decided we rather liked the taste of them.

A few days later, I finally worked up the nerve to step into the room Father and Mother had shared, mop in hand. I had taken on all the housekeeping duties since my return, but in all that time I hadn't dared to enter their bedroom for fear of seeing Mother's ghost at every turn. Today, I finally felt ready. Or as ready as I thought I'd ever be. I stood on the threshold, nervously twisting her ring around my finger as I eyed the firmly shut door.

What would I feel when I saw her things? Had Father shoved them away out of sight, or had he left them as they were, splattered across the surfaces like broken shards of memory? Would I feel her when I breathed the air she had once walked in? Was she still standing there, watching over me from a dark corner of the room? Was she disappointed that it had taken me so long to enter into her domain?

Unable to think through the questions any longer, I pushed at the door with a trembling hand and let it creak open.

The room was dark and stale and dusty. It smelled age-old and sour. Of layered sweat long soaked into the sheets again and again. Of air so trapped it had no room to breathe. I stepped slowly forward, nearly tripping over piles of cloth cluttering the floor until I stumbled to the window and pulled it open, letting in the sweet summer wind. Soaked in its light, I saw the mess spread out before me, like a war-torn battleground.

The floor was barely visible. The bed an utter mess. The curtains still swayed beside the window. I could see a thick cloud of dust swirling as it danced in the sudden light. The sight of it nearly made me sick. Had Father never cleaned it once? Had he been content to live in this mess? Was it simply that he couldn't do it himself, and couldn't bear to ask me to do it either, knowing how hard it would be?

But he was my father. He couldn't live like this. Not while I was the self-appointed keeper of the house.

I attacked it with a vengeance, the cleaning taking most of the day. My anxieties overwhelmed by the scope of the work. By the time dusk fell, I had laundered piles of clothes and bedsheets and hung them in the garden to dry. I had aired out the room, dusted its corners and mopped the dirt off the floors, then brought in wild flowers from the garden until the stale scent was overcome with one of summer.

Through it all, I had avoided looking closely at Mother's things, treating her clothes with the roughness of necessity. But now, I handled them delicately as I pulled them off the line. I held the achingly familiar dresses to my chest, folding them neatly into perfect bundles. But as I did, I couldn't help but notice that some of her favorite dresses were missing. By the time I was done, I was sure of it. Mother's best holiday dress was nowhere to be found. Neither were the outfits she had saved from her time at the Lackless court. The dresses she had brought from Anilin were missing, too. Had she given them all to the church last winter along with Denna's things? Surely, she wouldn't have done. She had held on to them for years. The silks on her court things alone were worth several royals. She had sometimes mentioned them when we struggled through difficult patches in the past; when taxes were particularly heavy, or Father's apothecary had hit a dry spell.

"We need not worry, Harlan. If it gets so bad as that, we can always sell my court things."

Father had always resisted. "We shall have to be a stone's throw away from starving on the street before I'd let you sell your things, Althea. I will provide for this family."

Things had never grown quite as bad as that. And yet the dresses were nowhere to be found. And neither was her jewelry when I went looking. I could find neither her necklaces nor her earrings. None of her bracelets. It seemed the only piece of her that remained was the ring I wore upon my finger. I couldn't make sense of it. Perhaps she had given it away, knowing she wouldn't need it anymore. Had saved the ring for me, and nothing else. It hurt a little, but Mother had always been generous in her giving, and had never reserved it only for me.

Father hugged me when he returned home later that evening and I showed him what I had done. He praised me over a simple dinner of potato soup with spring onions pulled from the garden. For dessert, we ate yesterday's bread with jam and drank tea alongside. When I asked if he knew what became of Mother's dresses, he merely shrugged.

"I haven't seen anything in that room for months," he admitted sheepishly. "You've seen the state of it now. I'm sorry for that." He looked suitably ashamed, and I dropped the subject, worried I would send him back into the darkness he'd carried for so long. I had carried my own darkness long enough to know that it never fully left you. That it followed you always, like a trailing cloak. Waiting to rise up from the shadows and take you whole.

As summer turned slowly to fall, Father's happy mood seemed to fade. It flickered across the days, like an oil lamp on the verge of burning out. Some days his smile was sure and bright, as much a part of his being as any other piece of him. And other days it seemed to pull tight against his skin, like plaster. Those days, the white of his teeth was a harsh stain against the shadows that framed his face. His appetite grew patchy, and he appeared interested in the food I had cooked only on the days when his smile was real. The other days, he satisfied himself with dessert and nothing more, and was quick to anger. On those days I learned to be quiet, and we spent meals in silence.

As the span passed and the days grew colder, Father's appearance grew haggard and thin. All the food I offered made no difference. And there was little to offer either way, for Father had not brought home meat or fish for several span.

"The shop is not doing well, I'm afraid," he told me when I asked. "I'm sure it is only temporary. Soon the cold season will be upon us, and we will be swamped with customers in need of medicine. Don't you worry."

But the days grew colder, and things didn't seem to improve. Most days he came home with potatoes. Or carrots. Sometimes there were apples. Sometimes there was nothing at all. Our stock of flour ran thin, and he didn't replenish it. Some days there was little to eat but sugar, and I went to bed with my belly aching. My heart bitterly cold and afraid.

My only escape was Mother's rebec, but when I played it for Father now, he was silent, watching me with hooded eyes. His mood growing darker by the days. I was losing him again. And I had no idea what I'd done. We had had trouble with the shop before, I knew that. Dry spells were common enough, and our savings were few. But it had never been so bad as that. So bad that food was hard to come by.

One evening toward the end of Reaping, Father returned home in the early dusk, smiling brightly as he handed me several meat pies and a bottle of fruit wine.

"Tonight, we eat well," he said, his voice light and happy. He had provisions as well; a wheel of cheese, a large sack of potatoes in perfect form, flour. We would have bread at last! There was no meat, but I had long stopped hoping for such things. I stored them all away, my mood bright.

Dinner that night was perfect. The pies were crispy and filling, the wine sweet, and Father's laugh infectious. For the first time in several span I went to bed with my belly full and my heart content. I was so sure that things had turned at last. Surely the shop was back on track. We had food. And Father had promised there would be more. Next spring, I could take up the garden again. Perhaps I could even grow enough to sell so we could save some coin. We really only needed to make it through the winter. What had been unthinkable yesterday seemed positively easy now.

The next day, I couldn't find Mother's rebec.

I looked everywhere. I tore up the house, leaving stains of flour behind me like a trail. I dug through my room, the sitting room, even Father's room. I checked the attic. I even looked through every corner of the yard, even though I hadn't been there for days. But there was nothing. It wasn't in the corner of the sitting room, where I had left it two days ago after I last played. It wasn't anywhere.

And there was something more. In the deepest corner of Father's room, buried at the bottom of his sock drawer, was a scrunched-up letter.

It was all official; written on thick parchment and stamped with the seal of the royal court. I spread it out upon his rumpled bed with flour-stained fingers. It did not contain heartfelt greetings.

Harlan, Son of Beldon, Principal Proprietor of Herbs & Tinctures, Renere

This is your final notification on behalf of the Royal Court that you are in default of your obligation to pay taxes on the property thus listed above. The sum owed, with all accrued interest, as of the current date of the 1st day of Reaping, is 3 royals, 2 nobles, and 1 round.

We regret to inform you that because your account has been past due as of the 1st of Caitelyn, and you have made no attempts to settle your debt during this time, there will be no further extensions nor leniencies. You have until the end of the span to bring the payment to the Court. If you have not done so by the morning of the 12th day of Reaping, then we will regretfully have no choice but to take possession of the property listed above to cover the losses of His Majesty, King Roderic Calanthis. You will lose all titles of ownership, as well as the ability to operate a business within the city of Renere and all its surrounding counties for the next 5 years as penalty.

The Court accepts payments delivered in person in the mornings, between the days of Luten and Cendling.

We thank you for your cooperation.

Steward Aldrich, Scribe and Advisor to the Treasury of the Royal Court

I looked up from the letter, my hands trembling, and stared around the empty room.

"Tehlu Anyway…" I whispered weakly.

Four months behind on the King's taxes. It was an obscene amount of money. More than Father brought home in three months during a good season. Had things been this bad all the while? Father had never said a word. I cursed again. It was the 38th day of Reaping. Had Father taken the money to the court? He'd had money enough for food last night. Surely he'd paid off the debt.

Where was Mother's rebec…?

A sick feeling stole through my stomach, taking my breath with it. No. It couldn't be. Before I knew it, I had donned my coat and hurried out of the house.

It had been months since I had walked the streets that led to the apothecary. I had not been in the shop since before Denna had died. I had been too busy; first grieving, then minding the house. The shop had become Father's sanctuary. I hurried through the streets, my breath coming in sharp bursts in the chilly air. Fallow was nearly here. Winter was coming.

I slowed as I turned onto the street which housed the apothecary. I was afraid. Terrified of what I would see when I reached it. And yet I had to see. I inched along the cobblestones, drawing nearer to its familiar windows. I had to know.

One glance was enough.

The shop was dark. There were heavy iron chains hanging upon the door, held together with a lock that looked weighty enough to do damage to a person if thrown. There was a note stuck to the door, declaring the property "SEIZED! By order of the Royal Court." The sign was weathered. Wrinkled in patches. As if it had seen several rains and dried, and seen them again. Even the chains were colored with the beginnings of rust.

How long… How long had it been?

I stepped closer, my heart sinking, and pressed my nose against the window glass. The shop was empty. Soulless. The shelves bare. The floor piled with empty boxes and scraps of paper. I could see a broken cup on the counter Father had once manned, tipped on its side. Its handle shattered.

I stepped back numbly, my mind whirling like a broken symphony. It couldn't be. How could it have happened? How could I not have known?

Where was Father?

Darkness was settling around me, dusk creeping along the street in twilight tendrils, but I couldn't think where to go.

Where was he going when he left for the shop each day? Why hadn't he told me?

Tehlu. Were we going to starve?

I turned, barely aware in my daze, and stepped straight into an elderly man who had been passing behind me.

"Watch it!" he hissed, hitting me across the ankles with his cane as he stumbled. The pain was sharp. It snapped me back to reality in an instant.

"I'm sorry!" I gasped, trying to regain my footing as I quickly backed away. He stared me down, scowling.

"Children these days," he scoffed, waving his cane threateningly in my direction. "No bleedin' manners. What you standin' in the middle of the street for, eh? Didn't your mother teach you no sense?"

I felt like someone had grabbed my heart and squeezed, until there was barely anything left.

"T-the apothecary," I managed, backing away until my back pressed against the empty glass window. "I was looking for…"

"What, this one?" He laughed at that. "Good luck with that, girl. It's gone. And good riddance, too." He shook his head with a scowl. "Bleedin' waste of space that was. And it's no better now. Sittin' there all empty. Have to walk all the way to Tehlu Town for my herbs now."

"What happened to it?"

The old man glared at me, as if I were a horrible nuisance. Though he seemed perfectly content to vent away for all that.

"Don't you see the bloody sign? Don't tell me you can't read. Children these days." He spat on the ground in disgust. "Useless. The court went and took it away, didn't they? You see, it says 'seized,' don't you? Didn't pay his taxes, that one. Huge surprise." He scoffed.

"W-why?" I breathed, my hands trembling.

"Why?" he repeated, looking at me incredulously. "Lord and Lady, girl. Did your mother climb out from under a rock before she sent you here? Bleedin' place's been no good for months. Unless you're on the market for denner. They haven't had shit to sell for a bent penny since Solace."

"What?" The voice that left my mouth didn't feel like my own. A cold like I had never known stole through me, encasing all my limbs in ice. Selling denner? Denner resin? Father? It was absurd. Illegal. He would never. "That— That can't be…"

"I'm tellin' you it is, ain't I? Mind your betters, girl. Tehlu hold me, children… You'll have to run along to Tehlu Town if you want medicine. Bloody sweet eaters. Overrunnin' the entire city. We'll be well in it come midwinter…" He stalked off, muttering acidly to himself.

I stood by the empty window long after he left, the street growing steadily busier around me as night fell. A hundred people bustled past me, carrying bags, holding hands, hurrying to homes full of warmth and light where loved ones waited.

I had never felt so alone.

Father was nowhere to be found when I stepped into the house. I moved through its dark and empty spaces, flitting through the shadows of rooms I had once known. A sitting room. A kitchen. A half-made loaf of bread, abandoned on the counter. A family had lived here once. Had laughed here. A father. A mother. Two daughters. A happy family.

Music had filled these spaces until they came alive. The music of Mother's rebec. Of Denna's twinkling chatter. Of Father's booming laugh.

And now this house stood empty. A monument. Memorializing the family that had once walked its halls and made it home. What were we now? Did we exist outside of the husk we called home anymore? Or was its carcass woven out of lies?

The old man's words… I didn't want to believe them. How could I? But still, I walked from room to room, searching. I didn't want them to be true, but Father was nowhere to be found and the apothecary stood empty. I didn't dare accept the weight of them. What did the old man know, anyway? But I thought of all I knew of sweet eaters, and of how Father hadn't seemed to feel it when he held his hand to the fire. Of his sudden easy smile in the wake of tragedy. Had his teeth always been so white?

Why was it that he had brought home so much sugar and so little flour?

I slammed my hand against the wall in bitter anger, and the stinging pain echoed across my palm long after the wave of fury receded, splashing tears across my cheeks as it went. I slid down to the floor and sat there for a long while, trembling as the tears swept through me. It felt like all of me, the entirety of my soul, was pouring out from my eyes. Perhaps this wound was just too deep. Too hard to heal. It took me a long while to cry myself into silence.

When I finally climbed to my weary feet, I was empty. My eyes felt as if they had been wrung dry. My stomach was a void, aching with hunger. I was so thirsty that my lips felt cracked and torn. There was hardly air to breathe left in me. But there was nothing for it. I couldn't muster up the energy to do anything more than stumble into Father's room. To carry on with this pointless quest, where every step forward was like a wound being torn open. I'd bleed out if I kept going.

But what did I care for blood? I had already seen enough to drown in.

So I sat upon Father's floor and sifted through the piles of things I worked so hard to keep clean, searching. I must have dug through them for hours. I must have sat there in a stupor until the sun rose, bathing the room in crimson light. For all my efforts, I didn't find a thing. No suspicious packets of whitish powder. No stacks of hidden coins. No secret letters that explained everything awaiting my discovery. No. There was nothing at all. Nothing to prove what I was searching for. And yet I knew it for the truth.

It was midmorning before I realized that Father had never come home.