Chương 4: Chapter 3: She Does Not Cry

Elma was strapped into her high chair, enduring what was, for her, the most agonizing torture: The Dinner. It was served in the Great Dining Hall, a vast, echoing space designed to celebrate the wealth of House Altheris. Yet, the room itself was proof of the chasm between its occupants. Lord Valerius Altheris sat at the head. Lady Christa Kresnik sat opposite him. Elma sat between them, a small, helpless centerpiece. The marriage was a political union, and the atmosphere reflected it perfectly.

It was not a tense, suppressed anger that filled the room; it was simply a vacuum of connection. The silence was monumental. It swallowed the soft scrape of silver on porcelain, the quiet padding of the servants' shoes, and every breath Elma took. It was a cold, oppressive emptiness—the sound of two people who had nothing to say to each other. Elma raged against this polite, suffocating quiet. She longed for a fight, a clear threat, or even just genuine noise.

The urge to break the silence, to shatter the crystal goblets, to tear the silk napkin from Valerius's lap—anything to force a real reaction—was almost unbearable. Christa slowly raised her head. Her eyes met her husband's—and for the first time ever in the dining hall, Elma saw something in her mother's face that wasn't exhaustion or resignation, but a deep, quiet concern. She ignored Valerius entirely. Her gaze found Elma's.

"Elma," Christa said softly, her words aimed only at her daughter.

"Our child is not normal." The statement struck Elma like a sudden, brutal blow. Panic, cold and immediate, seized her. The six months of agony spent mastering the role of a compliant, idiotic infant—the hours spent biting her own sleeve to suppress the urge to fight, the sheer humiliation of her limited motor skills—all of it had been for nothing. She caught me! How? Did I slip? Did I move my eyes wrong? Elma stared back at her mother, her baby face frozen in wide-eyed shock.

Her mind raced through every interaction, every feeding, every time Christa had simply murmured a lullaby. When had she seen through it? Valerius, still rigid, finally spoke, his voice dangerously low, "what do you mean?" Christa stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly across the polished stone floor. The harsh sound finally broke her composure; the usual resignation gave way to a flicker of raw, frantic emotion.

"What do I mean? I mean she isn't natural! She has never cried like a proper baby! Not when the nurse cleans her, not when she's hungry, not since her birth. She is six months old, and she has never cried!" She gestured wildly toward Elma, her hands trembling.

"And when I hold her, I feel it! She goes rigid, she stiffens up, she holds her breath, or she stares right through me, pretending to be asleep! She barely moves a muscle when she's near us! She is afraid or she is cursed!" Elma felt a flicker of confusion and disbelief amidst the shock. Afraid? Isn't that how a smaller, weaker being should act when surrounded by a larger one? What is wrong with these people? Valerius stared at his wife for a long moment, taking in her distress.

Then, slowly, a wide, deafening laughter broke across his face. It was the same booming, empty, triumphant sound Elma had grown to hate.

"HA HA HA HA! My dear Christa! Your sensibilities are betraying you!" Valerius bellowed, rising to his full, immense height.

"You see fear or a curse; I see the perfection of a leader!" He moved to Elma's chair and gripped the wood so tightly his knuckles were white.

"She is my daughter! She does not cry because she knows she has nothing to fear! She is a force of will, Christa! She is not some weak-minded peasant child who needs to wail for attention! She is silent because she is strong, because she is disciplined! She is a true Altheris-Kresnik! You should be proud!" Christa's shouting stopped instantly. She dropped her hands, her face crumpling with weary disbelief.

"Proud of what, Valerius?" she whispered.

"Proud of your apostasy? The Gods have cursed me for marrying you. I know it." Gods. Is that what brought her here? This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She stared at her mother, who was now slowly sinking back into her chair, defeated and utterly convinced of a cosmic punishment. Is that why I am here... their curse? Valerius's face went from booming pride to absolute, terrifying stillness.

He closed his hands into fists, squeezing them so hard the leather of his gloves must have groaned. Without a word, Valerius turned his back on his wife and daughter. His massive figure strode quickly away from the table, the crimson hilt flopping heavily against his back with each step, vanishing into the heavy thuds that faded beyond the doorway. Christa's shoulders began to tremble. She raised a hand to her face, trying to conceal the raw sound that escaped her: a choking sob. She was crying.

Elma stared at the sight, utterly frozen. She had never seen Christa cry before, and the sight shattered the meticulous control Elma had fought to maintain since her rebirth. The sight of Christa crying, coupled with the thought that she might be a curse upon this family, proved to be more than the fragile little body could endure. Her breathing hitched into sharp, uneven spasms. Tiny fingers locked rigidly against her palms. She broke into a cry.

She tried to command the diaphragm to settle, to force the vocal cords into silence, but this body was her curse. Christa's head snapped up. Her eyes, wide and shining with tears, fixed on Elma in profound shock. She rose, overturning her chair in her haste, and hurried to Elma's side, fumbling with the unfamiliar silk safety straps. As soon as Elma was free, Christa pulled the baby close, gathering her into a desperate, tight embrace.

"Oh, my baby, my little Elma!" Christa choked out, tears of relief now mixing with her sorrow.

"I'm so sorry I screamed at your father. I'm sorry I frightened you." Elma stopped resisting. The incident had dulled Christa's suspicions, and there was no benefit in struggling against the body's weakness now. So she let it lapse into its usual pathetic state. How long would it take before this body obeyed her properly? She wondered.

Valerius strode out of the manor without looking back. The heavy double doors closed behind him with a blunt thud, cutting off the interior. He stopped. For a few seconds, he just stood there in the cold air. He knew Christa was likely still weeping on the other side of that wood. The thought only irritated him. How his wife could still be so fearful remained beyond him. Change was the nature of life itself. The old gods had fallen, and in time the new gods would follow them. Kingdoms rose and collapsed.

Faiths flourished and faded. Nothing endured forever. Humanity alone continued forward, shedding old skins and building new worlds atop their remains. The child had shown strength, discipline, and self-control far beyond her age, yet Christa saw only curses and omens. Perhaps it should not have surprised him. The old gods had spent centuries teaching people to fear change. Valerius closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. The cool wind carried the heavy scent of the Rakna plains.

It smelled of the northern orchards, the southern citrus groves, and the raw, damp earth of fields stretching far beyond the horizon. Valerius closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting the air fill his lungs. It was the smell of his territory, and the only thing that consistently brought him peace. He opened his eyes and set off down the stone path. Just as he started walking, a familiar figure silently fell into step a half-pace behind him. Thiyya.

The Commander had apparently been waiting outside the manor the entire time. Her golden armor gleamed beneath the evening suns. Unlike the others, she asked no questions. She simply matched his pace. Valerius appreciated that. Ahead, gathered near the outer courtyard, stood the rest of his generals. Thirteen in total, each commanding one of the branches through which Veraxys wielded its power. And already they were causing problems. Valerius stopped.

"..." Several maids stood in a loose circle trying—and failing—not to laugh. At the center stood Sekar. The peasant-born commander wore his usual gray fur coat despite the weather. Silver rings shaped like tiny skulls decorated nearly every finger. Currently, those fingers were manipulating dozens of tiny dolls that looked unnervingly real. The figures danced across a table with uncanny precision.

Little noblemen spun alongside miniature soldiers while a tiny maid performed a dramatic bow that sent the watching servants into another fit of laughter.

"Then the brave hero declared his undying love!" Sekar announced. The miniature soldier immediately tripped over its own feet and fell off the table. The maids burst into laughter. Nearby, Peregrine was laughing the hardest of all.

"It suits you." Sekar groaned. His gray hair was now a bright pink. Valerius closed his eyes. For a brief moment he considered turning around and marching directly into battle without them. Unfortunately, they were among the most capable people in the nation. When he opened his eyes again, both commanders had already noticed him. The laughter died. The maids scattered, Peregrine straightened, and Sekar's dolls collapsed instantly into sand.

"My lord," Thiyya greeted. The others followed. Valerius looked directly at Sekar.

"Explain. Why is your hair like this?"

"It was a wager," Sekar said.

"A wager you lost," Peregrine added helpfully.

"I noticed." Valerius folded his arms.

"Since both of you apparently possess enough free time to entertain servants, I have decided to solve the problem." Neither commander liked where this was going.

"Sekar. You will remain in Kandal. Protect the Aurethion until our return."

"My lord, I'd rather march with the army—" Valerius had already shifted his attention to Peregrine.

"You will return to the border forts."

"What? Why?"

"Because someone has to guard them."

"Then send another one."

"No." Peregrine glanced toward Thiyya for support. Thiyya remained expressionless. The betrayal was immediate and sharp.

"My lord—""My order is final." Sekar sighed dramatically. Peregrine muttered something unflattering beneath her breath. Neither argued further. Valerius looked toward the road beyond the city. In the distance, banners were already gathering beneath the evening sky. Without another word, he began walking, and one by one the remaining commanders fell in behind him. This time, no one laughed. A battle awaited him. For perhaps the first time in his life, he found himself wishing it did not.