The last few minutes before we dock are agony as I watch my mother's eyes search for me on the deck, eventually meeting my gaze with a tired smile. When the boards lower for us to disembark, I practically throw the soldiers next to me over the banister and leap down to her, Gene barreling after me to ensure no one stabs me in retaliation. When I finally reach my mother, the guards holding her attempt to keep me at bay, but a swift hit to their jewels from my mother's elbow leaves them gasping on the grass and she runs into my arms. Suddenly, every argument, snide remark, capture by locals, and fight against massive poisonous creatures feels worth it. I'd have fought a hundred of the As-Yi's pets to get my mother back... I'd be ripped to shreds after two, but it's the thought that counts.
"Ozzy, my dear boy, what have they done to you?!" she asks me with worry, feeling my arms and eyeing my bruises as if she hasn't been held captive for nearly two months.
"Mother, what about you? How did they take you? Did the brutes ever touch you?"
"Those pissants? They wouldn't dare! I told them that if they tried, you'd have words with them, and it'd end with them not speaking words again."
"I thought you hated when I got violent."
"I was held in an unsanitary brig with wretched food, Ozzy; certain rules went out the metal bars with that slop they called meatloaf."
She chuckles warily and holds me a bit longer until she spots Gene standing silently behind me. She lets go and walks over to him, and instead of slapping him as I expected, she hugs him like a prodigal son.
"Gene Christoph?! My word, look how you've grown up! How have you been? What are you doing working for this daft shaft-hole?"
(You see where I got my way with words from now?)
"I, uh, I've been good, Ms. Orenson. Thank you for asking. I assure you, your son was in good hands; not a hair on his head was harmed."
I look on in confusion. Not at the lie he told to spare her feelings, that's customary, but the fact she's so chummy.
"Wait, so Gene wasn't with the soldiers who took you?"
"Oh, heavens, no! Gene knows better than to take part in that idiocy."
Gene turns to me with a smile and loyally nods in agreement.
"I gave you my word I didn't harm her, and I meant it, Saint."
"Well then, who was responsible?" I ask.
"It was... him! That crimson cunt over there!"
Gene and I follow my mother's finger to see Cardinal Percival walking our way, King Connor by his side. I let out a feral growl while Gene stares in shame. Percival chuckles and waves at us with a twisted smile.
"Glory to God that you're reunited with your mother, Oswald. I'm sure it's been dreadful worrying about her."
"Leave us be, you scum!" spits my mother, backing away to clutch my arm. Percival raises his hands in a peaceful motion and giggles devilishly.
"My apologies, Ms. Orenson. May you both have a peaceful ride home; I'll have a soldier arrange for your transport."
Percival slithers by me, and it's only my mother's grip that keeps me from strangling him with his hat. King Connor follows him but stops and turns to Gene.
"Well, Sir Christoph, now that the festivities are over, we need to plan for our next steps. Join us for tea and strategy, hmm?"
Gene's eyes widen in shock, then shifts to an odd smile and a maniacal cackle. He steps toward Connor with a wild grin and stares him in the eye with teeth gleaming.
"After all of this, everything that's happened, not one thing has changed for you?"
"Gene, I suggest you calm yoursel-"
"Fuck your calm, Connor! If you are so dead-set on pillaging and robbing, then you can find someone with far less brains and morals to lead your armies," Gene screams, before slapping Connor straight across his face, knocking him to the ground. Soldiers rush over to help him up and apprehend Gene, but Connor groans and raises his hand to stop them. Once Connor is standing again, his face is twisted with anger.
"Consider that my resignation," growls Gene. Connor pushes him back over to me with vicious eyes, all while Lina and Natalia watch silently in the distance. I spot a glisten of fear in Natalia's eyes, but neither of us can bring ourselves to say something.
"Fine! You want to leave? Be gone with the other vermin!" Connor screams. "Forget your estate and your gold, too! I'll throw your wares into the furnace now that you have nowhere to go!"
"Not so fast, your Lowness," I interject. "He'll stay with me in my cabin. It's not much, but it's big enough for a guest. Quite nice in the right light."
"There is no right light to make your cabin nice, darling," my mother savagely rebuts. "You'll both stay with me. You wouldn't leave a little old woman alone, would you?"
Gene and I both nod no, and Connor simply claps his hands and motions to the gate.
"So be it! You can all go now, then. Never return, unless you wish to see my castle from underneath!"
His guards proceed to push us to the gate and stuff us in the back of a carriage, hurriedly galloping away before I can say goodbye to Lina and Natalia... or apologize for our display, for that matter. I lean over in my seat, filled with melancholy, while my mother rubs my neck on my right and Gene babbles to my left.
"Oh, God, did that just happen?!"
"Yes, and it was glorious. Congratulations, Gene; you got balls, and my respect."
"All well and good, but what am I supposed to do now?" he bemoans. "I'm a soldier, and I just cut everything I worked for to shreds. I don't regret giving that asshole a good ribbing (If he wasn't so upset right now, I'd be tearing into that accidental pun), but what shall become of me now?"
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"Well, once you tone down the melodrama, you can always work with m-"
My mother hurriedly slaps the back of my head, a clear sign that she disagrees with that idea.
"The hell you will! You will both stay with me as long as necessary," she interjects. "While you're there, you can help me bake; the shop may be closed, but I still make a few pastries or loaves for neighbors here and there. Use your knife skills to cut dough, not skin, deal?"
There didn't seem to be much room to argue, so we both nod yes. Gene then leans over with wide eyes.
"This is the woman you worried about in the brig?" he whispers. "I would've worried more about the guards."
"In hindsight, I probably worried about both," I chuckle.
After a few minutes, we pull up to my family's cottage, and it's exactly like I last saw it: the smell of yeast in the entry, the purr of an oven, and a comforting warmth in every room. As I observe the creaky oak floor and faded hand-painted tile scenes of knights and farmers across many of the walls, I settle into a little green armchair I recall from childhood. Gene, on the other hand, is a bit antsy when he walks in.
"Are you sure it's not an imposition?" he asks meekly.
"Boy, if you ask me that again you'll get a smack too! This is your home for as long as you need it; any friend of my son is family to me. Now pick a bedroom and get comfortable."
She practically pushes him up the steps as I lean back in the armchair, pondering her words.
"Family."
It's been a while since I've understood the meaning of that. Wholeheartedly, at least. I start to feel it a lot more over the next few weeks; my mother undersold just how much baking she does for the neighborhood. Almost every other day, she has me and Gene running around making deliveries, scrounging for a deal on flour or wheat (Which we have to grind ourselves), or mixing and rolling another batch of dough. It takes me a beat for muscle memory to kick in and remind me of the permanent chocolate and caramel under my fingernails, but Gene, while remaining strangely quiet outside of work, surprisingly enjoys the daily tasks, creating delicious brioche and tarts with ease. One day, I pause my rolling for another pan of pretzels and snap him out of his mission of twisting a cinnamon braid, both impressed and perturbed.
"I thought you said you were a soldier, not some kind of master chef! How are you doing this so well?!"
"I don't know, it just seems to come naturally!" he replies. "Plus, your mother's orders remind me of our instructors from training. Not to mention, learning a skill that can't be corrupted has me excited, I suppose."
His face then turns cold and he goes back to his work. I immediately understand what's on his mind, and realize how brutal I just was.
"I'm sorry, Gene. I know this has been tough for you."
"It's been beyond tough, Ozzy. It's been four weeks since we returned, and three since Connor and his forces departed for the islands again, and no news. All I can think about is how much death they could be spreading, fear ensnaring those islands like an endless storm. It sickens me."
"I'm sure it will be fine."
"Fine?! How can you say that?! Aside from the Peludesians, who are heart-stabbing hermits, the islands have no idea how to stop an invasion. Connor can use his bombs and cannons to burn them out as he pleases, and nothing can stop him. How on Earth do you think this will be fine?"
"...Well, when you say it like that..."
Gene groans and turns back to his dough, pushing it so hard I fear it will become hard as a brick once it's baked. Before I can save his doomed dough, a knock rings from the door. Gene looks at me with confusion.
"Strange, your mom's jam delivery shouldn't be here until tomorrow. Are you expecting anyone?"
I shrug in response and we go to answer the door. It takes Gene catching me by my shoulders to ensure I don't pass out as my eyes meet Natalia's. My lips turn to putty, so Gene responds for both of us.
"Ms. Ziri, what brings you here? Would you like some pastries?" he says, as if we have any stock that is not raw or already sold.
"Thank you for the offer, but I must decline," she says. She has a gingerly smile, but I can tell something is wrong. "If you're free for a moment, there's something urgent we must speak to you about."
"We?" I ask, now that my wits have returned. "Who might this 'we' be? I hate to be brash, but if Connor and Percival want a word, they can forget it."
"Oh, no! I understand completely; what they did to both of you was horrid, but especially you, Oswald. I never could've imagined they had your mother captive... barbaric is truly an understatement. However, while this concerns them, they are not who I'm speaking of."
"Thank you for your concern, Ms. Ziri. If this matter does not include us speaking with the king and his brood, who would request our presence?" Gene inquires.
She takes a moment to ponder a reply, clearly holding information she can't (or refuses to) share. She merely motions to a carriage down the block and rubs her temples.
"I think it's better if you join me at the castle so I can explain. Immediately."
"You know, I think we need to take some time to discu-" Gene's tactical manner, while much appreciate, quickly flies over my head as I dash to the carriage. Natalia is clearly distressed, and I intend to help. Seeing little room to argue, Gene groans and joins me in the back. Natalia takes her place in the front of the carriage and we're soon off. Once again, Gene's mind starts to buzz with worst-case scenarios.
"What if we're being prosecuted? Of course, we know too much, we're liabilities to the plans. Hell, they could skip prosecution and hang us."
"Gene, we are in a very nice, very luxurious carriage going to the castle. If they wanted to kill us secretly, I don't think taking us to a crime scene that can be seen from Vanedale's borders instead of just striking us down on the spot is the answer, now calm the hell down!"
"Easy for you to say. You're here for some tail."
"Oh, she is much more than tail, my friend. She's an entire tiger, who thoroughly has me in her jaws."
"...Thanks, now I can die with that image burned into my mind. Now, can your tiger explain that?"
Gene points out the window and alerts me to the crowds around the castle gates. Last time I saw such a crowd, they were attempting to storm the gates and drag Connor out, a worthy strategy. However, this time, there's less revolt and more cheery revelry; people are dancing and feasting on the lawns like a high holiday. I turn my gaze to the docks and spot lines of boats, but strangely, only one of the boats is from our kingdom. Stranger still, none of the other boats have familiar designs from other kingdoms. Who on Earth could we be meeting?
The carriage pulls to a stop outside the grand entrance doors, which immediately burst open with Lina rushing to the carriage to meet us. I'm barely out the door before her arms are wrapped around my legs.
"Sir Orenson, you're back! Can you come play with me once your meeting is over?"
"Er, sure... you don't know what this meeting may be about, do you?"
Lina shrugs and allows blood flow to return to my lower extremities.
"Natalia told me to stay in my room for a while, so I don't know what's happening, but it sounds really important. Good luck!"
As soon as she had arrived, Lina bolts back into the house and up the stairs. Gene steps out of the carriage, followed by Natalia stepping down from the driver's seat.
"So, are you ready for the meeting?" Natalia asks as she opens the door.
"Not really, but we don't seem to have a choice." groans Gene. "Can you at least tell us what is so urgent you needed us to leave our work?"
"Let's just say I hope you have experience negotiating for hostages."
"H-hostages? Why the hell would we have experience with that?!"
"I don't know, I thought they taught generals that! Plus you negotiated for the crew's release twice on our journey!"
"Wait, Natalia, who is being held hostage?" I ask urgently as she leads us into the main hall.
"Your brilliant king and priest, Sir Orenson," a familiar, authoritative voice rings out. Both mine and Gene's hair immediately stands on end. As we round the corner to the main hall, we see a row of frightened Vanedale soldiers on one side of the table, and the leaders of the Ralacharians, Vetinites, and Peludesians on the other, each wearing a grimmer demeanor than the last. Gene and I turn to each other, then to the worry splayed across Natalia's face, and the gravity of the crisis finally becomes clear: We might now be bartering for our very kingdom.