140 – Family Matters

Mal ran his hands across the fabric that covered the exterior of one of the buildings. It was soft to the touch, yet the stitches looked and also felt perfectly even and taut. There wasn't a single thread out of place, square after square of interlocking stitches, perfectly matched to one another.

"Admiring the fabric walls?" Philo said. "You should. We have the finest weavers in the world."

Mal turned back and nodded. "I can tell. I'm not much of a tailor, but it's obvious that whoever did this was an expert."

"Are we seriously planning to just stare at fabric all day?" Rolam tapped his foot against the ground, his arms crossed. "You two have just been staring at cloth for twenty minutes at this point. Lusia and I are getting bored."

"I'm not bored," Lusia said.

Rolam glared at her. "You had one job."

"What was the job?"

Rolam grinded his teeth together instead of answering.

As much as Mal wanted to continue staring at fabric, Rolam probably had a point. It wasn't particularly productive to keep on doing that for the foreseeable future.

"Are there any major attractions that you know of here?" Mal asked.

"Ordinarily, Philo would have taken you to see his parents. Unfortunately, they're out of town."

Rolam's eyes narrowed. "You're a terrible liar, Philo."

Philo jolted. "What? Philo is no liar!"

"You are. Your tongue does a little thing when you lie. It's really obvious."

Huh. Mal hadn't noticed that. When did Rolam get so observant?

"I, for one, want to see why Philo is hiding his parents," Rolam said. "Who's with me?"

"I don't care," Lusia said.

"I was talking to Mal."

"Okay."

Rolam rolled his eyes, then looked over in Mal's direction.

"I think it's as good an idea as any," Mal said.

"Philo really thinks this isn't a good idea—"

"If master wants us to go that way, then I agree with him."

"Lusia, Philo really thinks that you're all making a silly decision."

"I don't care," Lusia said.

Philo groaned. "Fine. It seems we're off to visit Philo's parents."

He pointed a clawed finger off at a seemingly random direction. "We're going to be walking that way for about twenty minutes." He glanced around and grimaced. "Rolam, do you have something to cover your head and ears?"

"Right. That's a good idea."

Rolam took his tunic off and wrapped it around his head in some sort of makeshift bun, leaving him shirtless, his bare skin glistening in the winter sun.

"How are you not freezing?" Mal asked.

A smug tone entered Rolam's voice. "Elven constitution, we're a little hardier than humans."

"Not as hardy as a draconid," Philo said.

"You wanna say that to my face, you oversized lizard?"

As the two slipped into yet another argument, Philo's legs moved, and the rest of the group followed. Mal fell toward the back, side by side with Lusia. Before long, they passed out of the urban city center—insofar as a collection of huts could be considered an urban city center—and into an area where the road turned into grass. Mal's footsteps became a little heavier from having to trudge through the wetness. He felt something land on his head, then glanced up.

It was snowing.

one by one, little white flakes descended from the sky and onto the ground.

"Are you well, master?"

Mal was broken out of his thoughts by Lusia's voice. It fully registered what she'd asked, and he glanced over at her. "Why do you ask?"

"I know that snow is bad for you, master."

"What? Why would snow be bad for me?"

Mal didn't understand. There was something he was missing.

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't remember? Five years ago?"

"I really don't understand."

Her eyes narrowed before she faced away, faced forward, and broke their stare. Mal searched through his memories. Five years ago—it was a lifetime ago for him. And it didn't hurt that the mental degradation from Golial worsened his memories even more.

If this was supposed to be something important to him, Lusia would get suspicious.

"Oh, I remember now," Mal said.

She paused.

"You came back with frostbite all over," Lusia said. "They had to call for a physician. You could never look at snow the same way again."

Faint memories of a bone-chilling cold swirled at the back of Mal's head. All at once, his heart started to speed up—

then it slowed back to its normal beat.

Lusia gripped her wrist with her other hand. "I knew you'd changed, but this exceeds all of my expectations."

"In a good way, or a bad way?"

"I'm unsure."

She paused her steps and looked up at the sky. A single snowflake fell onto one of her fingertips. She looked down at it and rubbed it between her hands. The snowflake melted into moisture and dripped down her skin, then fell off the back of her hand as a droplet.

"I don't miss the old you," she said. "I've decided I don't want that person back. But I don't like looking at you and seeing a stranger of the purest type."

"The purest type? What does that mean?"

"I can't discern a single thought of yours. Everything is hidden."

Mal crossed his arms and frowned. "That's not true. I shared something with you—my fear."

"But you didn't tell me why, my lord. I know nothing of what caused you to fear me. I don't even know how long you were harboring such thoughts until you told me."

"You're not exactly an open book yourself."

"I told you of my father."

The fact stabbed directly into Mal's chest like a knife. It burrowed into his gut, a dull ache in every part of his chest.

It doesn't matter. This doesn't matter. Why am I so bothered by this?

Mal's shoulders slackened. He forced his face into the same neutral expression Lusia wore, and his tone of voice switched to something nearly pleasant.

"I'm just working through something a bit personal, Lusia. It's nothing for you to be concerned about."

"It's my job to be concerned for you."

"It's your job to protect me from harm and Assist me when I need it."

'Not to emotionally analyze me,' went unsaid.

"I want to help you," she said.

Mal felt a strange flutter in his chest at her words. A second later, he cringed at himself for the emotion he'd just felt.

She only says that because she's contractually obligated to assist me. She doesn't understand that there are certain boundaries that you don't cross. It's my job to explain that to her.

"I understand that," Mal said. "But there's certain spheres where not even you are permitted to act upon. I trust you—"

Because you're predictable.

"—But it's simply inappropriate for me to use you for emotional labor."

"Why?"

"It—it just is."

A small frown crossed her face.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked.

"No, it's not that. It's just..."

Mal struggled for the words, nothing was coming to mind.

"Fine," Lusia said.

She turned her head and continued walking as if nothing had happened.

Mal doubted Lusia understood just what she was asking for. To her, picking at Mal's scabs in some sort of attempt to heal them was merely another one of her duties.

But it was dangerous for Mal, because even though he understood that intellectually, a part of him was hoping that she cared simply for the sake of caring, and for no other reason.

And Mal couldn't afford those kinds of emotions. Especially not with someone who was, at the end of the day, nothing more than another one of his victims.

He drew his robes tight around himself and ignored the dull ache in his chest.

"This is your parents' house? Interesting."

"Philo's parents are very well off by Violeko standards."

Although Mal didn't approve of the snarkiness in Rolam's voice, he understood where he was coming from. Philo's home was noticeably more patchwork than the houses toward the center of the city. The sections of the fabric had been stitched together, leaving obvious lumps where the repairs had been done. Instead of a pure white, the cloth had yellowed to a rather disturbing color, and the pole at the center that held the fabric in place was visibly chipped.

"Now Philo has to warn you, his parents are a little excitable."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Rolam asked.

"You'll understand when you meet them. Just be prepared."

"Be prepared for what?"

Philo ignored them and walked over to the front of the tent-like building, where there was a wooden door with a tapestry of a tree on it, hanging in front. Philo raised his knuckles to the wood and rapped against it.

Three loud knocks echoed out. Philo jumped back, as if dealing with an explosive material.

The door swung open and a singular draconid, nearly two heads taller than Philo, stepped out. He looked down at Philo, then his eyes visibly widened.

"Fifi?"

"Dad, you know Philo hates when you call him that!"

The large draconid practically tackled Philo and threw his arms around him. "Son, what are you doing here? I thought that you were supposed to be at the Academy?"

"Philo was, but Philo is here for a short while, and Philo thought that he should come by and say hello." He tapped against his father's shoulder. "Can Philo be let go now?"

"Oh, right, right." Philo's father let go of him and looked over at the rest of the group. "And who are these little flesh monkeys?"

"Dad!" Philo hissed. "You don't call them flesh monkeys!"

Mal internally raised an eyebrow. Philo referred to him as an ape pretty regularly. Was that more of a compliment than what his dad was doing?

"Oh, right." Philo's father rubbed the back of his neck. "My bad, son."

He walked over to Mal and stuck out his hand. "My name is Dreelo. A pleasure to meet you."

Mal stuck out his hand and shook Dreelo's. "And I'm Malfrasius Patoal, a circlemate of your son's. Call me Mal."

"Ah, I see!"

"And I'm Rolam, also a circlemate." Rolam shook Dreelo's hand.

Lusia did a small curtsey. "My name is Lusia. A pleasure."

"It's a pleasure to meet you—"

He stopped, then snatched up all three of them into a hug.

Mal was lifted completely off the ground. He snorted. So this was what Philo was talking about.

"Thank you all for taking such good care of Dreelo's son!" he said. "Dreelo knows that he's had a rough time, so it's so good to see him making friends."

"Father, put them down!" Philo shouted.

Dreelo jerked, then set them back on the ground. Mal brushed his robes off, while Lusia looked unaffected. Rolam, on the other hand, was staring at Dreelo with sparkling eyes.

"You lifted all three of us," Rolam said. "We're probably 300 plus pounds, no, 400. And you didn't break a sweat at all!"

"Ah, draconid strength, my lad! We're children of the Archons, after all."

Rolam's sparkle faded, and he cringed a bit at the mention of divine lineage.

Elves worship the Archons, so it's no surprise that a race claiming to be descended from them would be viewed with suspicion. Mal thought.

"Anyway, would you like to come in?" Dreelo said.

Curious as to what Philo's mother was like, Mal nodded.

"I would love to."