In Which Sparron Determines What Is Not a Cause

November 2, 1180

Sparron rarely received visitors. Certainly never unexpected ones. Or after dark, so late that Florian had gone home and he was informed instead by one of the guards. And, the lone exception of Jeda aside, almost never of the female persuasion.

But tonight, well after nightfall, just as the guard had said, here was Lettie. She'd called before, of course, but always in the day and usually with some notice. And while it was Sparron she typically asked for, he knew he wasn't the person she wanted to see. In this case, though...

"Prior's asleep." Surely she'd known that? Her other children would have been asleep by now too, even the older ones.

Lettie shrugged. "Good thing I came to see you, then. I need a favor."

"And you couldn't think of anyone else to bother?" He thought he saw her flinch. Perhaps that had been too harsh. If he were honest, he wasn't even sure if he'd been kidding or if he was genuinely annoyed, but Sparron was no stranger to mixed emotions. "Sorry. What do you need?"

She swayed back and forth for a couple seconds, the veils of her crispinette fluttering with the anguish of a butterfly caught in a spiral breeze. He wanted to hold her steady, but he feared he might crush her. "Lettie..."

"I need you to talk to Searle."

And there she was, lying in his weak-willed hand, as if helpless looks could stave off the looming fingers. "I can't."

"No, you're the only one who can." She didn't sound bitter or even jealous. Just resigned. "You took a piece of him when you left. He needs to know you didn't destroy it."

"I took nothing."

"Speaking practically, you and I both know that. Searle doesn't."

Searle had always been impractical. "He still doesn't realize what I did? I set him free."

Lettie sighed, blue-clad shoulders slipping as if guided by ice. "He doesn't want to be free of you."

"If he knew what was good for him, he would." And to that he would hold. Why a charming, beautiful idiot like Searle still wanted anything to do with a useless waste of space like him was something he couldn't understand. Especially after everything. Especially since he'd been so horrible he could hardly stomach himself, and that was when he managed to forget everything else. "Look... tell him I'm sorry, all right? Tell him I didn't mean what I said, and that I don't hate him. I know he thinks I do, but I don't. I just hate what he makes me."

"Do you really need Searle's help to hate yourself?"

Whatever trace of a heart he had seized. Defeated, Sparron shook his head. Searle was a catalyst. He wasn't a cause.

"Sparron, I'm not asking for you to... resume things, not if you don't want that. I just want you to talk to him. This is going to sound--" Her face scrunched, failing the search for some gentler word. "--stupid, but Searle's whole sense of self-worth is tied up in your opinion of him. If you don't talk some sense into him, he's just going to keep destroying himself, and I can't let that happen. My children need their father."

Her children, four of the five of them. One of the four being Sparron's own, for all it was wrong to think it. He did not want to see Searle again. Or he did, but he didn't want the disastrous round of drama that was bound to follow. so, really, he didn't. Searle was no good for him. More importantly, he was no good for Searle.

He thought of Prior, asleep in his little bed upstairs. What if he woke and wanted Papa? What if he called and called and called but Papa never came?

He thought of Alina and wondered who was there to answer her calls.

NEXT CHAPTER: