NOVEL NEXT 134 - Quality Time With Dad
"Father," Archmund said, "the next time you go to the Imperial Capital, I should like to go with you."
His father looked at him, surprised, before a smile burst across his face. "Finally. I'm so happy you've asked."
Archmund shifted. "Did you suspect I never would?"
His father poked at his plate. Today's dinner was beef, cooked rare, with hearty root vegetables — beets and carrots and turnips with caramelized onions. No potatoes.
"Truthfully, son," his father said, "I was afraid you'd turn out like your brother Linus. So utterly buried in his books and his Gems that he had no sense of the world and no sense of danger. And once he did venture out… it was at the time of plague, and it killed him."
Now Archmund was the one picking at his food. He couldn't deny any of it. He would be much happier ignoring the world and pursuing his own interests, but this was always a luxury he never felt he could afford. If you didn't run to keep up with the world, it would leave you behind. That was the cost of complacency and relaxation.
"You've changed, son," his father said. "In many ways, for the better."
Archmund felt guilty. He really thought he'd gotten over this.
He was, as he'd always been, Archmund Granavale. Some of his emotional responses were muted and ill-placed, but these were his own memories, his own reactions. He was starting to realize that even before his past life memories had returned, he had been acting exactly as someone who'd mysteriously died while working an office job was likely to — avoiding further responsibilities, avoiding engaging with the world, withdrawn and detached from other people. Really, at no point had he felt like a different person — rather, it was like remembering a long-lost dream.
He shuddered to think how many others were similar to him. Sleepwalking through this new life, bearing the traumas of their old, forever unaware of what they were doing.
Archmund took a drink of herbal tea.
"I'd like to think," he said after he swallowed, "that I will only improve from here."
"I hope so," his father said. "We can only all hope for that, and nothing more."
"But," his father said, "I still hesitate and worry about bringing you to that den of jackals."
And now Archmund was surprised. His father had practically never refused him before.
"The Blackstones brought Beatrice there," Archmund said.
"And look at her! Constantly nervous, fretting, always afraid of never living up to what her parents demand. I would never want that for you."
Too late, frankly. He carried that baggage from his past life.
"Do you think I've chased power and success purely for the fun of it, father?"
His father sighed. "I hoped you had done so for the joy of the act and the deep love of life, not the deep inadequacies that plague your cousin's heart."
He was starting to suspect there were deeper implications to his father's reticence. He had lived through childhood once before, through the idolization of one's parents and the disillusionment that followed upon realizing they were only human. A good parent's choices were driven by dreams of a better life for their children, yet also burdened by the weight of a life of regrets and mistakes.
"What happened to Amelia?" Archmund said. He remembered seeing her name in his Gemstone Tablet — not the mournful status of "deceased", but rather "estranged".
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"How do you know about her?" his father said. "I've never mentioned her, not to you, have I?"
It was possible, that one day his father had gotten a little too drunk and rambled on about his lost siblings to Archmund, who would've been like five or eight, but he couldn't remember for sure. So Archmund kept mum.
His father sighed.
"Sophia and I pushed her too hard," he said. "We wanted the world for her. To reach the Seventh Awakening. To marry well, marry into the Imperial Family, and guarantee herself a more glorious life than the peace of Granavale. To sit among the echelons of the nobles of the Imperial City in a way that we never would. Do you know, that even now, after decades of being there, and all our lands, I still rank lower in their social formalities than a Baron of Sanitation? I have more power, and more wealth, but I will never have respect — all because I must split my time between there and here. At the Seventh Awakening, I would be one swing away from Emperor Marcus himself, but at the Fifth, they are more than free to disregard and disrespect me."
Archmund grimaced. Although materially the Granavales had status and power, and thanks to his efforts they'd recently greatly increased their wealth, they were still country hicks. They were in no place to play the grand status games of the cosmopolities. They had to advance slowly, over the course of generations, lineage meeting with lineage until one day they achieved lasting prestige.
"So what did Amelia do?"
"She fled," his father said. "She fled to the Frontier. I have no idea if she still lives, and it breaks my heart. She fled to the Frontier, beyond the arms of Omnio Law, where life is cheap and any might be slain at a moment's notice regardless of status. I weep for her every day, for at least I know that Linus and Calla rest in repose. But if Amelia were to die, I would never know."
Archmund knew. He didn't want to reveal how he knew. He trusted his father, but to give him such knowledge of the Gemstone Tablet would make him vulnerable as well.
"Maybe one day I'll find her," he found himself saying. "I'll find her, and I'll get you your answers, or I'll bring her back!"
He didn't even particularly want to. He didn't know why he was so attached. But he found himself unable to disappoint the kindly older man who had given him so much, his father. Emotions, clearly, could not be so easily conquered by reason.
"That would be kind of you," his father said, manly tears welling up in his eyes. "That's the spirit, son. I have faith you'll achieve my dreams."
He was just saying things now. He was just being polite, really. He had no expectations that Archmund would manage everything, which, to be frank, was fair enough.
"Though I would caution you against going too soon," his father said. "She may well not want to come back, and no doubt she could repel any efforts to force her."
"How strong is she?" Archmund asked.
His father blew a thick breath, like the northern wind, through puffed cheeks.
"At least Sixth Awakening. Only at that stage would any dare to venture into the Frontier alone."
It really was frustrating, learning just how many levels of Awakening there were. He thought he'd actually achieved something by hitting Awakening at all, and in theory he had, but there were just so many levels to follow. Awakening was an endless ladder of hierarchies to chase and climb, and if not for the genuine physical powers they granted he would have thrown up his hands and refused to chase them at all.
"Is that what you fear, father?" Archmund said. "That should I follow this path — should I walk in the steps that she walked before me, I might run as she had?"
"I…" his father said, stymied for words. "I had not thought of such things, nor of you in such terms."
Which, Archmund figured, was about as best a response as he was going to get. The idea of therapy had been relatively modern back in his old life, and as far as Omnio went, it seemed to run on the idea of strong, stoic men and women, willing to cut down pleading dead and peasants by the dozens.
"Rest assured then, father," Archmund said. "I won't abandon my duties. I won't abandon the people and station of Granavale."
Which… well, it really played against his long term goals. He seriously, seriously doubted he would be able to have a calm, relaxing life if he was forced to play the role of a noble as he understood it. He doubted he would be able to avoid the toil and tedium of the nobility… but he'd heard how life was for people who didn't have personal or legal power. The peasants of Granavale were loyal to a fault, but nobles talked about them like they were wholly expendable. He absolutely couldn't afford to become the type of person who would be crushed under his foot.
"That warms my heart, son," his father said with a smile. "I am glad, at least, that my instruction and upbringing, all the tutors I have hired for you, have impressed upon you the sacred duty we bear towards our peoples.
Really Archmund was doing this to make him not sad, and also to extract certain assurances.
"Then in that case, you'll bring me there? To the Imperial Capital?"
"I suppose you would have to eventually," his father said, resigned. "Far better with me, while you can still be under my protection and my power, than alone to the Academy for the very first time."