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Arc F1.9 | Chapter 12: Wary Boy

Miles was pacing the hall.Back and forth.

Back and forth.

It was a long hall, used for something that had never been properly explained to him—banquets, perhaps, given how intricate the decor was—stretching over thirty metres in either direction. Not quite square—his Censor told him it was several inches longer than it was wide. Had he been in a better mood, he might have asked about it.

Was it purposeful? A mistake? Was the room so old the reason was no longer known?

Had his sweet little starlight child been there, she might have already known. Emilia was always running about, asking questions about why everything was the way it was. Some people loved her for it. Zitra’za liked her well enough for it, answering her questions with a patience that was uncommon from the woman. It was part of what had so completely endeared his child to both Wander and the Blood Rain General, although Miles knew many more people within the Inner Court found her questions

According to Dionese culture, things were the way they were. Nothing needed to be explained; certainly, nothing needed to be . Emilia loved visiting Dion, but he knew she avoided a number of the most prominent of Inner Court officials because they were constantly poking at her, giving her vague facts as though willing her to ask after the of them, all so they could reprimand her.

Assholes. Had he not been required to hold himself to some standard of professionalism, Miles might have been tempted to aid his daughter and her friends—Emilia had long ago admitted to his that she and Hurinren were actually good friends, pretending to hate one another for —in their vendettas against various officials. It looked like fun, if he were being honest. Unfortunately, things being as they were, Miles was generally forced to pretend he was an adult. It was highly annoying.

Turning and heading back in the other direction, Miles continued his stomping about, waiting to see if Wander would indicate that he had received the messages Zitra’za was sending off to him. So far, no luck.

the woman had explained, her jaw set as she stared him down. It wasn’t her fault that they’d ended up in this situation, of course, and as much as Miles was somewhat annoyed that —not even Zitra’za or Wander, whom he generally considered his friends—had told him about the pneumatic tubes, he couldn’t really blame them. Really, the only reason Zitra’za had now told him was because he had fully intended to risk an international incident by heading to Lüshan himself… with any Black Knot agent who would go with him in tow.

There had been a shockingly large number of volunteers, mostly Hyrat clones. Even Finn, despite being a clone who didn’t fight, had been vehement that if Miles went, he and Malcolm would also be coming—Malcolm, who was watching him warily from across the room.

Sometimes, Miles wondered about that boy. From what he’d seen over the years, Malcolm really only liked Emilia and Finn. At the same time, he had far more ability to be of several adults than most of the black knots Miles had met seemed to possess. Loren had tried to explain it to him once, back when their children had been young, and they had suddenly found themselves spending a lot of time around one another, each unsure of how the triplets and Emilia would interact with one another as they fell into a friendship that left Miles unsurprised they were now in some sort of romantic relationship—his wife seemed to think they were only having sex; Miles knew those boys were painfully in love with his daughter.

Loren had laughed as they watched Taelor haul Emilia and Baylor back from doing something insane, their guardian’s hand on Miles’ knee, keeping him seated—he’d been about to run off and stop them himself. Instead, Loren had held him still and insisted that Taelor would keep them safe.

Miles had watched Taelor keep his brothers and Emilia safe thousands of times since then. It was quite endearing, to see this child, who only had eyes for a few people, care for his child with so much tender affection. Really, Miles was somewhat surprised the boys hadn’t pursued Emilia sooner—it wasn’t like she’d dated anyone until Rafe, and even that had been… messy.

As he came to the other side of the room and turned once more, Miles took a moment to glare at the vitals of the boy who had broken his daughter’s heart. Emilia loved with everything she had, and even so many years later, Miles still caught her watching Rafe sometimes, so much want and love and hurt in her expression that it broke his heart.

So many years, and yet, it didn’t seem as though his daughter didn’t still ache for her friend—for the first boy she’d ever loved and thought herself loved by—with as much ferocity as in those first weeks of heartbreak; rather, Emilia was just better at hiding her hurt. After so many years, Miles wasn’t convinced that his child would ever stop loving him—wasn’t convinced that every person she ever allowed herself to love wouldn’t become as trapped within her heart as Rafe and now the triplets were.

It was painful, and Miles ached for his daughter, so sweet and impossibly lovable, and yet, he knew she didn’t see herself that way. Even after all the therapy she and her siblings had gone through, after all the long talks he and his wife had pulled each into their laps for, Miles knew each of his children were broken things. They were perfect but cracked, bleeding pain and love into the world.

All he wanted was for his kids to be happy, and most of the time, he thought them happy enough.

It never felt like enough.

[Miles:]

Was it perhaps a tad overbearing to send Halen a message like that? Yes, but Miles didn’t want yet another boy breaking his daughter’s heart, and Halen and Emilia…

It was complicated. Miles could see them being happy; he could also see them being a disaster—an implosion of love and frustration that would leave his little starlight a shell because he knew her. Each of his children existed within his heart—all of their needs and wants, their confidences and insecurities. So, he knew Emilia didn’t hate Halen as much as she claimed—knew she missed him more than she likely knew herself because every time she came home these days, she asked after him. It was never a ask; instead, she asked if he’d done anything stupid recently.

The fact that she knew he was still hanging around town—in order to see her, on the occasions she returned home, Miles had no doubt—said enough for him. Emilia could claim she never wanted to see the boy again—could ask where Miles had seen Halen hanging about, then brush it off as —but he had seen her bank statements.

One of the last times she’d been home at the same time as Halen, Miles had told her Halen had been obsessed with some limited-edition drink being served at this obscure little café that he Emilia didn’t generally like. It hadn’t surprised him to find a charge from that café on her next statement, several cups containing remnants of the drink Miles had seen Halen drinking every day for a week tossed into recycling as though she had to that café gone over and over again, all so she could see him as well.

The two were obsessed with one another, and them dating would either turn that obsession into a softer thing, or it would burn them both. It was impossible to tell which.

“Malcolm, why are you watching me like that?” Miles finally asked, turning towards the eldest Laprise boy and Finn, who looked to be suppressing a laugh at his expense.

“I— I—” Malcolm stammered, and really, Miles had no idea why the boy was so afraid of him. Had the young man somewhat fucked up by not coming to get him—or giving Loren the authorization to burst into his meeting—sooner? Yes, but Miles couldn’t blame him.

Malcolm was, in many ways, still the small child he had watched grow up from his bedroom window. The eldest Laprise brother might be an adult now, but he was still young, and Miles could still see him in diapers—could hear his cries and giggles, could see him learning to crawl and walk and run. Miles could pull up recordings of Malcolm as a teenager, carrying his daughter about, his gaze so soft that Miles had never doubted that the boy loved his child—and really, he had seen Malcolm look at his own brothers like that.

In no world did he think the young man had purposefully left his daughter in danger, and there was no way he would hold this against him—no reason for the young man to be wary of him. Maybe it was simply a projection of his concern for Emilia, somehow turning into being wary of him or the world as a whole? Miles had no idea; Loren had never explained any intricate detail of black knot minds worked that would explain Malcolm’s behaviour, which so often leaned into being of him that Miles had grown used to it.

That didn’t mean it didn’t bother him—he was a nice guy! If any of the Laprise brothers should be wary of him, it was Rafe! It didn’t help that, more often than not, Malcolm’s wariness was less obvious than it currently was, the young man a line of tension, his shoulders rising, his brown eyes wide and blown out in what Miles could only think of as , and it was weird! Malcolm had no reason to be afraid of him!

Now, his stupid fucking mother, on the other hand?

Penelope better stay away for a long, time—and if something happened to his daughter or any of her stupid friends? Well, Miles suspected Emilia and her friends had an exit strategy for any number of situations: Emilia being found guilty; Simeon or Coral’s parents trying to use the Dyad Containment Laws on them; Baylor snapping and killing Halen. If something happened to even a single one of those children—or the Vickers brothers, who had seemingly been forced to go with their group after stumbling upon their plans—Miles was going to be killing Penelope and then using one of those exit strategies himself.

Considering what was happening in Lüshan, perhaps Wander would accept him as a soldier in the civil war that seemed to be breaking out? Was going to a war zone a smart idea? No, but Miles could make it work. He was a low-dev. It would be fine—interesting, at the very least. It was the sort of adventure his brother would have liked, regardless of the whole thing.

Really, it would have been more surprising had Porter vanished into the abyss of one adventure or another. Miles still missed him, of course, but he had never really been surprised that his brother had never returned. It was, unfortunately, a feeling that had latched itself on to Emilia as well: if she one day wandered off on an adventure and never returned, Miles would be heartbroken, but unsurprised.

His child, who had immediately climbed the wall between her new home and the children next door, was just the sort of person to die by misadventure.

It was, however, far too early for that reality to come to pass—plus, her dying due to whatever was happening Lüshan was the sort of death his daughter deserved.

No, Emilia deserved to go out in a blaze; certainly, she deserved more happiness and love, and when Halen messaged back, confused but adamant that he didn’t want to break Emilia’s heart, as Miles as staring down Malcolm, he thought that, at least there was one boy out there who was going to

In the background, Zitra’za was scratching out yet another message for Wander, none of their messages having yet been responded to, although she claimed that

the Seerish leader had explained as she wrote out the first message—a simple acknowledgement that they knew about the situation before she spent more time writing out what they knew.

The woman had hesitated before stating that, from what she had heard from her diplomat in Lüshan, Wander had increasingly found himself being trailed by various people.

Now, it seemed likely that Wander had been subject to surveillance and control by one of the factions seeking to overthrow—or control—him. Essentially, might be with Wander, leaving him unable to check the messages. If that were the case, getting a message to him would be impossible, although Lan’za—who had been included into their conversation because she would have one day learned of the pneumatic tubes anyways—had pointed out that, if he were in his office, he would be able to hear the sound of messages coming it, at least.

the young woman had asked, shifting under her mother’s harsh gaze—Zitra'za didn’t appreciate her child keeping her out of the loop encouraging her friends to use Seer’ik’tine to get through to Dion.

the woman had agreed, reaching for another paper as soon as the first message was sent and then handing it to Lan’za.

Thus, Miles had left them within the small room that acted as the send-off point for messages via the pneumatic tubes. The drop points tended to be within each leader’s office by default—although, no one was telling him just how many nations were connected to the network—but mechanisms within both offices and the send-off points could shift where messages were sent and received. Apparently, some nations even had mechanisms for changing the city where messages would be received. It was all quite fascinating, but Miles could also see the problem with it: if anyone ever forgot to switch the mechanisms, they would have no way to know they were missing messages, and with how rarely the network was used, he could easily see people forgetting to switch things as they moved through the nation.

Miles, as he stared at Malcolm and waited for him to explain himself, was trying not to think about the reality that Wander might not just be missing messages if he was out of his office, but he might not even be near the office that was receiving the messages. The Chief Officer had, after all, been dealing with an issue in another city for several weeks recently. All it took was one forgetful moment, and the man might be getting messages at an office he may never see again.