Mother Sky

It was a senseless chamber. A place where nothing was interesting. A place where, if Anemone were to stay for years, would probably mean the complete erasure of her soul.

The most striking sensation within came from the bruises on her arms, burning and sensitive. Born from her relentless struggle against the Federacy soldiers who took her in, and their inelegant handling of someone so dainty and delicate.

Some feeling was better than none.

But she knew she wouldn’t be here for long.

The chamber door opened. Three soldiers, armored and armed, entered. One of them held a distinct white crystal in their hands: the very same that seemingly stopped her magic earlier in the raid.

“Come. Our lady wishes to speak with you,” said the guard in a gruff, manly tone. Anemone stood up and obliged, knowing resistance would not only be futile, but maybe fatal. She knew not the temperament of these guards.

They escorted her through the halls of the Whale, of which were made purely of iron and metal, cold to the touch and boring to watch. It was nothing like the halls of the Legrassi I—full of life at every turn, each nook and cranny decorated by some indiscretion of some drunken dwarf.

This place was cold. Colder than the sea, more frigid than the night.

They eventually reached an ornate wooden door at the end of the halls. Strange and out-of-place for sure. Inside was a room not too dissimilar from Flare’s cabin in construction, but its decor screamed opulence, red and violet cloth hanging here and there in the most aesthetically pleasing arrangements.

Then came the sound of wheels rolling. Wheels that were smaller than a carriage’s, but weight bearing down on their squeaky hinges.

From beyond the corner, a Sapian woman on some kind of rolling chair emerged, and a butler that seemed to push said chair around—along with her.

The Sapian woman looked to be in her late 50s, wrinkles having begun to dance on her face in symmetrical fashion. She wore a blue blouse and a long, velvet skirt to match. Her clothes gave a generous view of her chest’s topside, and the space below her collarbone, which bore a scar clearly left by some kind of blade. The way her clothes framed it, it was like she wore the scar—and perhaps her ample chest—like a badge of honor.

But most of all, something about her face looked eerily familiar. Like Anemone had seen her before.

“Leave us,” the woman said, then gestured to both the guards and butler to exit the room. When they did, only her and Anemone remained. Silence fell, with Anemone waiting for the woman to speak.

“Anemone,” the woman called out.

She lowered her head. Anemone didn’t respond.

“Anemone,” the woman called out again.

“Why did you do this?” Anemone bit her lip. “You killed everyone in the Redwing Fleet. You even had your daughter oh-so-gleefully infiltrate my kingdom’s council. You just wanted me, right? I don’t understand what it is about me that is worth everyone’s lives.”

“I apologize.” The woman said, low and humble. “I didn’t wish for bloodshed. I did not even wish to take you from the Redwings. This was all the doing of the Commander of the Western Navies—Lias. I merely took partial command… because if he was going to take you, then I might as well come with.”

“Everyone’s still dead.”

“On the contrary,” the woman said, her tone lifting. “Your pilot boy survived, alongside two of the Redwing ships. He’s a strong one, I’ll give him that.”

“Haruki did…?” Anemone muttered.

“Hmm?” The woman’s eyes rounded, glancing side-to-side. “Is that the name of the plane’s pilot?”

“So you know what a plane is?” Anemone growled. “And yes—that is his name. The one your men almost killed with no remorse. The one who brought me out of my kingdom and here. Until you came along.”

The woman’s expression fell into a tacit understanding. “It seems so.”

“You seem to know me, milady,” Anemone said. “But I’d wager it’d be polite for you to introduce yourself.”

“Of course.”

The woman’s fingers drifted over the scar on her chest. She gave a curt, sitting bow. “I am Ako de Alfons. Marquis of Bellfry.”

“I see.” Not surprising. She had already guessed it from the scar on her chest, but Anemone just had to be sure. “So you are Ako de Alfons. As I thought.”

“You know me? Did…” Her aging face lit up, like youth had reentered her. “...Did Haruki talk about me?”

“He did.” An abrupt answer, but one befitting of her.

“How is he—ah, not fine, I’m sure. I-I’m sorry.” Ako’s eloquent demeanor had all but melted away, revealing a more casual layer to her overly-dressed facade. She buried her face in her hands. “Haruki—I should have—” Her voice hitched, as if choking on tears.

Anemone held her gaze at Ako, though she wasn’t looking.

“So what did Lias want me for?”

Ako recomposed herself, blowing snot into a tissue. How ungraceful. But Anemone waited for her. She wasn’t one to force answers out of people.

“A-Ah, yes. Lias. I can only wager a guess, but I think he wants you for your bloodline,” she said. “To open the gate to Lacrimosa.”

“Special bloodline? Lacrimosa?”

“So you don't know.” Ako nodded. “You are half-elf. And not only because you are one, not for your royal blood, but because...” She paused.

“Because?”

“Because you are born of an otherworlder… and a Divine.”

Anemone’s jaw dropped. A breath left her, with some still stuck in her throat. “...What? But I was born from my father, and Queen Josephine—”

“Was an otherworlder, yes. But she was also not your mother. Josephine still loved her husband back in the otherworld, and she vowed never to give her body to the king. Only her presence and companionship.”

“No…” Anemone’s breathing quickened. Why would her father not tell her any of this? “Lies. Why would I believe any of what you say? Outlandish stories from some unrelated stranger.”

“Unrelated. Hmm.” Ako nodded. “You have no reason to believe any of this. But the truth still stands. Lias wants you exactly for these reasons—Child of the Lacrimosa.

I wished he’d keep only royal secrets—not secrets of me. No matter how much she wanted to deny Ako's claims, there was something in her voice that… forced Anemone to believe. Not magic, no. Something more base. Primal.

Anemone breathed deep thrice before calming herself. “Lacrimosa. You keep saying that. What is it? What makes all this bloodshed worth all of this?”

“I could only guess its true nature. But the Lacrimosa is what we at the Federacy call the Inverted City.”

“What…?” Anemone choked. “Are you saying I'm related to that?”

“Yes. But if you find my answer uncompelling, feel free to ignore it,” Ako warned. “As for the bloodshed—unneccessary. War had made him hungry for carnage. That is just how he is as a person.”

Anemone shook her head. “Let's pretend I believe you. To what end does he do it all, then?”

“That, I do not know. Power, glory perhaps?”

“Then stop him. You're a marquis, are you not?”

“I do not have such power over him.”

“Hmm. Then this conversation doesn't change anything, does it?”

Ako smiled at her words. Unexpected. “You really did fly out with Haruki. Even the way he talks, you’ve managed to pick up.”

“How so?”

“The way your face scrunches when you’re talking about something futile. The way you even mentioned futility. He’s a very pessimistic person at heart.”

Anemone crossed her arms. “That does sound like him.” She chuckled. Though this situation was no laughing matter, it was nice to find some… commonality with Ako. That Haruki and Ako did once know each other.

“And you?” She shifted. “You said you took an interest in me—my capture. Why? You clearly do not condone anything Lias has planned for me or that… Lacrimosa.”

Ako fell silent.

Anemone didn’t need her wind powers to read the room—and the way the air inside it has shifted.

It was as if the weight of a dragon had fallen on Ako’s shoulders.

“Anemone.”

“Yes, that is my name.”

“Do you know what an anemone is?”

“My name, is it not?”

“An anemone is a flower. A kind of wildflower that you can find every so often in Japan—my homeland. It means windflower, derived from the Greek language from my homeworld.” Ako smiled wistfully. “It’s my favorite flower.”

Anemone tilted her head, curious but confused in equal measure. “That… is interesting trivia.”

“A child of the wind. It’s a fitting name for such a beautiful child like you, is it not?”

“It is.”

Ako’s expression darkened, like guilt had contorted her features. “Queen Josephine—she was as much of a mother to you as any, I’m sure. But.” She held her breath. “You don’t have memory of her, do you?”

“No,” Anemone said. “She died not long after I was born.”

“Right. Of course.”

A creeping feeling began to rise from Anemone’s gut. She had some idea of where this conversation was headed—if all the stories she’d read until now held some grain of reality.

“What are you saying, Ako de Alfons…?”

“Anemone.” Ako looked Anemone right in the eye. “I came here—because I so wanted to see my very first daughter.”