The Weight of Legacy

Filling up plates without Abelard was monumentally harder, seeing as Malwine couldn’t exactly send any into her inventory when there were witnesses around. Screw it, I’ll just do two. One for the guy and one for me, because I want some.

The variations of hams and cheeses had gotten her very interested, even if she couldn’t quite find anything that resembled proper olives. It was still close enough—truly, tapas were a universal experience. Her only complaint would have been that she couldn’t find anything close to txistorra… not that it mattered that much, when she could remember the widow had liked that but not just what it had tasted like. Only the faintest memory of its appearance had survived to this next life.

Malwine wanted some for the principle of it, if nothing else.

Still, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to waste time mourning her fractured memories, or how they impaired her ability to pick foods out. Not when there was a man nearby casually explaining details she’d yet to find in any of the books she’d skimmed.

Lambrecht had all but dragged the bride and groom further way, and other guests were keeping their distance now. Whatever the man was, it seemed to garner respect.

Couldn’t they just have stuck around? If they moved away a second time, Malwine was going to start suspecting they were discussing something they didn’t want an eight-year-old to overhear. Too bad for them, I’m persistent.

People trying to keep anything away from her only served as further motivation for her to try and overhear it. Even if she hadn’t already been interested in whatever she could learn about Grēdôcava from this, Malwine would have suddenly developed an interest for whatever they were saying purely because of that.

Time to pull the Abelard card, uh… like ten minutes after he did the same.

Gliding in their general direction with grace that would have probably raised eyebrows had anyone been paying attention to her, Malwine carried the two plates closer, raising a hand to offer one to Lambrecht.

“I find couples who address the matter from the start tend to last longer,” he said. Almost absentmindedly, he accepted the plate—Abelard’s method truly worked far better than it had any right to—before muttering a “thank you” without even bothering to look. If he found it odd that the plate came from below, he didn’t let it show. “So you have my respect in that regard.”

“I shan’t pretend I have experience with how marriages between mortals and mages usually go,” Abelard admitted. “Between mortals and cultivators, I suppose, since that’s the preferred term here.”

“Right, Lizanąn. I’ll admit it was a pleasant surprise—then again, you are quite far from home. Only in Lizaną could the divide between those with and without potential ever be called unsurmountable.”

“I have always hated that terminology,” Thekla all but hissed out. Her eyes passed over Malwine briefly—being the best aunt ever, she did not call her out for having snuck back into their group.

Lambrecht raised an eyebrow between eating mouthfuls from a block of cheese. “How so?”

Before Thekla could respond, Malwine took a moment to nibble on the corresponding block on her own plate, curious as to why he seemed quite close to prioritizing the snack over their conversation—she couldn’t blame him, it was certainly a sound choice.

I wish I’d been braver sooner, Malwine chided herself. She’d been paranoid about trying out more solids for far too long, and with how lost and confused the adults in her life had been in their own right, they hadn’t complained. On the bright side, that also meant no one batted an eye when she made the leap from soups to fuller meals.

“To call those who simply didn’t luck out at birth ‘without potential’ is offensive,” Thekla raised a hand. “And before you say, oh, of course you are offended by something that applies to you, I will warn you I have a reputation.”

Lambrecht simply bit down on another piece of cheese. “I assure you I would not say that, nor anything along those lines.”

“Good,” her aunt said, her eyes narrowing only briefly. “Abelard has an Affinity, while I do not, and which one of us can change the appearance of any room within minutes, with naught but the wave of a hand?” Thekla wiggled her eyebrows. “Exactly. The idea that mortals have no potential is laughable.”

“It’s a nuanced topic,” Abelard mumbled.

“Are you fond of those tiles I put up in your office, dear? Because they might not be there forever.”

Clearing his throat, Lambrecht shifted to meet Thekla’s gaze. “I have always been under the impression that the term comes from something not unlike the beliefs that are so prevalent in Lizaną, which I don’t doubt you are familiar with—”

Malwine struggled not to grumble at how he casually glossed over that after bringing it up, considering how she wasn’t familiar with whatever he was referring to.

“—and likely rooted in something much older. With our lifespans, it can be easy to forget the cyclical nature of humankind. Devils, even among us with po— us cultivators, it’s not unseen. We make laws, learn of the flaws in them and remove them, then make the same laws millennia later. Society’s memory is very short.”

“It being old does not make it any less inane,” Thekla nonetheless seemed to be mulling over that, looking a bit unsure—it reminded Malwine of when she couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed by something or not. And you know what, fair.

“I bring it up because you will find those who use that terminology everywhere, not just in Grēdôcava or Lizaną. Probably even beyond the waves. Yet never will you find someone who can tell you why the terms are so prevalent. Is it part of our nature, to develop such categories independently, in each nation? The Devils’ Empire cannot be at the root of this—not when their very power stemmed from many who had once been mortals before they became Executors. So, perhaps, it might be something older still… or coincidence.”

And with that, the man bit into a slice of ham. If he meant to leave them mulling over that while he ate in peace, he hadn’t entirely succeeded, no matter how lost in thought Abelard seemed. Even Malwine found herself wondering if she should dedicate more than five seconds to pondering the potentially cyclical nature of society.

Thekla just shook her head. “I have always believed it’s just in the nature of those who are special—or think themselves special—to just be drawn to some inevitable pitfall. And some pitfalls must be as natural as humanity’s ability to stumble upon them. Anyhow,” she took a moment to smile, and something about the glint in her eye was concerning, “I wonder, Lambrecht. How did you meet Old Hildegard?”

“Her?” Lambrecht’s annoyance at being interrupted showed for a split second before his affable mask reasserted itself. “We met through a mutual acquaintance of ours some years back,—I will give credit to the crone, for she deserves it. I was quite pleasantly surprised to see she wasn’t as bothersome as most natives to this country are, no personal offense meant. She was understanding of our ways, and while I did not see her for years, it thrilled me to see she not only remembered our organization, but sought to call upon us.”

That’s a nonanswer if I’ve ever seen one… She had a feeling he wasn’t even intentionally being unhelpful, in the sense that whatever interaction they’d had in the ambiguous past probably wasn’t some kind of secret, but the man generally struck her as currently still too annoyed to volunteer more details if not prodded for them.

Malwine couldn’t help but wonder if [The Way of the Clave] was helping her out or if the sanctity of snacktime was just a universally understandable concept.

Then again, there was also the fact that he’d left the bait hanging right there. Thekla probably noticed that too—it wasn’t easy to miss when someone blatantly mentioned something that could turn into a convenient topic change—and presumably chose to just roll with it.

“When I first heard of you lot, I confess I was startled—not by your organization’s existence, but by the implication that these kinds of matters have been a problem enough times for… well, for your work to be necessary.”

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Only the knowledge that she might get kicked right out of the conversation if she reminded anyone she was there kept Malwine from intersecting, because she was still missing too much context. She could only hope they’d double back on whatever Lambrecht’s purpose for being here was—and preferably soon—because all these vague allusions were truly testing her patience.

“They’ve been a problem far more times than what even we know of—likely, since the dawn of time, or for as long as humanity has understood what it means to amass power,” Lambrecht shook his head. “Our oldest members theorize that once lifespans started growing past any variance ancient societies were used to dealing with, a conundrum arose—they could not easily let go of the marital customs and familial alliances they often tied themselves with, yet those grew less and less binding. How much of a difference can a marriage between two individuals make, not across decades but across centuries? Not to mention, lifelong commitments are much heavier a burden when ‘lifelong’ goes from fifty-odd years to forever.”

So they’re like… the prenup people? Marriage contract people? Pro-divorce people? In any case, she tentatively approved.

“My parents are of the sort to cling to the idea of… eternal arrangements,” Abelard shook his head in palpable disappointment, and Malwine couldn’t help but stare—especially after Thekla started patting him on the back. “I know, from all I have Sought, that they were at odds long before my own birth. Odds are, they still agree on absolutely nothing.”

“It’s why we picked fifty years, honestly. I find it amusing that such is the range you chose to make an example out of,” Thekla snorted. “I will not pretend my family situation is much better, though my mother did die quite young. Who knows what those two would be up to, if they were still together.”

“From what you’ve told me, nothing good.”

“Yet the mind wanders,” her aunt wiggled her eyebrows. “I mean no offense towards our dearest lady of the house but… you know what, I wish someone had called you people when my father remarried.”

Malwine’s brief shock at learning her aunt and uncle-to-be were apparently not meaning to be permanently married was swiftly overshadowed by an urge to cackle. Thekla was absolutely right—neither Bernadette nor Kristian seemed like the type who could endure this kind of conversation without getting into an argument with someone.

And probably getting their own wedding cancelled. Oh, that would be so funny.

“Right, the patriarch and matriarch of your House. Mortal marriages are to be celebrated,” Lambrecht said carefully, giving his surroundings a glance. Presumably, he deemed the situation safe, as caution fled his tone immediately. “For ages now, we have lived in a world where people can theoretically live forever—and one cannot expect anyone to stick to an agreement forever. Even mortals may yet live for longer than what they could back when most customs were established, and any who cling to that idiocy are naught but fools. Time changes people, and who they choose to spend their time with can change too, especially after centuries.”

“You hear that,” Thekla teased, tugging at Abelard’s hair not unlike how a certain peculiar guest had earlier, “I’ll have better things to spend my time on a hundred years for now.”

“Indeed—such as the grave.”

Malwine choked.

“Wave take you, I’ll outlive even your parents,” her aunt maturely stuck her tongue out at her future husband.

“The last I saw of them, they were both closing in on the peak of Tree Veins,” Abelard suddenly did not seem to find the topic as amusing as she clearly did.

“Yeah, and?”

“Their lifespans—”

“Lifespans matter little when old age isn’t the only thing people have to worry about—you know that.”

Is my aunt threatening to kill her in-laws? The thought alone was enough for Malwine to call up her favorite panel and quickly scribble an additional entry on it.