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“Her fever hasn’t gone down yet,” Sophia says, a frown tugging at her lips. She presses a wet cloth to Amicia’s burning hot forehead, hoping to cool her down. Amicia, in her unconsciousness, twitches slightly, but she does not wake up. Her parched lips part slightly, but the mumbles that rasp their way out of her throat are nonsensical and mumbled.
Lucas looks over, his doe eyes filled with worry. He purses his lips, then says, “We’ve cleaned her wounds and given her what herbs we were able to salvage. I think we just got to try and wait it out.”
“Wonderful,” Sophia sighs. She notices Lucas lower his head out of the corner of her eye, and she quickly adds, “That’s not your fault, kid. Don’t beat yourself up.”
Lucas nods, though still sullen. Though, Sophia can’t possibly blame him.
A lot has happened in such a short amount of time. A lot of very, VERY bad things.
It’s been only two days since the destruction in Marseilles. Sophia, Lucas, and Amicia had fled the wreckage of the city and luckily managed to get their hands on the Count’s ship, which was still at the beach where Hell first broke loose. Now, they’re sailing to Sophia’s hideout to rest and recover as best as they can.
Sophia and Lucas are both trying their best not to bring any attention to the greatest tragedy that has befallen them. It’ll only bring pain unto them.
And besides…once Amicia becomes lucid enough to process that her beloved baby brother isn’t with them anymore, that pain will never ever end.
Maybe it’s best that her fever remains. The daze she’s floated into is a mercy to the agony of reality.
Amicia’s immune system crashed the moment they all arrived at the ship. Up until that point, she had been running on autopilot ever since she and Lucas emerged from the decaying Nebula, her eyes blank and vacant, her movements sluggish and jerky, as though she was a puppet being dragged along by an inexperienced puppeteer. Lucas said she was in shock, a natural reaction to what she had gone through and what she had done. But when they finally made it to the boat, her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, unable to go on any longer.
Since then, Amicia has been trapped in a fevered daze, barely lucid and rarely ever waking up fully. All the stress she’s been under must finally be catching up to her, and her immune system just can’t take it anymore—or, at least, that’s what Lucas theorizes. It’s a good enough explanation and a much better one compared to the more sinister alternative.
(Trundling through disgusting rat’s nests and wading around in Nebula ash and rubble can’t possibly bode well for the girl’s numerous open wounds.)
Unfortunately, there isn’t much that they can do for Amicia, as Lucas had said. They can only be there for her and hope this sickness isn’t from a terrible infection.
It isn’t until later in that evening that Amicia wakes up.
Well, “wakes up” may not be the best word to use.
Sophia is on the upper deck, steering the ship. There’s nothing but sky in all directions, the horizon painted rose gold and pink. A cool breeze tickles her face, and she breathes in deep, taking in the comforting smell of seawater.
And then, over the splashing of waves and the creaking of the boat, she hears something. Immediately, she perks up, straining her ears.
It’s a distressing, mewling sound, something that a kicked kitten would make. It pulls at her heartstrings, and she leaves the steering post to go investigate.
Finding the source does not take her very long.
In the captain’s quarters, Amicia is curled up into a ball in the bed, trembling and whimpering in her delirium. Her body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, and her breathing is shallow and rapid. Her fingers keep twitching, as though she’s trying to claw her away out of whatever hellish fever dream has her trapped.
Sophia immediately goes over to her side, kneeling down beside the bed. She gently presses on Amicia’s shoulder, beckoning her to awaken. “It’s alright, Amicia. It’s just a dream. Wake up.”
Amicia’s head jerks to one side, but she does not awaken. Senseless whines and cries spill from her mouth, the words barely discernible. Something about blood, so much blood, and something else about rats. She bleats desperately for Hugo at one point, and Sophia’s heart aches in sympathy.
She will never fully comprehend the extent of Amicia’s suffering, but she gets a taste of it through moments like this, and it’s a bitter gall in her mouth. She, at the very least, has the ability to spit it out. Amicia is not as lucky.
Sophia rubs up and down Amicia’s arm, hoping to wake her up or at least provide some level of comfort. “Shh, it’s alright now, sweetheart,” Sophia says. “Wake up. It’s only a dream. You’re okay.”
Amicia flinches, then her eyelids flutter open, revealing glassy, unfocused eyes underneath. She tries to sit up but lacks the strength. She looks terribly confused, lost, afraid, her fever muddling her perception. Puzzlement washes over her face as she squints at Sophia, her delirium blurring the lines of reality.
“M...Mother?” Amicia croaks, her voice barely audible. Her parched lips quiver as she attempts to form the words.
Sophia stiffens at the mistaken identity. “No, Amicia, it’s Sophia. I’m not your mother.”
Amicia blinks, befuddled. “Sophia…?” she croaks. “But I thought… Mothe…” Her words trail off, and she goes limp, slumping down into the blankets. Unconscious.
An hour later, Lucas approaches Sophia while she’s on the top deck again, steering the ship. He looks worried.
“She’s calling for you,” he tells her. “At least, I think she is.”
“What do you mean?” Sophia asks.
“She keeps asking for her mother,” he says. “I tried to tell her that Beatrice isn’t here, but she insists that she ‘saw her earlier.’ I think that means…you.”
Sophia releases a hissing breath between her teeth. “Yeah, she mistook me for her mom last time I checked on her.”
Lucas nods with a frown. “Her fever is making her delirious, then. Her mind is playing tricks on her, desperately seeking comfort and familiarity,” he says. “Do you think you can go see her? Try to calm her down again? She’s getting worked up, and it’s not good for her health if she’s this stressed. I can steer the boat while you’re gone.”
“Sure,” Sophia says. “Come get me if anything goes wrong.”
“I will. Oh, also! If you can get her to drink some water, that would be great.”
Sophia musters a small chuckle. “I’ll do my best.”
With the ship left in Lucas’ hands, Sophia descends back to the captain’s quarters.
In the bed, Amicia is writhing, whimpering and moaning. The blankets are tangled around her limbs like a net, ensnaring her. Her eyelids flutter, barely conscious.
“Amicia?” Sophia calls out. She kneels next to the bed and reaches out to touch Amicia’s hot forehead. Amicia’s glazed eyes immediately snap open and slide toward Sophia, and something hazy swims through her clouded gaze.
“Mother,” the girl says.
Sophia sighs softly. “Amicia, I’m not your…”
But then she takes in the look Amicia is giving her, that deep, longing gaze, a tortured child yearning for the touch of a mother, and she makes a decision.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Sophia whispers. She reaches out to cup one of Amicia’s flushed, fevered cheeks, and when contact is made, Amicia leans hungrily into the touch, seeking comfort and affection. Sophia wonders how long it’s been since she’s been touched in such a way. “I’m here. You’re safe with me. Rest now.”
Amicia’s furrowed brow relaxes, and her facial features become less pinched. She reaches up, her hand trembling, and grabs needily onto the hand cupping her face, nuzzling in further.
“Mother…” Amicia murmurs hoarsely.
Sophia feels a pang of guilt for allowing Amicia to believe this falsehood, but she knows that the truth will shatter her fragile state further. In this moment, they both need a respite from the pain, even if it means weaving a temporary illusion.
“You’re going to be alright, my sweet girl,” Sophia says, her voice filled with a tender love that echoes a mother’s. “It’ll all be alright in due time.”
“Back on La Cuna, Mother, I— I was so scared,” Amicia rasps. “F-for you, for Lucas, for Hugo, for myself. The Count, h-he—” She shuts her eyes tight, a soft sob escaping her lips, and she squeezes Sophia’s hand tighter, afraid of letting her go. It’s like she’s scared that Sophia will disappear if she eases her grip for even a moment. “He hurt me. Bad.”
Sophia only knows of what happened after she and the de Rune kids parted ways on La Cuna because of Lucas. That night, as they were all sailing away in the aftermath of the destruction, the boy had spilled out every gory detail to her in anguished depth on the top deck of the Rascasse, clearly needing to get it out of his system. And although she was only meeting him for the first time just then, she listened to him.
It was horrible. After Amicia was called away to speak to the Count, Lucas and Amicia’s mother, Beatrice, were attacked by soldiers. Lucas tried to protect his magistra, but he was just a child, and they beat him into a pulp. They were then both detained and taken out to an outdoor amphitheater, where Beatrice was tied to a stake to be sacrificed, and Lucas was forced to watch before it would inevitably be his turn to die, too.
And then it just got worse.
Amicia stumbled out, injured and spitting mad. She attempted to fight the Count with his own sword, but her shoulder was dislocated, and she wasn’t strong enough to properly wield the blade with only one available hand. She was brutalized by the Count, sliced like a hog until she was on her hands and knees, bleeding all over the stone. There, the Count cut off her hair as one final dash of salt in her many open wounds, a disgusting act that almost seemed to symbolize the removal of whatever remained of her girlhood.
Neither Amicia nor Lucas could do anything as the Countess took a knife and slit Beatrice’s throat from ear-to-ear right in front of their eyes.
In one fell swoop, three children (as Beatrice was Hugo’s mother, too) were orphaned, the last thread of stability they had in the form of a guardian finally fraying away.
She recalls the pain in Lucas’ voice as he recounted all of these events to her, his tears mixing with the saltwater spray of the ocean. And now, faced with Amicia’s delirious state, she feels an overwhelming responsibility to shield her from further harm.
Perhaps that’s why Sophia is doing this, to provide some sort of grounding for the two kids left behind. To show them that they’re not alone. Not yet.
Not on her watch.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that, my dear,” Sophia says. “But you’re safe now. I promise.”
“I’m so tired…of fighting, Mother,” Amicia mumbles. “I’m so…tired…”
“I know, Amicia,” Sophia says. “I know.”
Amicia finally releases Sophia’s hand to lay down fully. Her face scrunches up, and Sophia knows that she’s probably feeling the full pain of her numerous injuries.
“It… it hurts, Mother,” Amicia croaks, her words barely audible. “It feels like… like fire inside me.”
Sophia’s heart clenches. Throughout her time with Amicia, watching her face psyche-shattering horrors head-on and slaughter dozens of men in cold blood, she often forgot just how young she really is. But at this moment, her youth lies bare to Sophia- she’s just a little girl, through and through.
Amicia’s pain runs deeper than just her illness, Sophia knows this too well. There are also her many injuries- the arrow wound in her side, the cuts on her leg from the Count’s sword, her swollen shoulder, the slice across one of her cheeks, the mottled pattern of purple and yellow across her ribs, the numerous scrapes and bruises littering her all over. It must be impossible for her to get comfortable with a different type of pain stabbing her from every direction. She’s endured so much physical torment, and now it seems as though she’s reached the end of her limit.
Sophia hates seeing her like this, and she looks around for something, anything that can provide her proper comfort. Her eyes land on a small table near the bed, where a glass of water and a green vial sit untouched. She recognizes the vial as one of the alchemical mixtures Lucas had been able to make; it’s supposed to help with Amicia’s fever. It seems Lucas has been trying to get Amicia to drink, but with her delirium, she’s been resistant.
Sophia picks up the glass and pours a few drops of the mixture into it. She then turns back to Amicia. “Amicia, honey, do you think you can drink something? You’re dehydrated. It’ll make you feel better.”
Amicia’s eyelids flutter open, her gaze fixed on the glass. A spark of recognition flashes through her fevered eyes, and for a moment, the illusion seems to falter. Sophia braces herself, unsure if Amicia will reject her attempts to help or will see that she’s not really her mother.
But then Amicia nods, and Sophia breathes out a silent sigh of relief.
Lifting Amicia’s head with one hand, Sophia brings the glass to Amicia’s dry, cracked lips with the other, and Amicia sips obediently.
“That’s it,” Sophia coos. “Good girl. Just a little more.”
Amicia drinks as much as she can, and when she’s finished, she rests her head back down on the pillows. The act of drinking water alone seems to have exhausted her, and her grip on reality appears to waver slightly, caught in the haze of her illness and the fragile illusion Sophia has woven. Sophia knows that she’s treading a delicate line, blurring the boundaries between truth and fiction. But in this moment, Amicia needs comfort and reassurance more than anything, and Sophia is ready to provide it.
“There were some herbs in the water,” Sophia tells her. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Amicia nods sleepily, her eyes drifted shut. Sophia stays by her side, stroking her hair, and when she thinks Amicia may have finally drifted off, she goes to stand up.
Only to be stopped by a hand grabbing her by the sleeve.
Amicia’s eyes are open again, pleading with Sophia. “Don’t go. Please, stay with me, Mother.”
Sophia’s heart melts at the sight of Amicia like this. She can see the desperation and vulnerability in her eyes, and she knows that Amicia needs her presence now more than ever.
“I won’t go anywhere, sweetheart,” Sophia says.
Amicia’s grip tightens on her sleeve. Even in her delirium, she looks a bit shy as she asks, “Can you…lay with me? Like you used to? Remember, when it would thunder real loud, and you, Father, Lion, and I would all smoosh into my bed. It was so…comforting. Please?”
How can Sophia possibly say no to that face?
“Of course.”
Carefully, Sophia eases herself into the bed, mindful of Amicia’s injuries. Amicia immediately snuggles into Sophia’s side, clinging to her shirt like a baby koala. Sophia cups the back of Amicia’s head with one hand, pressing her face into the crook of her neck.
As Sophia holds Amicia, she can feel the girl’s ragged breaths against her chest, the feverish heat radiating off of her skin and into her own. She whispers soothing words, softly humming a familiar tune that used to comfort her when she was just a child. Amicia drifts in and out of restless slumber, occasionally muttering fragmented sentences that don’t mean anything. It’s a bittersweet moment, playing this role that is not truly Sophia’s but one that Amicia desperately needs in this fragile state.
“You’re so, so strong, Amicia,” Sophia murmurs. “So unbelievably strong. And I’m so proud of you.”
Amicia’s grip on Sophia tightens, as if seeking reassurance that this moment is real, that she’s not alone in her pain. Sophia presses a gentle kiss against Amicia’s forehead, her heart breaking for the burdens this young girl has been forced to carry. She wishes she can take away all her suffering, make everything right, but all she can do is provide comfort and be there for her.
“I love you, Mother,” Amicia whispers.
Sophia does not hesitate: “I love you, too, sweetheart.”
Time loses its meaning within the confines of that room. Sophia doesn’t dare think about the uncertain future that awaits them, the challenges they will have to face. In this fragile moment, all that matters is Amicia’s well-being, her comfort and the bond they share.
Some time later, when Sophia had thought Amicia finally fell asleep, Amicia stirs.
“…You’re not my mother, are you?”
“No. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Amiaic curls closer to Sophia, her grip tightening.
“…Where’s Hugo?”
Oh dear.