Chapter 16: The Best Mother

Warren Plain, the largest plain in the southern reaches of the Empire, sprawled with a network of rivers and channels. Its warm and humid climate nurtured the Empire’s finest grains. Blessed with heavenly climate, fertile soil, and pristine waters, this land yielded abundantly no matter what was sown—earning it the title, “Granary of the Empire.”

Narlenstein was perched at the southeastern edge of this plain, close to the sea. As a part of the Granary, this small city was prosperous yet conservative. Its residents lived by and thrived on agriculture; besides fulfilling the imperial grain quota each year, the rest of their produce was either transformed into wine, sugar, cotton, and various by-products, or sold throughout the Empire.

The Brentow family was among the few hereditary nobles of Narlenstein. Once upon a time, Narlenstein itself was the hereditary fief of the Brentows. Yet, over the past two centuries, the family had declined, now content to remain in Narlenstein, seeking only peace and quiet.

Their ancestral home occupied the northeast corner of the city, taking up nearly half a hill—though on the plain, these hills were so low they barely deserved the name. Still, better something than nothing. The manor, carved into the hillside, was the fruit of three or four centuries of Brentow labor and pride: stately and grand. Yet where once the house brimmed with life, now only two branches of the family remained, and in Narlenstein itself, only one. Thus, the mansion’s vastness seemed only to highlight its emptiness and decline.

Having withdrawn from politics, the Brentows plunged into trade. With less power came greater wealth, but wealth without power was like a floating duckweed without roots—most of it siphoned away by taxes, levies, and exploitation, leaving only a fraction behind. Hence, in recent years, the Brentows split in two: one branch stayed in Narlenstein to manage the estate, while the other journeyed to the imperial capital, hoping to restore their family’s former influence by leveraging their fortune.

In autumn and winter, the north side of the house was bathed in sunlight, making it the warmest and most pleasant place to live. This year, as soon as the season changed, Jennifer moved there early, basking in the sun as she handled household affairs, enjoying a rare sense of leisure.

Morning was Jennifer’s time to tend to these matters, and the little sunroom table was piled high with documents: social invitations received yesterday and this morning, monthly reports from nearby estates, and an endless array of household minutiae. Such was the life of the lady of the house—never a moment’s rest from dawn to dusk.

Jennifer was opening a pink envelope, its heady floral scent and lovely hue unmistakably marking it as a wedding invitation. As she read the elegant script, she sighed, her thoughts drifting to her precious daughter—seventeen and grown, yet still so capricious. She wondered what kind of family her daughter would one day marry into…

As she mused, the housekeeper drew near and whispered in her ear. Jennifer’s brow furrowed; she gestured, and the housekeeper handed her a small note. Upon reading it, Jennifer’s face blanched and her brows creased so deeply it seemed they could crush a mosquito. Pressing her lips together with unease, she ordered, “Go to the study and bring me what that woman sent last time.”

The housekeeper obeyed, returning soon with a small wooden box. She placed it respectfully on the wicker table, then discreetly dismissed the others from the sunroom, remaining herself, poised and ready for orders—to stay or leave.

Jennifer paid her no mind and opened the box. Inside lay a tricolor bellflower brooch, exquisite in both material and craftsmanship, though clearly an old piece. Beneath the brooch was a letter—black paper, sealed with white wax.

A death notice.

Jennifer’s complexion turned ashen. She snatched out the letter, ripped it open, scanned it quickly, then bit her lip and clenched her jaw, struggling to think. At last, she called the housekeeper back and instructed, “Have someone deliver these things to Jeff today, travel through the night if needed. Tell the messenger to say that when these items arrived, I was away at my family’s home. They sent for me, and when I returned and discovered what it was, I sent it on to him. Remember—when these things arrived, I was not at home!”

The housekeeper listened, repeating the instructions word for word. When Jennifer had no objections to her repetition, she bowed and withdrew.

Now Jennifer was alone in the sunroom. No matter how warm the sun, no matter how generous the heat, she only felt herself growing colder and colder.

Renee was dead.

Jennifer was stunned by the thought. After her daze, she clenched her teeth in anger—Renee’s death could not have come at a worse time! And she had left behind such a mess! Worst of all, even in death, she hadn’t sent her bastard child to them, but instead played games, claiming that if Jeff didn’t arrive within five days, guardianship would pass to the Aubreyons! Was this not a deliberate affront to her and her husband?

How could anyone in this world, with close kin still alive, entrust a child’s guardianship to outsiders?

The more Jennifer thought, the angrier she became. Fury burned in her chest. She lost control, sweeping everything off the wicker table onto the floor. Still unsatisfied, she even kicked over her own chair. Only after this fit did she finally exhale, sit down in another chair, pull out paper and pen, and begin writing furiously. After folding the letter, she called someone in.

☆☆☆

On a pale gold invitation, a string of beautiful black Gothic script danced like art itself. If one ignored the meaning, the letters alone were as lovely as any masterpiece. Teresa admired their beauty, in no hurry to decipher their meaning, her demeanor amusing Betty, who teased, “It seems our famous St. Alberta ‘Autumn Night Ball’ holds little attraction for our darling Tess.”

Teresa giggled, “Oh Aunt Betty, how can you say that? The ‘Autumn Night Ball’ is something nearly every girl in the Empire dreams of attending. I’m no exception.”

Though her words denied it, her tone and expression betrayed indifference. Betty, noticing this, laughed and poked her forehead. “You little fibber, I do wonder who you take after. Renee or An—” She paused, then changed the subject. “Tess, who will you choose as your escort? Pedia or Archil? By age, Pedia’s more suitable; Archil’s still a bit green, don’t you think?”

At the mention of that half-spoken name, Teresa’s emerald eyes darkened, but she didn’t pursue it. Instead, she followed Betty’s lead and changed the topic. “I think I’ll choose Archil. This month is just when big brother is taking his qualification exam for military internship—better let him focus.”

“It’s just an internship, what’s the fuss?” Betty waved it off. “Your Uncle Amos never goes without a dozen guards. If need be, Pedia can just blend in with the guards—problem solved.”

Teresa could only laugh helplessly at such a mother, so unconcerned with her son’s honor. After a moment, she managed, “Aunt Betty, what kind of mother are you? Most parents would be thrilled if their child earned such an honor fair and square, but you’re already thinking of pulling strings before the results are even out…”

She left the rest unsaid, as it would hardly have been flattering.

Betty, unfazed by Teresa’s mild reproach, shrugged with a roguish grin. “It would be a waste not to use the resources we have, wouldn’t it? Besides, I have absolute faith in Pedia. But still, you never know—best to prepare for any contingency, right? Like you once said: ‘forewarned is forearmed,’ isn’t that it?”

Her string of rhetorical questions sent Teresa into fits of laughter. She collapsed into the soft sofa, grabbing Betty’s hand and demanding a tummy rub.

When the laughter faded, Teresa lay back, her head pillowed on Betty’s lap, pressing one of Betty’s hands to her cheek, feeling the gentle caress as Betty’s other hand stroked her hair, smoothing the locks at her temple.

“In the blink of an eye, Tess, you’ve grown up. When you were born, you slept all the time, never afraid of strangers, happy in anyone’s arms. You never cried, just smiled at everyone—you were such a darling.”

Betty’s sudden reminiscence startled Teresa, who glanced up to see Betty gazing at her, yet her eyes seemed unfocused, as if looking through her at someone else—

Her mother, Renee Brentow.

Lost in memory, Betty drifted further back, recalling their youth: “When we first set out adventuring, no one thought she’d make it. We just needed numbers for the job. She was so small and young, the youngest in the group, with cheeks like fresh peaches. But who’d have thought she’d be the fiercest of us all? She was a mage, but in battle she always charged to the front. Her spells were quick, precise, and ruthless—more formidable than most of the warriors, really. Don’t be fooled by her size; she was our main fighting force.”

“Mother was amazing,” Teresa replied softly, her voice as gentle as silk, soothing to the ear.

“Yes, she truly was. Not yet twenty, and she’d already earned a three-star mercenary badge. Her mission success rate was ninety percent, second only to Amos, and even better than mine. The whole team admired her… Fierce in battle, but off the field she was our joy—always laughing, always up to mischief. Even Amos, the stoic, couldn’t resist her antics… Who’d have guessed she was a noble? Sometimes I think, if only she’d been born a commoner…”

At that, Betty roused herself from the past. She stroked Teresa’s hair lovingly, bent down, and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Tess, remember—you had a wonderful mother. She was the best mother in the world.”

A hot rush filled Teresa’s eyes; she bit down, fought back tears, and whispered hoarsely, “I… know. Aunt Betty, I know—she was the best, the very best!”