Wolf Omega: The Lykanos Chronicles 2

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Have you reason to suspect that Father Piero didn't write to your family as he promised?" Sempronio asked at the close of the day's lessons when I proposed writing a letter to them.

"It's not that, sir. I only wish them to know by my own hand that it's true. They have no way to know that I've learned to read or write."

"Do you feel they would ever believe such a thing? No," he held up his hand, "answer this instead: do you mean for your family to know of your new station? Not of your emerged lycan nature, of course. But that you are now living as a high-born lady of wealth in a castle?"

"Not at all, sir. I only want them to know that I am well. I can tell them I work for a benevolent master who has taken it upon himself to educate his servants."

"That's all?" Sempronio asked suspiciously. "That's where you would have it end? In time, will they not expect to see you again? What will you tell them when they ask to visit you in town on your day off? Will you dress in a servant's robes and regale them with stories about your life here?"

I gave no response to his barrage. I didn't think any of them would burden the expense to travel here.

"How long with that satisfy them, do you suppose? Will they not expect you to marry again soon? Won't they wish you to send money to aid your mother or nieces and nephews, if any have been born? How much more complex will your ruse need to become to sustain it over time?"

I was unprepared for his questions, never having thought through a succession of consequences.

"I only want for them not to worry about me," I said plainly. "We intended that I would return to them shortly. Even if they received Father Piero's letter, mine would be an ultimate confirmation that I was okay. They would not expect more."

"You don't believe that a mother doesn't expect to hear from her daughter, do you? Regardless of the distance that separated you, was she not accustomed to hearing from you by letter?"

I knew that Sempronio was right, but I was unprepared for the weight of the truth.

"Understand, if you wish to send them money, I will gladly do so for you. But you must come to terms with your situation. They can never know of what has truly happened to you, and each door of truth you open to them will reveal yet another. It is unavoidable."

Sempronio stopped to let me think about his words, only continuing when I looked back into his eyes.

"I will not force the matter; you have my word. But allow me to propose a different course."

I nodded warily for him to proceed.

"I shall write to you mother and sister, instead," he continued gently. "I will inform them of your untimely death because of an accident on my estate. I will describe your excellent service to my house and forward sentiments of condolence from my staff. I will forward your family money disguised as your earned wages, along with a greater sum meant as an apology for the accident. People are superstitious by nature, and they will not question such a gesture from a high don. They will know that money is likely meaningless to a man of my station. You may select belongings to send with the letter. Perhaps a small portrait of your likeness to comfort them in their grief?"

The idea horrified me. No matter the logic behind his words, Sempronio's description of my death was chilling.

"Before you decide, I would urge you to allow yourself time to process it all. Think of them first, my child. No matter your choice, know this much: you will survive every one of them—your sister, your nieces and nephews, and their grandchildren—all their lineage who may come to know your name. If, for now, you propose they should think of you as a successful servant living far from home, regardless of how that temporary guise will unfold, I will not stop you. I will even arrange for indirect means to enrich their lives if it would comfort you. But their story will each end in the same way.