Chapter Text
“Who would not rather trust and be deceived?”
—Eliza Cook
• • •
11 months later.
POSTMARKED: 4 SEPTEMBER [PREPAID PARCEL ▵ 4.75KG express-post.] [COURIER FEE PAID] [INSURANCE PAID]
TO: P.S.O. Volkage Utility Co., L-2a Central-Entresol, Lanes District, Undercity. —attn VIKTOR VANDERČEK. The Last Drop.
FROM: JAYCE HERRERA. 2/16 Gowen Street, Iron District, Piltover E6QE.
Dear Viktor,
Hope youre reading this and nothing is broken because Mr Talis paid extra for its safety :) I know we have brunch in 2.5 weeks but I wanted you to have this NOW. The snacks came all the way from IONIA!!!!!
I have so much to tell you.
Mr Talis’ sister and her family arrived yesterday for the wedding next month and they brought SO MUCH STUFF. There’s a little bit of everything here so you can try and tell me what you like most and she said she can bring more next time she visits!
Her husband is a merchant from Ionia (that’s why she live there now) and she has 2 kids: 1 boy (9. SAME AS ME) + 1 girl (11). Elias and Emma. Mr Talis’ sister is named Eloise. She will be my auntie officially after mama and Mr Talis sign all the paper! Their whole family has an E theme since Mr Talis’ dad is named Edwin and his mum is Eleanor! ALL Es. Anyway, now i have 2 cousins! I was worried they would be mean but they’re really nice and they said the watch you gave me last year is the prettiest watch they’ve ever seen. I told them you’re the prettiest (and smartest and nicest) person I’VE ever seen too — and showed them our photos.
Emma is really good at drawing (much better than me). She did a comic-style picture of you and me from the photos I showed her! I’ve put it in this envelope for you to see.
They also saw our muffin necklace and told me all sorts of stories about muffins because muffins aren’t illegal in Ionia. I got in trouble with mama for talking to them about it but i’m gonna ask their dad (I forgot how to spell his name i will ask later) about muffins and maybe he can help us. I am so excited. He travels for work so he has been everywhere! Even Bilgewater! He told us a time where he got boarded by REAL PIRATES. He has a scar across his NECK. So cool.
Let me know which snack you like best so we can send you more :) I really like the milk lollies (the chewy one in the blue and white paper). The plums are a bit boring but mama says they’re good for sore tummy or nausea and maybe your Auntie Felicia will like them if you don’t?
I miss you. Hope you can visit soon. My new room is big enough for both of us to sleep in!!!! We will have so much fun. Maybe you can come visit before my cousins leave after the wedding? They leave on October 20.
I CAN’T WAIT TO HAVE A OFFICIAL DAD!!!!!!!!!!!!! They’re going to do the paper signing at the wedding. I’m so excited. The next time I send you a letter, I will have a different surname!
I still wish you were coming but mama says the guest-list was really small so we can have a big visit after where i can spend more time with you (i’m helping mama at the wedding so will be busy carrying things!)
Still. I miss you.
Love, Jayce.
PS: Mr Talis helped me make a present for Pāua but he says it’s best not to ‘tempt fate’ and send in the mail. I will give it to you when i see you.
PPS: has Pāua learned to say your name yet?
• • •
POSTMARKED: 9 SEPTEMBER [PPS PROMENADE PROCESSING CENTRE] [—CLEARED—]
TO: JAYCE HERRERA. 2/16 Gowen Street, Iron District, Piltover E6QE.
FROM: VIKTOR SILCOVIČ. The Last Drop, L-2a Ct-Entresol, The Lanes, Undercity.
Dear Jayce,
That was the biggest parcel I’ve EVER received. Thank you (and your cousins) for all the treats. I like the milk lolly a lot. I like the plum too! Haven’t tried the others yet because mami put food on a high shelf and said I can only have a little bit each day or else I will ‘be a sugar fiend’.
Ha. Too late. I am ALREADY a sugar fiend.
I’m glad your cousins are nice to you. Everyone should be nice to you. I am also very very very excited about more muffin information. I’ve included some notes about muffins (mami’s friend helped me make graphite copies. I was worried my ionian characters would get something wrong). If your new Ioanian uncle can be trusted, can you ask him to translate? Or if he has seen any other books about the muffins I’ve drawn (see second page). There are twelve we can’t find explanations for, including OUR muffin.
It might not be ionian but still cool to check. You should practice your ionian with them while they’re here!! So lucky!!!
Emma’s drawing is so funny. Do you want it back? Or can i keep it? She made my eyes so big. Mami says it looks like i am high. ??? he wouldn’t explain what it means and just laughed for ages. Please ask Mr Talis. He always gives you proper answers.
I want to visit you too. Things are really busy here. When I’m not at my lessons, I am baby sitting Pāua and / or Violet. It’s hard to get time alone and sometimes i just want to hide! I love having sisters but Violet is very loud. Pāua is much quieter and will sit with me so I can do my homework. Violet says I’m boring but won’t leave me alone. If i’m boring, go play with someone else? I can’t wait for her to start school next year (there’s a schoolhouse near the Steelworks and workshop where Auntie Felicia and Uncle Connel work). She’s tall for a 5-year-old. Could pretend to be 6 and enrol NOW and nobody would know.
>:\
Can’t wait to see you at the cafe. I’m sure Pāua will love her present, whatever it is.
I’m sad to be missing the wedding and i miss you too. How’s Pebbles now her babies all fly? Is Mr Pebbles still alive? I still think we should tag his leg to make sure.
When Mr Talis is less busy (after the wedding) i need to ask him about some casings for a water filter i’m working on. Because of the water pressure, scraps aren’t working but it’s too expensive to make tests at the forge closest to us (they are too busy and said they can’t help). Mami says he will ask other forges but hopefully Mr Talis can help for free.
Let’s ask him after he is your official dad so he can’t say no. >:)
Your best, prettiest, smartest, nicest, and still most interesting friend,
Viktor.PS: Pāua isn’t even 1 yet. She has only said the following words: baba, mama, bee (for V = Viktor). She hasn’t said bye (for Vi) yet. I’m winning.
• • •
POSTMARKED: 1 OCTOBER [PRE-PAID ▵ 10g express-post.] [COURIER FEE PAID]
TO: P.S.O. Volkage Utility Co., L-2a Central-Entresol, Lanes District, Undercity. —attn VIKTOR SILCOVIČ. The Last Drop.
FROM: JAYCE TALIS. 2/16 Gowen Street, Iron District, Piltover E6QE.
Dear Viktor,
MR TALIS IS MY DAD NOW!!!
Here’s some photos from the wedding — a lady with a big camera (bigger than yours) took them and mama asked for extra copies :)
She also told me last night that we are going to IONIA for a week for the ‘honey moon’. I asked if there are giant bees on Ionia and Auntie Eloise said maybe??? We all travel on the same airship. I’VE NEVER FLY BEFORE IM SOOO EXCITED.
My cousins said they will give me lollies for alteetube sickness because being high up can make you feel sick. I’m not scared of air OR being high.
I asked if you could come with us but mama said honey moons are family only :( I wish we were family so we can live together and I can see you every day. I will miss you. But I will ask about muffins (Uncle Zhang says Piltover attitudes to muffins is ‘reductive’. He says that different places treat muffins differently and the muffin drawings we have aren’t actually the best muffins? He is really smart but doesn’t talk a lot. I have to keep asking and mama says I’m being annoying. I will try later).
Sorry I didn’t tell you about the honey moon earlier. I only found out yesterday! Mama kept it as a surprise.
I was so excited I couldn’t sleep all night so I think that’s why she didn’t tell me before.
I will write every day and send my letters when I get back. I’m gonna look for muffins too.
Wish me luck!
Love, Jayce Talis.
PS: Dad says ‘being high’ is from smoking drugs or weeds (???) and that i’m not allowed to try until i’m older — then mama said i am NEVER allowed so i asked why are we going on the airship? That’s being high too and uncle zhang said i HAD A POINT and that they had lots of plants in ionia that doesn’t grow here (too cold) and he will show me when mama and dad aren’t looking. I’m gonna bring some back >:)
• • •
Viktor, 9 (almost 10). Meanwhile.
The hardest part of babysitting Pāua was Violet.
Initially, Viktor thought Violet would want her baby sister all to herself – thereby relieving Viktor of jester duty and allowing him to focus on homework. Viktor wasn’t their brother by blood, and no matter what mami and Auntie Felicia said, Viktor had seen the way blood-siblings were at the foundling house. Together, against the world.
Once, Violet had walked in on Viktor reading out loud to Pāua (whom Auntie Felicia had placed in his lap so she could help Vander with supper) — and the ensuing tantrum had required Felicia and Vander to untangle Violet from Viktor’s hair.
That was the first and last time Violet ever enacted non-spoon vitriol against Viktor…who had been so surprised that his yelp of pain summoned both adults from the kitchen.
“We don’t pull,” Auntie Fel had nearly-shouted, yanking a shrieking Violet away. “Violet. Stop this right now.”
“Viktor said he busy!” screeched Violet, four limbs flailing. “Not fair, not fair! It’s not fair!” Vander took her from Felicia and held the toddler at arms-length.
Air jail, mami had called it. Viktor wished he was strong and tall enough to put Violet in air jail. He could barely keep her at bay with his cane, when push came to shove.
Vander bobbed Violet a little. “C’mon princess,” he said, “what’s the matter?”
“VIKI LIE,” Violet cried.
In his arms, Pāua was starting to sniffle at all the noise. Viktor frowned. “No,” he said. “Stop screaming, you’re upsetting Pāua.”
“Good!” Violet devolved into howling hiccups.
“Say sorry to your brother,” Felicia demanded, hands on hips.
Vander turned Violet around to face Viktor, but her face was still scrunched in displeasure.
“No.”
“Violet.”
“NO.”
Pāua started to cry. Viktor hastily stowed his textbook away, irritated at the entire interruption. They were so close to the end of the chapter on parrots! All the noise was hurting his head. In the end, Felicia took Violet downstairs while Vander helped settle Pāua so she could have her milk on time.
“Pa, I’m not a liar.” Viktor climbed onto the stool to watch Vander heat Pāua’s milk.
“I know, buddy,” Vander. “Vi’s just going through a jealousy phase. It’s common with kids her age.”
“She’s the one who left!” Viktor pointed out. “She said Pāua was boring.”
Vander chuckled. “Pāua’s in her potato phase. Aren’t you, love?” Pāua, who had stopped crying, just blinked at Vander with huge blue eyes. “The sweetest, cutest potato in Zaun.”
“I like potato phase,” muttered Viktor. “Nicer. Quiet.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” said Vander. “Is your scalp okay? Did Violet get you bad?”
Viktor shrugged. “S’fine.” He ran his fingernail across a groove in the counter, the wood scarred from countless stories. “...is it because I’m not really her brother?”
Vander paused, hand on the saucepan. “What do you mean? Of course you are.”
“I can’t help it if Pāua likes me.” She did, too: she never squirmed when Viktor held her (probably because Violet was too impatient and kept moving her hands). She just stared at Viktor with those bottomless eyes, as if he were an alien.
Vander poured the heated milk into a cup to swirl and cool. On his chest, Pāua’s mouth suckled on air like a goldfish.
“I think Violet’s not used to sharing attention,” said Vander. “She’s still adjusting. She had you all to herself these past two years, hmm? Her favourite big brother.”
Viktor squinted. “I’m her only brother.”
“Exactly.”
As Pāua transitioned from a potato to a slug, then to a chubby salamander — she and Violet spent most of the day at The Last Drop. Both Connel and Felicia had to return to their pre-Pāua work shifts, so mami, Vander, Benzo, Barbs, and even Miss Aliya, would take turns baby sitting in shifts. (Miss Aliya would bring her new baby and frankly, in Viktor’s humble opinion, the baby-to-adult ratio in the pub was getting ridiculous.)
As she entered the salamander (crawling) stage, Pāua grew chattier: babbling and making intelligible noises whenever Viktor showed her something particularly colourful. According to Connel, her first word was ‘baba’. According to Felicia, her first word was ‘mama’. Viktor hadn’t been there to witness, but—
“Statistically, babies say ‘ma’ first,” he confirmed when the dispute arose at the dinner table. “It’s the easiest noise for a baby’s mouth, according to three of these books.”
“What about those two?” asked Connel.
Viktor shot him an unimpressed look. “Those are about digestion and pooping.”
Alas, Pāua cut Auntie Felicia’s celebration short by looking Silco straight in the eye and saying: “Mah-mee.”
Vander laughed so hard he almost knocked over his bowl. “She must have picked it up from Viki,” he crowed, thumping the table with a fist. “This is fantastic.”
“It’s because mami was there when she was born,” said Viktor. “She saw mami first when she came out, right?”
Silco choked on his soup while Vander howled with laughter.
Connel buried his face in his hands. “This won’t help the rumours.”
Two weeks later, Vander made bacon and egg waffles for supper. The whole pub smelled amazing and ‘breakfast supper’ nights were always a highlight of Viktor’s month.
“Made them extra fluffy for you,” said Vander, heaping scrambled eggs onto Viktor’s plate. “Careful, just came out of the pan.”
Viktor blew on his eggs, salivating at the cheesy pull when he dug his fork in. “Yum! Thanks, papa.”
Pāua made grabby hands at Vander (or perhaps at the milk bottle in his hands) and said, loud and clear: “Papa!”
Predictably, Vander started to cry. Viktor patted him on the arm, mouth squirreled with food. Vander patted him back on the shoulder and almost knocked Viktor off his chair.
“Shit— sorry, bud.”
“PAPA!” Pāua protested, eyes locked on her milk bottle. Her chubby little legs kicked the edge of the table.
“Yes, that’s me,” said Vander, eyes wet and nose sniffly.
Viktor snorted into his waffle — which set off a coughing fit that he had to drown with juice.
Vander scooped Pāua, settling her into the crook of his elbow before relinquishing the milk bottle. He nudged Viktor (gently) on the arm. “You’ll back me up when I tell Con, right?”
Viktor nodded solemnly.
“Attaboy.” Vander grinned. “He’s gonna be so pissed.”
Once Pāua mastered ‘eee’ sounds, Viktor was anointed as ‘bee’, which Jayce found hilarious.
“Veeek-tor,” Viktor tried. “Vick.”
“Beak,” said Pāua, giggling.
“Close enough. You’re ahead of schedule anyway,” said Viktor, jotting down the linguistic milestones for the day in his new Pāua observation notebook.
Thus ‘Bee’ became ‘Beak’. And soon after Pāua’s first birthday, she finally put Violet out of her sulky misery by learning how to say ‘bye’.
“She’s just saying goodbye,” said Viktor. “Look, she’s waving.”
“Bye for Vi!” Violet insisted.
“Bye bye,” cooed Pāua.
“Vi-Vi,” said Violet, pointing at herself.
Viktor sighed. They were never finishing this book. “If you say so.”
Pāua loved playing with Viktor’s cane — and by extension, anything cane-shaped. The first time she stood was by pulling herself up on a table leg with wobbly determination. She fell onto her bottom mere seconds later, but Viktor clapped and cheered (just like the baby book said to) until Pāua’s surprise turned into tentative giggles.
“Good job, Pāua” he added, sitting down on the rug.
Pāua immediately scooted forwards on her bottom and crawled-rolled into his lap. “Beak,” she said, smiling up at him with pink cheeks and a gummy grin. “Beak beak.”
“Vik-ki.”
“Bikkie.”
That’s new! Viktor grabbed his Pāua notebook. Pāua also tried to grab the notebook.
“Hang on, I need to log your new word.”
“Bikkie,” repeated Pāua, chubby fingers sliding on the edge of the paper. “Bik-keeee.”
“Pā-wahhh,” Viktor whined back, dating his entry. Learned new vowel sound. Not just long ‘ee’. Getting closer!
“Bikkie!”
“Pāua!”
“Bikkie.”
“Pāua.”
Pāua’s eyebrows drew together in a fantastic imitation of Connel’s concentration face. “Papa,” she tried.
“Pā-ua,” enunciated Viktor patiently. They’d all been trying to no avail and he wasn’t expecting to make progress today. He exaggerated the shape of his mouth. “Pow-hwua.”
“Papa.”
Viktor tilted his head. “Pow…?”
Pāua tilted her head to mirror him. “Pa…”
“...Wa,” finished Viktor.
“Da,” said Pāua, clapping her hands together. “Papa, dada, pah-da, da, pah, dada, pah-da.” She smooshed her face into Viktor’s jumper with a squeal before looking up, rubbing her cheeks against it like a cat. Then she propped her chin against his heart. “Bikkie!” she declared. “Bikkie.”
“That’s me,” said Viktor. “Do you want to try counting blocks now?”
The autumn school term had long come and gone, but to Viktor’s dismay, Violet remained — unhappy whenever Viktor’s attention strayed. At Winter Solstice, he overheard Auntie Felicia talking to mami about avoiding the flu season.
“It shouldn’t be as bad this year, with the vaccination stops set up,” mami was saying. The office door was ajar, and warm lamplight curled onto the landing like a loose golden cord. Viktor paused against the wall to listen. “We’ve got the primary schools covered. Next year, hopefully we’ll have enough to do the older children and the foundling houses well before December.”
“She’s always so weepy when she gets a blocked nose,” said Auntie Felicia. “Keeps both of us up to fuck o’clock.”
A soft murmur, too quiet for Viktor to pick up on.
Then, mami’s smooth low voice. “You should be more worried about rabies.”
“Why would she get rabies at school?!”
“You misunderstand, Lesha. Vi would be the one biting her classmates.”
“Oh fuck off, she hasn’t bitten you or Van for ages.”
“July was six months ago.”
“She hasn’t bitten Viktor. Or Pāua.”
“Thank Janna for small mercies.”
Another murmur. Then, mami’s voice, raised: “Do you need something, vránka?”
Oopsie.
Viktor shuffled into the gap between the door and its frame and waved his water bottle as explanation. “Ran out,” he said.
Mami and Auntie Fel were sharing a pot of tea at mami’s desk, the steam still curling gently over the cups. On a chipped plate was half a loaf of sweet bread.
“You’ve already brushed your teeth,” said Silco, but he was smiling. He stood with a yawn. “Wait here while I fill that up.” He shushed Viktor’s protests. “It’s too cold downstairs now. C’mon.”
Viktor happily exchanged his water bottle for a kiss on the head. He waited until Silco returned with the filled bottle and a fresh wheat bag (warm and wrapped in its cloth cover).
“I think Vi can go to school already,” said Viktor, looking from Silco to Felicia. “She can wear my spare mask so she won’t get sick.”
“Oh sweetie.” Felicia tugged him close for a hug. “Being an older brother is hard work, huh?”
“She never sits still,” Viktor complained. “She keeps talking when I’m trying to read.” He looked at Silco. “She said she hates numbers.”
“Blasphemous,” said mami.
“Numbers is the best language,” said Viktor, folding his wheat bag under one arm. So toasty. “Easier than Ionian. Or Piltovian. Or Ixtali. And all three use the same maths, so! Something everyone agrees on.”
“Ionian actually has different mathematic scripts,” said Auntie Fel, stopping Viktor in his tracks. “Some are still in use today. The Piltovian denotation borrows a lot from—”
“We can maths in the morning,” said Sil, practically carrying VIktor out of his office.
Viktor squirmed. “But—!”
“It’s late.” Sil raised an eyebrow. “Half-past ten m, plus you, equals bedtime.”
“I’m not tired anymore,” protested Viktor. “I want to hear the story about Ionian math.” He tugged on Silco’s sleeve so he could whisper into his ear. “...Do you think Mister Anton has books about it?”
“Shh. Perhaps.”
A thought struck Viktor like a lightning bolt. “Are Ionian runes just Ionian maths?” he demanded. “Mami. Mami. Is magic just maths?”
“Magic is you going to sleep on time,” said mami. “If you go to bed right now and not read under the covers, we can go to the promenade on Thursday to ask about your magic math.”
Viktor rushed for his bedroom door.
“I’ll know if you’re using your torch, young man.”
• • •
Silco, 27 (Viktor, 10).
A few months later, 28 February.
Familiarity bred habits and rituals. They were comforting things, for the most part, even the irritating quirks that one inevitably discovered by sheer dint of living hand-and-soul with another.
Sil thought he knew all of Vander’s habits; they so often mirrored his own. Even the ebbs and flows were the same — they’d both stopped smoking in the house in deference to Viktor’s health; and for a while, they stopped talking too.
Sil tried not to pick at the scars of that wound. It had healed so quietly that he couldn't really see its edges anymore, not when Viktor’s voice filtered through the walls, accompanied by Pāua’s babbling and laughter. Vander’s warm affection scalded every stain clean — though it still smelled of bleach and blood sometimes. The important habits and rituals survived. Wasn’t that the point?
There really was nothing so safe as the certainty of being loved. And nothing bred certainty like a reliable habit.
—Vander had other, better ideas.
“It’s your birthday,” gasped Sil, trying to claw free of the blankets as Vander laboured over a love bite on Silco’s hip. He was taking the scenic route south. “Shit. Shit. Van, don’t tease.”
Vander shot him a grin from between Sil’s thighs. “You said it was my birthday. I wanna take my time.”
“Fuck!” Silco’s head hit the wall with a resounding thud. “I swear to Janna, if you— unh.”
Vander hoisted Silco’s left leg over his shoulder for better access. “Shh Birdie. Or you’ll wake Viki.”
“Fuck you,” hissed Sil. The effect was significantly diluted by the way his spine was melting. He grabbed a fistful of Vander’s hair and tried to yank him up to no avail. “Puppy.”
“Mmhm?”
“Lemme suck you off.”
“Later. You first.”
“Won’t have time before V— oh fuck.” Sil dug his fingernails into Vander’s scalp. Vander retaliated with his mouth and tongue.
For several moments, Sil saw white. Then veins and starbursts as his vision faded back into colour.
“You’re so pretty like this,” said Van, mouth glossy and eyes dark. “Like you wanna tear my throat out.” He wrapped a hand around Sil’s ankle that hung over Vander’s shoulders, running a warm palm up to Silco’s hipbone as they both gasped for breath. “Mine. Aren’t you, Sil?”
He thumbed Silco’s cheek, softer than Sil could remember him being before, before the family they found, before The Last Drop, before—
Sil drew blood when Vander kissed him next, fulfilling a promise, lips bruised and heart full. Vander cupped his neck and head in one huge hand, wrist pressed against Sil’s throat, where their skin pulled thinnest, pulse against pulse.
Sil tightened the leg he still had over Vander’s shoulder… and shoved him hard, twisting until he straddled atop Vander, hair falling over his shoulder to curtain around their faces.
“Much better,” breathed Sil. “Right where I want you.”
“As long as you want me.” Hands held him still, thumbs almost meeting at Sil’s belly button. Anchoring. Vander tightened his grip. “You have me.”
Sil nipped Vander’s jaw, grinding his hips back and smirking at the answering groan. “I do. And you’ll regret—”
They both jolted at the sound of metal on wood just outside their bedroom.
The door burst open.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAaaaagh!” Viktor clapped both hands over his eyes, dropping everything to the floor, including his cane.
Vander yelped. “Viki!” He sat up so quickly that he almost threw Silco off the bed. He grabbed a pillow for cover.
“Shit.” Sil yanked the duvet over his stomach. “Moje vranko, you’re up early.”
“Mami…” Viktor peeked between his fingers. “Are you eating pa?” he demanded, sounding both shrill and curious. “On his birthday?”
“No,” said Sil and Van in unison.
“…you’re not making a baby, are you?” asked Viktor.
Van choked on air.
“Because we already have Pāua,” Viktor continued, counting pointedly on his fingers. “And Ekko. And Vi, who is louder than a baby.”
“No new baby, I promise,” said Sil, quickly tying his hair up. “Give Van and I a minute, alright darling?”
“The present fell under the bed,” said Viktor, pouting. He shuffled to retrieve his cane, all the while shooting Sil and Vander rather suspicious looks, perhaps searching for any evidence of cannibalism.
Once satisfied that neither parent was consuming the other, baby or not, Viktor finally closed the bedroom door.
Silco flopped back onto the sheets. “I told you we didn’t have time,” he groused.
Vander yanked him in for a kiss. “Viki won’t risk coming back in,” he said, wolfish. “How ‘bout we finish what we star—”
“I CAN HEAR YOU,” came Viktor’s indignant voice from the other side of the door.
Five minutes later, both Vander and Silco were dressed and Viktor was sitting between them on the (freshly made) bed — feet beneath the duvet for warmth.
Viktor presented a paper-wrapped parcel to Vander, laying a colourful card on top with a hopeful smile. “It’s from both of us,” Vik explained, glancing at Sil who nodded.
Vander had yet to open either item but was already rather misty-eyed. He unfolded the birthday card first, thumbing the edge as he read.
“You got me that new belt for solstice,” said Van, smiling. “And I’m already getting another present? Lucky me.”
Sil rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress his smile. “Happened last year too, bozo.”
“Exactly. I’m being spoiled.” Vander ruffled Viktor’s hair and leaned over him to kiss Sil’s cheek. “Spoiled rotten.”
Viktor bounced on the mattress. He drummed his fists on Vander’s knee. “Open it, pa, open it.”
“Hang on, I’m still absorbing my beautiful birthday card—”
“Ughhhhh. Pa. I’ve been awake for so long, waiting. I’m bored.”
“Okay, okay.” Vander shook the soft parcel with exaggerated confusion.
He untucked the origami corners of the wrapping (Viktor was adamant about reusing all things, including paper, and avoided sticky tape) which fell open to reveal a pair of fingerless gloves. Stiff leather padding ran across the palms, the cuffs stitched carefully back with thick cotton. The knuckles were braced with metal fish scales sewn into a second leather layer.
Like most things Vander wore, the gloves had to be custom made from scratch in order to fit his gigantic anvil hands. Viktor’s eyes were round and practically glowing with anticipation.
“Do you like them?” He scooted closer to Vander. “Mami and I designed it. Well. Uncle con helped with the template but I learned how to suture ages ago, Mira taught me, and I did sutures all along this bit, this bit was me too. And the wrist straps.”
Vander was staring down at the gloves in his hands, head bowed, still as stone. “They’re amazing, Viki,” he managed at last, hoarse with emotion. “Wow. Is there anything you can’t make? It feels so professional.”
He turned the glove this way and that, making a show of examining it from every angle. A single glove was bigger than Viktor’s entire face, but somehow, Viktor’s smile eclipsed it.
“I helped mami. And look, we left a special message!” Viktor tipped the gloves up so Vander could look inside.
And there, along the bottom lip of the cuff, were a few embroidered words. On the left glove: for the blisters from our bedrock. And on the right: love, vik + sil.
The threads were a little over-burnt at the end of each letter, and the words themselves didn’t line up quite right — but Silco had done his darned best (pun intended). He’d taken over from Viktor after one too many self stabbenings with the needle.
Vander gave a huge, ugly sniff.
Next second, Sil found himself spluttering on a mouthful of t-shirt as Vander crushed both he and Viktor in a rib-cracking hug.
“Janna, I just— thank you. You two make me so bloody happy.” Another thundering sniffle-snort, followed by a choked sob and a muffled squawk from Vikor. Vander laughed wetly, pressing messy kisses into the top of Viktor’s head and the side of Silco’s temple.
Very wet kisses.
Silco rolled his eyes, chest light despite the crushing pressure. “Van. You’re slobbering—”
“I love these. Damn, look at them. I don’t need such fancy gloves.” Vander buried his face into Viktor’s hair, but the rambling continued. “I love you so, so much. So sweet to me. I don’t deserve it. My little birds.”
Sil scowled. “Who’re you calling little?”
“Yeah! I’m almost eleven,” said Viktor, whose face was still buried somewhere in Vander’s chest.
Sil tweaked Viktor’s ear. “Ten months to go is not ‘almost’.”
“Canaries are smaller than crows,” said Vander. He squeezed them even tighter to him, making Sil wince. “Both adorable. That’s what you are. Adorable. I’m a lucky, lucky man.”
Sil couldn’t tell if the heat in his face came from the excessive affection or the slow suffocation. He felt furious wiggling on his right.
Viktor’s head sprung free of Vander’s arms, like a seal coming up for air. “Pa, let gooo,” he whined, trying to pull an arm free. “Too warm.”
“But it’s my birthday,” said Vander with a rumbling laugh. To distract from the tears in his eyes, Vander peppered scratchy kisses over Viktor’s face until the boy was squirming and giggling. “What if I wanna tote you around all day, hmm? My lucky charm.”
“You’d pull a muscle,” said Silco.
“As if.”
“At your big age, birthday boy? Only a matter of time.”
“You haven’t even tried the gloves on yet,” Viktor pointed out, still trapped within the loving harness that was Vander’s bicep.
Vandet hoisted Viktor a little higher on his hip, drawing Silco into his lap in one motion so they were all pressed cheek to cheek.
“Nice try, buddy. There’s no escape. I’m not done with my birthday cuddles yet. I’ll try them on once I’ve had my morning fill.”
“I tested them on Van while he was asleep,” Sil reassured Viktor. “They fit just fine.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Wait, what? When?”
Silco snorted. “You sleep like a rock.”
“Heavy like rock,” Viktor complained, plucking ineffectually at Vander’s sleeve.
Vander feigned a snore, rolling his head back and slumping against the wall — taking both Sil and Viktor with him.
Viktor squeaked in protest. “I know you’re awake. Pa.”
Another snore. It really was getting quite sweaty. Vander ran like a furnace all year round. Silco pulled Viktor’s hair into a messy ponytail with his spare hair tie.
“Thanks mami.”
“You’re welcome, darling.”
A long pause. Viktor stared at Vander’s faux asleep face with a shrewd glint in his eyes.
Silco tried not to laugh.
“…Pa?”
More snoring.
Viktor shoved at Vander’s shoulder. “Paaa.”
Vander cracked open an eye with exaggerated grogginess. “Yeah, bud?”
“I need to go pee.”
“...No you don’t.”
“My hip hurts though.”
Vander shot up, concern clear on his face as he pulled Viktor into a sitting position too. “Shit, I’m sorry sweetheart. Was—”
As soon as he was relinquished, Viktor rolled off the mattress and made a (shuffling) bee-line for the door. Vander gaped like a fish, then turned to stare at Silco who was flat on his back, wheezing with laughter.
“Viki!” called Vander. “Viktor, how could you? Almost gave me a heart attack.”
The slam of the bathroom door. Viktor’s voice, muffled and bouncing off the tiles. “I wasn’t lying,” he called back. “I really had to go!”
June, a few months later. (Pāua, 19 months old; Viktor, 126 months old).
Silco forgot how fast children grew in those first few years.
In a blink, Pāua (or Pa-Da, as she had started calling herself) went from rolling on the floors to scooting on her bottom, to toddling with alarming confidence.
Then she learned the concept of ‘up’…and suddenly began climbing both furniture and people.
It drove Viktor nuts.
“Pāua. Pāua, stop. Mami, she’s gonna—” With a squeal, Pāua leapt off her seat, out of the booth, and onto the hardwood floor at Viktor’s feet. “—jump again,” Viktor huffed.
Pāua paused, noticed that (a) everyone was staring at her and (b) nobody seemed too upset, and clapped her hands with a babble of laughter. “Bikkie!”
“You’ll injure yourself,” Viktor admonished in the tone of someone five-times his age. He squished her knees through her leggings. “Does this hurt?”
“Buh.”
“Ouchie?”
Pāua clapped her hands over Viktor’s and giggled. “One. Two!”
“Yes, two knees. Well. You don’t have fully formed knee-caps yet.”
“Two!”
Silco set down fresh thermos of sweet milk on the table. “It’s not that far of a drop,” he said, fixing Viktor’s hair clip. “Babies are more resilient than you think.”
“Two, Bikkie.”
“What if she hits her face?” Viktor fretted. “Or breaks her neck?”
“Then she won’t do it again, hmm?”
“Because she’d be dead.” Viktor turned Pāua’s palms up to check for scrapes, dusting them off.
“So dramatic. We wouldn’t let her climb that high.”
Viktor harrumphed.
“Bik-keyyy.” Pāua clung to her brother’s good leg, face alight with mischief, showing off her milk teeth in a gummy grin. “Bikkie. Up.”
Viktor smiled back down at her, all dimples.
It was enough to melt the most cynical man, and Silco had long evaporated. He helped untangle Pāua’s sticky paws from Viktor’s pant leg, allowing Vik to slide into the booth. Sil then hefted her onto the stack of cushions that let Pāua to see over the tabletop and participate in whatever food or activity was going on.
With Violet sequestered in the school house during the day, the Last Drop was a lot less chaotic — to Viktor’s obvious relief. Without Vi’s whirlwind of energy and constant movement, Pāua fell into a quieter, placid baseline thanks to Viktor’s steady temperament and an ever-growing collection of toys and puzzles. Half came from the adults, the other half made by Viktor himself, who seemed determined to teach Pāua long-division by her second birthday.
“She already knows seventy words,” Viktor explained, showing Silco the latest page in his baby notebook.
“Seventy? You sure? She can’t even say her own name yet.”
“It’s hard to pronounce,” Viktor defended.
Sil smirked. “Are you still sore that Lesha didn’t use your list?”
“...No.” Viktor wrinkled his nose. “Seventy’s not just spoken words. Or Piltovian. I’ve been talking to her in Freljordian and Ionian too.” He ducked his head. “My Ionian is bad though.”
Silco raised an eyebrow. “Not ‘bad’,” he corrected. “You’re learning. Skills take time and practice.”
Viktor hummed, shoulders rising to his ears. “Jayce is really good already…anyway. Seventy words’ way more than the book says for Pāua’s age. And maths is much easier.”
“For you, perhaps,” laughed Silco. “She’s lucky to have such a caring, smart, older brother.” Viktor glowed with the praise, leaning his cheek into the ball of Silco’s shoulder. He sought frequent comforts like this, reassuring touches and gentle pressure. It made Sil’s heart hurt, the euphoria of being needed. “Pāua’ll be miles ahead of her classmates, thanks to you.”
Viktor beamed. “I can be her tutor.”
“Indeed. For which subjects?”
“All,” Viktor declared with the confidence of a child who knew just how precocious he was.
“All of them?” Sil chuckled. “You’ll save Auntie Fel a fortune.”
“Except Ionian,” Viktor added.
“Even accounting and tax?”
Viktor shot him a sloe-eyed glare of exasperation. “Not yet. But it’s just memorising rules. Baby math with heaps of boring rules. Books and books full. Ugh.” Silco laughed at the disgusted look on Viktor’s face. “I’ll know them all by the time Pāua is old enough for accounting.” His mouth pulled into a reproachful moue. “You said I was great at accounting, mami.”
“You are.” Sil drew Viktor close with one arm, squeezing him tight. Oh, my bright-eyed boy. “I’m just surprised Wilhelm has lasted this long, that’s all.”
“He says I’m smarter than half his old colleagues at the Guild!” Viktor boasted. “Pilties.”
“Moje vranko, of that I have no doubt.”
Whereas Violet inherited Connel’s strong brows and ears, Pāua was a carbon copy of Felicia — down to the shape of her eyes and the bow of her mouth.
Both girls had their mother’s nose: theirs smudged with paint or chalk, Lesha’s with motor oil and ink.
Vander liked to tally all the ways that Viktor was becoming ‘tiny Sil’: his hair, his mannerisms, the slope of his wrists and the slant of his smile. It always made Silco’s heart hurt, a pleasant ache tinged with guilt or some other colour he could not pin down. In quieter moments, it resembled the frayed picture of Viera in Viktor’s toolbox — or the portrait of a man who bestowed Viktor his amber eyes.
Sil had no beauty marks. The bridge of his nose was higher, thinner, nostrils pointed low where Viktor’s would chisel out (if his father’s picture was any indication). He’d study Viktor’s features for the resemblance that everyone loved to remark upon…and oscillate wildly between disappointment and relief when he couldn’t find them.
Silco hoped Viktor kept the roundness to his cheeks that Vander had fought so hard for in the kitchen. It brought out his dimples when he laughed. Viki had Silco’s slender build, but perhaps he’d fill out in his teens. The experimental cloth brace might help with those shoulders. And less time hunched over a desk.
“He’s got your unimpressed thing down. Had me and Barbs in stitches.” Vander glared at Sil from beneath his eyelashes in an abysmal reenactment. “Highly unlikely,” he mimicked, “I cross referenced these twice.” Van slapped his knee with a bark of mirth. “He talks just like you. No other ten-year-old speaks like this! So cute.”
“No other ten-year-old is as clever,” said Silco.
“Duh.” Vander grinned. “They don’t have you as their mum.”
Silco rolled his eyes.
Vander burst out laughing. “He does that too—! Aww, don’t pout Birdie. It’s cute. I just love— oww, fuck, stop that. Oww! C’mere, you menace.”
Weeks before Viktor’s eleventh birthday, they installed the first eight of Viktor’s ‘mushroom filters’ — five in the Lanes, and three in the Fissures.
Viktor had babysat his prototypes at The Last Drop for the past year like a mother hen on her brood (there was now a working water closet in the basement, a new washroom on the ground floor, an upgraded tank in the kitchen plus the main bathroom upstairs). The whole family had played audience, test group, and general supporting cast to Viki’s project, but Sil had a front row seat as Viktor’s procurement and manufacturing lead.
They must start small, Sil explained, when Viktor first presented a grand blueprint of four-stage industrial filtration.
Viktor had stared at him with the unadulterated confusion of a nine-year-old. All vision; pure possibility; no constraints. Why? he demanded, pencil poised over the large-format blueprint paper. This is the source of the problem. Start here! Fastest!
Because the Pilties own the dam infrastructure. Sil sat Viktor down in his office. Ferros own the pipes from the reservoirs; an afterthought for their mining operations. Kirramen own the ducts. Enforcers guard the lot.
“There are Volkage-run substations,” Sil added, thumbing at the deep furrow of Viktor’s brow. “But they’re not…friendly, yet. We’re working on it.”
Viktor frowned so hard his eyebrows almost melted together. “Unfair,” he muttered, glaring at his designs. “This way cleans all the water from here to here.” He jabbed at the map on Silco’s office wall. “I don’t want to start small. Small is slow.”
Sil carded a soothing hand through Viktor’s long hair. “I know, moje vranko. And once we take what’s ours, we can build all this.” He nodded at the blueprint. “For now, we must be—”
“Patient?” huffed Viktor.
“—persistent, my love,” Silco finished. “That fire, that drive…without it, patience isn’t a virtue. It’s a grave.” He rubbed Viktor’s cheek until the sulky expression eased. “Now. How about that new kitchen filter you installed before Solstice, hmm? Could we scale that?”
As it turned out, they could — but Viktor’s innovative cartridges were expensive to manufacture and finicky to maintain. Something about a unique porous pattern on the filter mechanism.
Sil didn’t exactly have a purpose-built facility to clean those cartridges, nor the funds to throw contaminated ones away in the name of convenience. Viktor (his army of tutors, Silco’s contacts at Volkage, and Anton’s friends at the Piltover Patents Office) went back to the drawing board.
Viktor had unusual self-discipline for someone so young; an obsessive streak and a thirst for knowledge that honed his focus even as little Pāua babbled at his ankles and played with the colourful puzzle-blocks he made her. He’d monologue problems and dilemmas out-loud to his new sister, folding paper mock-ups and giving her cardboard scraps to play with alongside.
It came as no surprise to Silco that the two-year-old demonstrated multiplication tables in front of a gobsmacked Vander and Connel.
“What do you mean you’re not surprised?” Vander exclaimed. “She’s two!”
“Two!” agreed Pāua, banging her little fists on the bar top. She held up four fingers. “Por!”
“Six!” Vander continued.
Pāua stopped in her tracks. “Deen?”
“Six,” Vander repeated.
“Igg-DEEN,” said Pāua. She held up both hands, fingers spread, then looked at Viktor who was nose-down in a book. “Igg-DEEN, Bikkie. Igg-deen?”
“Yes. Four squared is sixteen,” said Viktor, distracted. “She’s not doing doubles.”
Silco snorted at the gobsmacked expression on Vander’s face.
“Again,” said Van, enunciating with wide eyes. “She’s two.”
“No. IGG-DEEN,” cried Pāua, exasperated. “Bikkie. Bikkie, igg-deen.”
“Mmhm.”
“That’s my daughter,” said Connel, beaming with pride. “My blueberry girl. A prodigy.”
Sil tried to wrap her pudgy fingers around the baby spoon. “There, there. Eat your mashed apple, darling.”
She peered at the spoon, seemingly entranced by her own thumb. “One,” she said, looking up at Silco for approval. He smiled at her encouragingly. “Mami! One.”
“Okay, that, I don’t love,” said Connel. He pointed at Sil and shook his head at Pāua. “Not mama. It’s Uncle Sil, sweetie.”
“Mami.”
“No. Uncle Sil. Sil-co.”
“Mami, I’m gonna read in my room now,” Viktor announced, evidently fed up with all the adult chatter.
“Use your desk chair please,” Sil reminded him. “For your posture.”
“Bikkie?”
Viktor waved, still distracted.
Pāua’s eyes followed her brother all the way up the stairs and out of sight. A pause. She burst into tears.
According to Viktor, the main technical challenge was creating a filtration system both powerful enough to handle the contaminants from the aging infrastructure this far ‘downstream’, and small enough to install inside your standard dwelling. With the water-mains under Piltie control and the pipework corroded and toxic, regular tap-mounted filters weren’t doing the job.
It was by no means a recent problem. Nor was Viktor the first clever soul to attempt to tackle the issue. But Viktor was still motivated by pure altruism: and Silco was going to keep it that way.
“Ida helped me finish these.” Viktor presented his n’th iteration one summer evening. (Ida was his new engineering tutor; a masters candidate at the Piltover Academy of Sciences whose Zaunish father still lived on the Promenade). “She said it’s easier to build the reverse-osmosis chamber totally separate, with the mechanical filter as stage one. That’s the bit we have at home already.”
“The ceramic tube?”
“Mesh in a tube shape. You got it made for us!”
“Ah, yes.” ‘Got it made’ felt undeserved. ‘Leveraged favours with expensive cigars and Ixtali liquor at the Ceramica’ was more accurate. “So we need more, do we?”
His contacts at the factory — freshly unionised — were bemused. “What are you trying to refine here, Sil?” she’d asked, heaving the second prototype out of its carrying case.
“Something you’d die without,” said Sil.
Felicia shoved his shoulder. “Janna, you’re dramatic.”
“But not a liar.”
A round of laughter. “Fine, fine, be mysterious. Whatever it is, can we get first dibs? I’m sick of these shitty smokes.”
The final design resembled a toadstool — with a cylindrical trunk and a mushroom-cap, the two connected and secured within an alloyed housing that could be bolted down near the water mains.
To Silco’s annoyance, it was Talis who came through for the custom housing component.
“Fucking hate relying on Pilties,” he’d complained to Vander, once Viktor had been safely put to bed and out of earshot.
Vander slid him a finger of whiskey. “Hey. At least he’s footing the bill. Prototyping’s the most expensive part, right?”
“Yeah, nothing’s been tooled or scaled.” Sil sipped at his glass. “I just don’t trust him with Viktor’s designs. Lesha would have done it at the workshop and Connel could have helped with the housing at least — but…well.”
“The steelworks are a problem,” Van agreed.
“They still haven’t fixed the extractor fans. Every year since those goddamn vents got installed. The overseers insist the O2 readings are fine but Fel and I— anyway. They’ve ignored the latest report too.”
Vander looked away. Neither of them needed to say the words out loud: the ghost of Varrad hung like the Grey — never truly gone.
“The risk and audit committee’s a fucking joke.”
“Yeah, well. Until something happens to shut down the whole place…”
“It’s an exercise in humiliation,” said Sil, staring into his drink. “We mine the ore. We run the refineries. And yet we had to go to a bloody Piltie smithery, hat in hand, like some—” Silco tossed the last of his drink back.
They shared a long, contemplative silence.
“Talis seems unusually decent,” said Vander, pouring another half finger for Sil without asking. “For a Piltie, anyway. Didn’t ask many questions when I gave him the papers for Viktor’s thing. Told him to keep it off the books.”
“Mmhm.” Silco swirled his ice cube. “Don’t know if I made a mistake, letting him tool both the connector and the housing. Maybe we could have found someone in Zaun and split the schematics, but Viki says he wants to get them installed before winter. Something about testing the temperature fluctuations and ice-overs.”
Vander shook his head, fond. “The one he made us s’been working just fine, hasn’t it?”
“Mami, our sample size’s insufficient,” said Silco, mimicking Viktor’s vowels. They smiled at each other across the bar counter. “He’s going to change the world, you know.”
“I know,” said Vander, eyes aglow like the whiskey beneath lamplight, like Viktor’s when something moved from blueprint to reality. Hope. Joy. I can’t believe I get to have this. “I can already see it. We’ll be there to see it, Sil.”
Vander cupped Sil’s hand beneath his palm, familiar calluses pressed against Silco’s knuckles. They both wore their blisters like marriage vows.
(In Zaun, devotion was measured in blood and toil. In Piltover, wedding rings were made merely of gold.)
• • •
About two months later.
POSTMARKED: 16 FEBRUARY [PPS PROMENADE PROCESSING CENTRE] [—CLEARED—]
TO: JAYCE TALIS. 2/16 Gowen Street, Iron District, Piltover E6QE.
FROM: VIKTOR SILCOVIČ. The Last Drop, L-2a Ct-Entresol, The Lanes, Undercity.
Dear Jayce,
I’m so happy. None of the mushroom filters broke over winter and spring is almost here! Even the cold snap last week didn’t break any seals and the connectors are all ok. Pa took me around to all 8 filters this weekend to check!!
:D
Please say thank you to your dad again from me. We need more. Can he make more for
freeus? Or maybe just the connector part. Can you ask him how much it would cost?All the sites we chose had good water pressure for the reverse-osmosis part to work properly. I am worried about buildings far away from the mains, or flats that share 1 pump. Mami says one step at a time and this is what science in the real world is about!
Mira says there’s been way less people needing medicine for stomach ulcers or glass throat in January so IT IS WORKING!!!!!! YAY!
I want to learn more about medicine but everyone says i’m too young still. Mira knows a surgeon at the hospital but he says i can’t even observe in clinic until i’m 16. 16!!!! I helped a doctor when i was 7 (though he didn’t work at a hospital). But I’m 11 now. >:( Plus, Auntie Fel says i have a good ‘bedside manner’ so i think i’d be good at it. Mami says he doesn’t want me to get sick from the hospital but i will keep asking.
Here’s a photo of me and Pāua and Vi next to the filter we installed at the schoolhouse (they drew the mushroom pattern not me). The crayon will wash off but it looks cute even though now the mushroom is a poisonous kind. Irony.
Pāua loves her birthstone bracelet by the way (she tried to eat it 3 times). She’s wearing it in the photo. Vi is very jealous.
I asked mami if we can have brunch on the 1st of March, and he said ‘probably’ but not sure who can take me. I keep saying i go to the Promenade by myself, or Sevika or Ran can walk me, but both he and pa said no this time. There’s a lot of enforcers patrolling (more than usual???) so maybe it’s because of that.
So annoying.
— Pāua saw me writing this letter and wanted to send something too. She made you a drawing :)
Hoping to see you soon. Mami’s friend gave me something super cool for my birthday and i’ve been waiting so long to play it with you in person! :) Won’t spoil it here.
Love, Viktor.
• • •
Vander, 30 (Viktor, 11).
A few months later, June.
When Viktor was late for breakfast, Vander wasn’t too worried.
His boy was a night owl, to be corralled to bed with a stern warning not to read under the covers. He liked to sleep in — but usually woke with the rest of the house, powered by his projects and lessons and hunger for both knowledge and eggs.
Viktor ate whatever was put in front of him with enthusiasm tempered by Sil’s prim table manners. Vander treasured these moments, a quiet daily respite away from the world, watching Viktor rub his bleary eyes, fingernails stained with ink. To see his happy smile after a full stomach, to give him second helpings of porridge with flavoured honey.
Vander was taking the whistling kettle off the stove when a thud rattled the ceiling — followed by a yelp and bang of wood on wood.
He paused.
“Viki?” Vander called. “Everything alright?”
No response.
Frowning, Vander set the kettle aside, throwing a bowl over the half-plated food and taking the stairs four at a time. “Viktor?” He knocked, hand already moving to the door handle: “I’m coming in, okay?”
A wet inhale.
Vander pushed the door open.
Viktor was curled up on his bed, face buried in his pillow, both hands holding his bad leg. His new brace was tangled around his knee, the straps half done. His desk chair had been knocked over.
Viki looked up, features streaked with tears.
Vander rushed over. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Cramps?” He wrapped a hand around Viktor’s thigh where Viktor had been digging in the heels of his hands to no avail — applying pressure like the pediatrician had shown them at the hospital. Viktor made a wet noise of hurt but latched onto Vander’s wrist when Vander flinched away.
Janna, he’s still so small.
“Pa—”
“I”m here. You’re alright. Breathe, Viki. You’re okay. Does this feel better? Like this?”
Viktor nodded tearfully, hands over Vander’s as he tried to ease the cramping muscle in firm, downward strokes.
“Good boy. Breathe. That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.”
“Hurts.”
“I know buddy, I’m sorry. Do you want me to stop? Am I pushing too hard?”
“No. Um.” Viktor scrunched his face up. “No.”
“Keep pressing here?”
A nod.
Slowly, too slowly, the tension left Viktor’s shaking frame and he slumped back into the mattress. His forehand was damp with sweat, strands of hair caught in his eyelashes as he breathed through clenched teeth.
The hopelessness made Vander sick to the stomach, cold and clammy like his blood could not reach his skin, every nerve buzzing with inaction.
“I’ll bring you some juice for your painkillers, okay?”
Viktor blinked up at him, forehead still creased with discomfort. “No,” he said at last. “It’ll be fine soon.”
“The doc said you’re allowed to take them three times a day while you’re getting used to your new—”
“I hate the brace. I don’t wanna wear it anymore.”
Vander brushed Viktor’s fringe back, one hand still held firm against Viktor’s right thigh, the ball of his thumb digging into muscle.
“Doctor’s orders, bud.”
Viktor glared at the wall over Vander’s shoulder.
Vander sighed. “They gave you pain meds for a reason.”
“I need to save it.”
“What…?”
“I read that you can develop a tolerance and then the same amount stops working.”
“The brace should make it better, after a while, right? And you won’t need pain meds anymore.” Vander cupped Viktor’s head; it fit in the palm of his hand and the weight threatened to break his heart. “It’ll hurt less once it’s straightened out.”
“It hurts less if I don’t wear it,” Viktor mumbled.
His breathing had evened out at least, pulse no longer thrumming beneath Vander’s thumb.
“Maybe we can get you another appointment,” said Vander, stroking Viktor’s hair. “Earlier, I mean. See if it’s fitted wrong?”
Viktor hummed, despondent. “…s’not fair,” he said, very quietly.
“It’s not,” Vander agreed.
Viktor batted half heartedly at Vander’s hand and tried to sit up. “You can let go now.”
Vander obliged, lifting his hand slowly and keeping an eye on Viktor’s expression for any hint of pain returning. Viktor also seemed to be bracing himself, eyes slitted with anticipation.
A long pause.
Then Viktor propped himself on his elbows, levering himself upright. Vander folded the pillow more firmly behind the small of his back.
“Just chop it off,” said Viktor, vowels thick with exhaustion.
“We’re not chopping it off,” said Vander. “Unless the doctor says so.”
Viktor tilted his head. “Any doctor?”
“A doctor Sil approves.”
Viktor harrumphed. “Even Pāua walks better than me now. And she doesn’t even have proper kneecaps yet.”
“Yes, well, Pāua’s a little menace.” Vander pulled Viktor carefully into his lap, then squeezed him in a one-armed hug. “We’ll see if the doc can see you sooner than next month, okay?”
“He’ll just make me wear the brace,” Viktor complained.
He wasn’t wrong. The doctor did repeat that over the last few visits; that Viktor’s condition was severe and since it hasn’t self-corrected yet, he needed assistance. And possibly surgery, later. Initially, Viktor had been excited to try the brace — but a few weeks in, the pain flare-ups were taking their toll both physically and emotionally. Viktor discovered the cost of his painkillers via Mira’s stock book, and it was taking all of Sil’s canny to hide the true cost of Viktor’s doctors’ visits lest he refused them as well.
“He did say it would take time to adjust,” said Vander, doubt clouding his conviction. He hated seeing Viktor miserable. “How about we have breakfast up here, and you can eat without the brace on? You’ll need to put it on later though. You’ve got accounting at ten, right?”
Viktor scrubbed his eyes on his sleeve. “Can we play chess before I go?”
Vander snorted. “Yeah, there should be enough time. It’ll only take five seconds for you to beat me.”
“No! We’ll play peasant’s revolt!” Viktor blinked innocently. “I’ll play the peasants.”
“So a half-minute game, then.”
“...You can have an extra rook too.”
Amongst other things, Silco had given Viktor a beautiful chess-set for his eleventh birthday. A last-minute find, apparently, but Vander wondered at the glossy wood and polished hinges. The black pieces were made of dark wood and inlaid jadeite, while white were tipped in gold. The Zaunish versus Piltovian colour scheme was not lost on Vander.
Stuck inside thanks to the cold, it took Viktor barely a day to master the game. By the new year, no one could beat him except for Sil (who won) and Violet (who upended the board in a tantrum when Viktor stopped her swallowing his pieces). By February, Vander had set up a wager at The Last Drop: one cog to play a game against the kiddo; twenty cogs if you won; five-seconds per move.
It was almost the end of June.
Viktor’s coin jar was overflowing. He bought Vander and Sil expensive new leather boots for Fathers Day, and himself a book on chess variants — then extra chess pieces for the more diabolical variants. Chess became Viktor and Sil’s favourite pre-bed activity: to play increasingly unevenly tilted versions of the game until Sil was forced to confiscate the board and put Viktor to sleep.
Anything to take his mind off the pain.
“Alright,” said Vander, ruffling Viktor’s hair. “Whatever you want. I’m gonna go reheat the food, okay? Then we can play. I haven’t improved any, mind you.”
“Still fun.” Viktor buried his face in Vander’s chest, arms splayed in a hug. His hands barely reached around Vander’s ribs. “Thanks, pa.”
Vander hugged him back, blinking a pleasant burn out of his eyes. “You’re welcome, Viki.”
• • •
POSTMARKED: 30 JUNE [PREPAID PARCEL ▵ 3KG express-post.] [COURIER FEE PAID] [INSURANCE PAID]
TO: P.S.O. Volkage Utility Co., L-2a Central-Entresol, Lanes District, Undercity. —attn VIKTOR SILCOVIČ. The Last Drop.
FROM: JAYCE TALIS. 2/16 Gowen Street, Iron District, Piltover E6QE.
Dear Viktor,
I have news. I hurt my ankle at school. I was climbing a tree to get my shoe back and i fell off. Mama says it’s just a sprain so it is not bad but it is in a cast and it’s so ITCHY and hot and sweaty! Is your brace this itchy? I have a rash all around my toes and around my leg. Mama said that i complain way more than you.
I tried to cut my cast off yesterday and got in trouble.
I’m sad this happened just before my birthday but at least ill get the pearl this visit and it will help me heal faster. I hope!!
Pebbles babies are all late this year so they’re still in the nest! Hopefully you will see all 4 when you visit. I miss you SO MUCH.
Mama made more fruit honey so sending some. We also included this nice cream (it is all tingly when you put it on). It stinks but makes my rash feel better so maybe it will help with your brace too? I know your leg hurts all the time and mine only hurts just now but maybe it will still help a little bit?
I asked dad what the lightest metal in the world is, because you said your brace was heavy, but he said light alloys might not be strong enough and doctors know better but he knows SO MUCH about metals. I asked mama if you can see her doctor because they gave her the metal fingers, but mama said it’s not the same. Grandpa said the best pros
feethetists are in theUndercityZaun!I just want to help. :( it’s so unfair that your leg hurt this much. My ankle hurts and it’s only been TWO DAYS.
How do you do it?
Your itchy friend,
Jayce.PS: i also include jar of sun-cream so you can put it on before you come over for my birthday!! It is a big jar so hopefully it is enough for your dad but i don’t know because he is really big. Large surface area.
• • •
Vander, 30 (Viktor, 11, almost 12).
4 months later. Early November.
It was only a matter of time before Viktor ran out of shelf space — again. His books, projects, notes and papers steadily expanded beyond Viktor’s bedroom and into the office, the space beneath Vander and Sil’s bed, the supply closet, and half the basement.
“You could run a bookstore at this rate,” Vander grunted.
“No,” protested Viktor. “I need these!”
Vander eyed the rows of books temporarily relocated to Viktor’s bed. “All of them?” These were just the ones Viktor wanted to ‘keep close just in case’. There were five times as many in the office now.
Viktor nodded furiously. “Pāua and Vi will need them later too,” he added, fingers running over the spine of a tome titled ‘Filtration Technologies: Water and Membrane Engineering, 2nd Edition’.
“Uh huh. Much later.”
They were installing a new shelf: a fancy pull-down kind that would lever down within Viktor’s reach without any steps or furniture-climbing involved. The bracket was reinforced with two tension rods. No one wanted a repeat of Viktor’s first shelf, which had collapsed under the weight of enthusiasm and medical textbooks the size of Vander’s bicep.
They had to dismantle two shelves to make way for the newer one, and the contents were piled on Viktor’s desk as Vander worked. It was a much easier job than fan installation, or when they rewired the lights. Frankly, the biggest obstacle was Vander himself.
He swore as he stabbed himself in the thigh with the edge of the desk for the nth time. Viktor giggled from his perch on the bed.
“Funny, huh?”
“Do you want the ice pack?” asked Viktor, sweet as sugar.
“Eh. I’m just teasing.” Vander yanked on the shelf to test its stability. Then he smacked the side with the wrench. Nice. “Tah-dah. Done.”
Viktor whooped. “My first shelf I designed.”
“You’re way past shelves, Viki,” Vander pointed out. “That mushroom filter's miles ahead.”
“Now we can put everything back on.” Viktor clambered over his desk chair. “I want to pull it, I want to pull it.”
Vander grinned, warmed as always by Viktor’s wholesome enthusiasm. “All yours, bud.” He stepped back, so Viktor could squeeze past and reach the handle.
There was a flurry of movement and something slid off the desk with a clang!
“Shit!”
A tin box had fallen, the lid coming loose upon impact and spilling its contents all over the floorboards, some catching on the edge of the rug.
“My photos!” cried Viktor, stumbling a little. Vander steadied him with one hand, and the teetering pile of boxes still on the table with the other. “Wait, don’t move! They were in chronological order.”
They both stared down at the cascade of polaroids. Mostly lying blank back-side-up.
Vander groaned. “I’m so sorry, Viki. Shit. Do they have dates on them?”
Viktor nodded. “I wrote them on the back. But if we scoot them back without shuffling, they should still be in the same order! Mostly.”
“I’m really sorry—”
“S’okay, pa. You were helping me with my shelf!”
“I can re-sort them if you want to sit down—”
“No, it’ll be faster if I put them back in,” said Viktor. “Can you move this box so I can—”
Vander pushed the books against the wall to make space on the duvet and plonked Viktor down atop it. “Sit. Hang on.” Dropping to his haunches — and almost toppling the desk chair, dammit — Vander carefully slotted the polaroids closest to the tin back into it, standing them back up against the side without shuffling them out of order. He passed the tin to Viktor. “I’ll pick them up little by little, and you can put them back in the right order, yeah?”
“Yeah!”
Janna, bless his soul. Vander had the easiest kid in the world; nary a tantrum to be seen. Had Viktor always been so even tempered? Or had he been an energetic toddler like Pāua?
They made short work of the photographs. The container had been so neatly packed that half its contents had slid out in stacks. The hardest part was picking them up off the floor without bending the edges, but Viktor quickly devised a spatula-like scoop made from a folded envelope.
They fell into a comfortable rhythm: Vander would retrieve a few polaroids at a time, pass them to Viktor, they’d reminisce, then Viktor would slot those photos back in order.
Vander held up one of the last polaroids. “Why is this one so blurry?”
The frame was filled with Viktor’s blurry cheek, his brown hair, and one panicked eye. At the very edge, and vaguely in-focus, was…a leg?
“You fell over,” said Viktor. “I was running to reset the timer but it went off before I got there.”
“Oh, right.” Vander turned the photo to its side. “That does look at Sil’s arse. Or lack thereof.”
“I dunno,” said Viktor, distracted by a fingerprint smudge on the polaroid.
There were only one photograph left, having slid beneath the rug. Vander shook it gently for dust and smiled when he saw what was on the other side: Sil with his back to a bay window, elbow propped on a table laden with food. Even in miniature and backlit, Sil’s gaze was unmistakably soft, his body turned to their boy like a plant towards the sun.
Out of habit, Vander thumbed Viktor’s dimples in the photograph—
—“Paaa. Don’t smudge it.”
“Oops. Sorry.” Viktor held out his hand for the polaroid. Vander passed it over. “All done?”
“Done!”
Vander chuckled. “Let’s tape that tin shut before I can knock it over again.”
The polaroid didn’t cross Vander’s mind again until a few days later.
He had detoured to the Promenade for that week’s errands: collect the post, tick off Sil’s shopping list, pick up a new tank adaptor for the bar, buy a new set of specimen jars for Viktor, buy new colouring pencils for Viktor, and pick up anti-inflammatories for Viktor (Mira was out).
The shadows drew long by the time Vander left the chemist, the sun barely breaking the rooftops. Even on the Promenade, the sky was crowded with buildings clustered close, like weeds of steel and glass, breaching up from the fissures.
The streets and walkways were crowded with end-of-day shoppers and commuters from both sides of the bridge. The now-familiar smell of breakfast pretzels made Vander pause, a rock splitting the flow of pedestrians around him.
Would Viktor want one? He could reheat it in the kitchen, but sometimes there was no salvaging the cheese. Steam curled up from the food stand, fogging the windows of the building behind the vendor.
Vander frowned, deja vu curling about his ears. Darkened by the building’s own shadow, made thick by condensation, he could see the opposite side of the street reflected in the glass — a row of tightly packed townhouses with their painted doors and bay windows.
At this hour, the sun bounced off the stained glass, no doubt streaming in and offering those occupants some rare natural light. Expensive rents, that’s for sure.
Vander looked down the row of townhouses, then up at the building that housed the chemists. Familiarity itched behind his eyes. Then someone knocked into his elbow, snapping him back to the present. He tucked Viktor’s medication safely in his breast pocket.
Best be getting back.
It wasn’t until Vander had unpacked the various parcels and was pushing open Viktor’s door to deliver his jars and pencils that the memory clicked into place.
The photograph.
Vander paused on the threshold. Sevika or Ran would be by soon, dropping Viktor off before sundown (it was Tuesday, and Viktor had maths lessons on Tuesday afternoons). Silco was occupied at the docks, and usually got home after the bar closed.
Setting the parcels carefully on Viktor’s desk, Vander reached up to the heavy tin box on the top shop. He scraped back the table until he could ease the lid off, spinning the box ninety-degrees until he could see the dates on the back.
There. The earliest one.
He thumbed the photograph free of its stack, and stared down at it — at the arch of the bay window behind Sil’s smiling face, and the chemist’s building in the smudged background, fogged by the steam rising from the street below.
Judging by the angle and the sliver of sky, this polaroid had been taken on the first or second floor. But there were no cafes in that street of townhouses. It was the ‘dealer’s row’ on the Promenade, consisting of tailors, discreet accountants, fences, and brokers of illicit luxuries and fine art—
His hand tightened reflexively on the polaroid, crushing one side between thumb and forefinger. Vander dropped it with a start, but it was too late — creases spiderwebbed from where he’d held it, cutting across Sil’s face.
He felt sick to the stomach.
Vander lost track of time. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, fingers numb, limbs too-cold, staring at the photograph. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, because the next thing he knew, Viktor’s voice was floating up the stairs.
“Pa! I’m home!”
Vander flinched, glancing at the door. “I’ll be down in a sec!” He slid the polaroid into his shirt pocket. “Wash your hands in the kitchen, I’ve got pocket pies waiting.” Vander hastily taped the lid of the tin back and replacing it on the top shelf.
His heart was still lodged in his throat, but he forced himself to relax (smile; shoulders down; hands unclenched) as he emerged on the landing.
Ran was pouring herself a glass of juice. She waved. “Heya,” she said.
“Thanks for dropping him off,” said Vander.
Ran saluted. “Safe and sound.”
A clatter from the kitchen, the squeak of a tap being turned. Viktor reappeared, hair tousled from the wind, ears pink from the cold. He made a beeline to Vander, hugging him about the leg.
“Hi,” said Vik, smiling up at him. “Did you say pocket pies? I washed my hands.”
Vander’s heart hurt. He was going to throw up. “You just touched my jeans, buddy,” he managed, patting Viktor on the head. “Better wash it again.”
“No,” Viktor whined, “what kind of pie?”
“You want a bite before you head off, Ran?” Vander offered, lifting Viktor onto the nearest bar stool and hooking his cane on the lip.
Ran drained her cup and slapped it down. “Nah, thanks Vander. Gotta meet up with Ika. We’re going upside later.” She winked. “Promised Viki more books too.”
“Miss Saoirse gave me a new workbook but I’m almost done and it’s from her time at uni and she said she doesn’t have another year’s workbook but the uni library has them and Ran said she is gonna get me all the workbooks she can find!” Viktor took a deep breath.
Vander interrupted before Ran was held hostage. “Well Ran and Sevika should both be careful and not bite off more than they can chew. Hmm?” He raised both eyebrows at Ran. “Who else is going? Tell me you have a spotter.”
Ran rolled her eyes. “I’m not a fucking baby—”
“Language.”
“You and Sil swear all the time in front of Viki!”
“...Fair. Does this mean you don’t have a spotter?”
“Of course we have a spotter, how dumb do you think we are?”
“I think you’re getting cocky. When Sil and I—”
Ran groaned. “Oh my god. You’re barely, like, ten years older than me. My dumbest cousin is older than you.”
“I don’t want to explain to Sil why both our bar-help disappeared overnight. Never to be seen again. Off to Stillwater—”
“Okay, okay, we’ll be careful. Sevika is always anal about her plans, you know that.” Ran held out a hand for Viktor to high-five. “Nice hanging out, kiddo. Tell me more about loggy rhythms next week, yeah?”
“Logarithms,” said Viktor. “L-O-G-A—”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got your note.” Ran patted her pocket. “Wish me luck!” And with that, she was out the door.
“Wasn’t some lad named Avery your math tutor?” asked Vander, prepping a pan to heat up pocket pie. It would be quicker on the stove.
“Miss Saoirse is teaching me calculus,” said Viktor. “Mr Avery is statistics. And baby maths, sometimes.”
“I thought baby maths was schoolhouse maths,” said Vander, bemused despite the burning photograph in his pocket.
Viktor tilted his head, thoughtful. “Baby maths is easy maths.”
“Ah. So all maths, soon, hmm?” hummed Vander. Poor Mr Avery. Wasn’t he some academy graduate? “Sweetmilk, Viki?”
“Yes! Yes, please. Thank you, pa.”
“You’re welcome. Coming right up.”
Viktor played with the straps of his respirator. He was always relieved to take that thing off at home, the marks on his cheeks and temple lingering on his pale skin. They had installed more air filters on the ground level, but short of strapping one to Viktor’s back and encasing him in a glass bubble…Vander’s hands shook as he poured the milk and added the star anise.
As the milk warmed, the pan in the kitchen began to sizzle, the ceramic cover rattling a little as the pie let out steam with hisses and pops. Vander transferred it onto a plate, grabbed a fork, and set it down in front of Viktor who was salivating like a kitten in front of a roast.
“Hot,” warned Vander.
“I can see,” said Viktor, but he stuck his nose into the steam, eager. He sneezed.
Vander watched him eat for a long minute, the bar quiet save for the clink of fork on a plate, and the gentle burble of sweet milk. It was Viktor’s favourite winter warmer, and it was muscle memory by now to prep it.
“I’ve lost track of all your tutors, honestly,” said Vander, throat tight. “It’s a miracle that there are any maths students left in Zaun for you to see, hmm?”
Viktor shrugged, cheek full of pie. “Mami says he will find who I need. Mr Talis says I should go to the Academy when I’m older so I can learn from the best!”
Vander winced, but Viktor didn’t seem to notice.
“I really want to play in a chemistry lab,” Viktor continued. He was a far cry from the shy, wary shadow that had first entered The Last Drop. Vander let his cheerful chatter wash over him, a balm before the blow. “You can do all sorts of experiments there without worrying about space or burning your table or your clothes or spilling stuff. I’d get in trouble if I did that at Mira’s and there’s not much space either. Mami said maybe we can find lab space or turn the basement into lab space but there’s food and drink here so it’s not safe. But I like calculus so far.”
“What’s your favourite lesson?” asked Vander, decanting the sweetmilk.
Viktor’s nose scrunched up, the way it often did when he was in a dilemma. “Engineering with Ida,” he said, finally, “but it depends. Today it’s calculus! I like all maths.”
“Is accounting your favourite on the day you have accounting?” asked Vander.
“...I like some maths.”
“Uh huh. There’s more to life than maths though, Viki.”
Viktor shot him a skeptical look, which promptly evaporated into delight when Vander slid over a tall mug of sweet milk.
Vander poured himself a cup and sculled it back, relishing the distracting burn in his throat. He took a deep breath. “You like your language lessons too, right?”
“Mmhm.” Viktor lapped at his drink. “It’s annoying.”
“Annoying?”
“I’m slow,” said Viktor, as if admitting a shameful secret. “But it’s worth it to learn about other stuff. Like runes! There’s no Piltovian books on runes and magic, most of them are in Ionian and Ixtali. I can read some Freljordian but there’s so many different scripts. I have to make my own dictionary. I’ve filled three notebooks already.”
“That’s a lot of pages.”
“Yeah!”
“No wonder you needed new shelves.”
“Mmm.”
“Your language tutor must be an interesting person, to speak all these languages,” Vander prompted. “Where’re they from?”
“Zaun, I think,” said Viktor, lips moustached with milk. He was distracted by the last of his pie. “His mum’s from Freljord. Like maminka.”
His.
Vander willed his expression smooth and mild. “Freljord, huh? Have I met this tutor? I don’t think I’ve ever taken you on Fridays.”
Viktor stopped chewing. His fingers were flaked with pastry, one hand curled around the warm mug of sweetmilk. His eyes were locked to Vander’s gaze, wide and dark like a rabbit in a trap.
“Viki?”
Viktor had gone entirely still.
“What’s wrong?”
Slowly, Viktor shook his head.
“I’m just curious, is all,” said Vaander. “I’ve met most of your tutors. Even Ida, and you’ve just started with her. It’s still the same language tutor, right? Or is he new.”
“...n-not new,” said Viktor, barely audible. He chewed his lower lip, eyes locked on Vander’s expression.
The wariness in that gaze made Vander want to break something. Instead, he smiled as gently as he could muster. “So?” he nudged. “Do I know him?”
Viktor nodded.
“From?”
“The clock,” said Viktor, very small. “Um. When we sold the Valdiani to Mr Anton.”
Antonin.
Silco’s voice echoed in Vander’s ears: ‘He’s just a fence.’
Vander unclenched a fist he didn’t remember making. The memory of Antonin’s smirk cloyed like tobacco smoke. ‘…send our canary my regards.’
Just a fence.
Then why the secret?
Viktor was ashen-faced. “Jayce asked me about the magic stone,” he continued in a rush, “when he wrote me— because Piltover bans magic so we couldn't find any books so I asked mami if he could get books for us and Mr Anton had books so he let me read them but they weren’t in Piltovan so he had to translate for me for ages and said if I learned Ionian and Ixtali and stuff I could read it myself when I’m better, so—” Viktor inhaled, “—so he’s been giving me lessons, Mr Anton likes collecting banned books, mami says he tutors me for free so it’s not expensive…”
Viktor jolted in his seat when Vander straightened abruptly, overcome with nausea.
‘Mami says he tutors me for free’.
Van was going to be sick.
“...Pa?”
“Sorry. Gimme a second, Viki,” said Vander. He pushed away from the bar, unsteady. “I’ll be right back.”
“Pa—?!”
Vander ducked into the kitchen and through the larder out into the back alley. He slammed the door shut. There, out of sight and out of earshot, he vomited, retching bile and doubt and disbelief.
It tasted of sweetmilk.