FORGOTTEN ORCHIDS | CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
WAKING UP THE NEXT DAY, Atticus quickly realized that he had worked himself into a panic attack the night before. It wasn't a difficult conclusion to come to when he woke up at his desk feeling like he'd had the wind knocked out of him and his eyes sore from crying—not that anyone would be allowed to know that's what had happened.
There was a blanket wrapped around his shoulders that he knew he hadn't put around himself; likely, Jane had stopped by and left once she realized he was asleep, but couldn't let him sleep at his desk without at least making sure he was warm. If it wasn't Jane, then Atticus needed to have a serious conversation with his staff about boundaries.
Atticus pulled himself to his feet, wincing from the soreness of his body when he stretched. He hadn't meant to fall asleep at his desk, really—he didn't even remember arriving at his room after leaving the library. The days were beginning to blur together the longer he went without leaving the castle.
Before he could settle into bed, hoping for a few hours of comfortable sleep before he was truly needed by his kingdom, he noticed a letter sitting on his bed, bearing the Cod Empire's sigil as a wax seal. With a shaking hand, Atticus picked up the letter, staring at it for a moment before marching back over to his desk and shoving it into a random drawer.
He crawled back into bed and was asleep in seconds, too tired to deal with the letter's implications at the moment.
His nap lasted far longer than he wanted it to; the next time he woke up, it was well past noon, and his bed was so comfortable that Atticus almost fell asleep again. He was tempted to—sleep tugged at his eyes and a strange tiredness weighed on his body. The thought of going back to sleep was so tempting that he almost gave in, but just before he could convince himself it was a good idea, Atticus forced himself to sit up.
He yawned, rubbing at his eyes as he stood up to walk to his desk. He still had some work to finish up and if he went to sleep now, he wouldn't be able to get any rest that night—and he still needed to read the letter.
The envelope was thin, telling Atticus that the Codfather had used one piece of paper, maybe two if the paper was thin enough. It was sealed with the official sigil of the Cod Empire, so it must have been brought to Vulpesterra with haste. But other than those two visual facts, Atticus couldn't decipher what the letter could be about. The officalness of it could relate to their alliance—or the ending of it. But it could also be something good, too, and Jimmy only made it official to get it to Atticus sooner.
After a moment of internal debate, Atticus put the letter back into the drawer, more gentle with it than he had been last time. He wouldn't—couldn't—read it until he could confidently tell himself that the loss of Jimmy's friendship would not cause Atticus to spiral.
Of course, the letter could be good news. He knew it could be good news—Jimmy could have forgiven. He might even want to meet up to allow Atticus to apologize in person. But as likely as that was, there was the chance that Jimmy didn't want to be friends with Atticus anymore—and Atticus needed to prepare himself for that outcome. He was not, in the slightest, ready to see Jimmy walk out of his life.
And by extension, he wasn't ready to lose the blinks of friendship he had begun to form with Scott (and, he reluctantly admits, Lizzie and Joel). His mental health, according to those books, was already in a low place—to worsen it would mean doing something to make a mockery of Vulpesterra. And losing the only connections outside of family might just send him over the edge.
There was a very strong itch to read the letter, and the thought of leaving Jimmy waiting when the older was probably expecting a response made Atticus want to curl into a ball, but this had to be the best way to go about the situation. He wasn't sure what else he could do.
Atticus closed the drawer and stood, knowing he needed to get out of his own head if he wanted to keep himself from reading the letter before he was ready. He'd already slept half the day away—he couldn't spend the rest of it fretting over something that would drive him insane otherwise.
Atticus stepped outside the front door to the castle and paused, looking up at the sky. Feeling the sun on his skin for the first time in days brought a sense of peace to him; for the briefest of moments, his mind felt clear of worry, and he almost considered spending the rest of the day in the gardens. It would have been a nice thing to do, but he had his mind set on a different destination.
Ada greeted him in the parlor when one of the workers brought him to her. Across from her were two kids that Atticus vaguely recognized from past visits, which was a relief—they weren't new to the orphanage, at least, even if he would have preferred there to be no reason to have an orphanage at all.
"Foxling!" Ada greeted in surprise, standing up to greet him. "For what do we owe the pleasure?"
Atticus chuckled, shaking his head. "Just stopping by to check on things," he assured. "I assume since I've heard no complaints, things are okay, but I want to make sure nothing is going unsaid."
Ada smiled at him fondly. "No complaints," she promised. "In fact, the children are just about to be called in for lunch. Would you like to stay?"
Atticus frowned, thinking it over. He hated the thought of taking food from the orphanage, though he knew Ada wouldn't offer it if they didn't have any to spare. He had other things to do that day—places to go, people to check on. But surely staying for a few more minutes wouldn't hurt, just to see how the orphanage was running? It had been a few years since he'd properly looked around the place or talked with the kids . . .
Before he could make his choice, a pair of arms wrapped around his legs, keeping him in place. Atticus barely glanced down, already smiling when he noticed Sammy's green hair lying against his legs. "Hello, Sammy," he greeted.
Sammy beamed up at him. "Foxling! You came back!" His volume was normal now, telling Atticus that his hearing had finally made its return. "We're all outside playing if you want to join us! Can you? Please?" he begged.
Ada stepped over to them, getting Sammy's attention. "Sorry, Sam, but we're just about to have lunch. But the Foxling can stay with us for it, yes?" she asked, looking at Atticus again.
Even if he didn't want to stay, there was no way he could say no to Sammy's pleading gaze. So, Atticus leaned down and picked Sammy up in his arms easily, giving Ada an amused look. "Of course, I can stay," he decided.
Sammy cheered. Atticus briefly winced, the boy's voice hurting his ears from being so close, but shook it off and carried Sammy to the dining room Ada directed him to. The other kids were already coming inside from the backyard; plated food was being laid out by the other orphanage workers, who shot him questioning glances when Atticus took a seat at the end of the table with Sammy right next to him.
"Children, please welcome the Foxling as he sits with us for lunch!" Ada announced, motioning to him. Some of the kids gave him wide-eyed, innocent looks that amused Atticus; they certainly saw him as something grander than he was, whereas most of the older kids simply waved before digging into their food, too used to Atticus' presence from over the years.
Having Sammy next to him for lunch was the perfect distraction, Atticus realized—the kid talked his ear off about everything and nothing at the same time, talking about his day before going off on a tangent about childhood drama that Atticus could barely understand. Stopping here first had been exactly what he needed to do to get the letter—and Jimmy—off his mind.
"Ooh! I didn't even tell you yet, but Alyssa was adopted!" Sammy gasped, tugging on Atticus' sleeve. "Did you hear about that? She lives in Rivendell now!"
Atticus smiled softly. "Really? Well, I'll ask Scott of Rivendell about her when I see him again and let you all know how she's doing. Does that sound nice?" he asked, looking around the table.
"Yeah! I miss her a lot, but I'm glad she has her family now," a girl Atticus couldn't name admitted, tugging at the end of her hair. "Do you think we'll find a family one day, Foxling?"
When he first became king, had a child in this girl's position asked him that question, he would have stammered over an answer that he didn't truly believe. But he'd been king for a good few years now and understood that family dynamics could be complicated. He knew, perhaps better than anyone, that blood wasn't the defining factor in making a family.
Atticus smiled at her softly. "You'll find your family one day, even if it's one without parents. Really, I think that you're all a family in your own sort of way, don't you think?" he asked.
The girl flashed him a hesitant smile. "I guess we are. I haven't thought of it that way before."
Atticus hummed, nodding. "You don't need to be related to be a family, you all know that. And you don't need parents, either. You just need to care about someone; love goes a long way in this world, you know," he mused. Sammy giggled at his words, but Atticus believed them wholeheartedly. His family was the nanny assigned to him as a baby and the retired knight who became a coachman.
At the end of the day, a family could be anyone you loved, as long as they loved you just the same.
Even if he lost everyone he'd come to view as a friend, he'd still have the love of his people. That's all he really needed to live a happy life, Atticus decided.
[ FORGOTTEN ORCHIDS ]
Come midnight, Atticus found himself in the gardens, the sun's light long gone from his skin, taking away its reminder of a quiet mind and peaceful thoughts.
Digging his shovel into the dirt did nothing to stop his spinning thoughts, circling his mind like a dancer on ice; staying out of his own head seemed to be an impossible task lately, though Atticus desperately wished he didn't know why that was. He hadn't seen Jimmy or Scott in weeks—or was it days? Truly, he'd begun to lose track of time. The sun had set in the sky sooner than it should have. and the time change was throwing him off.
Atticus hummed softly, picking a wilting petal from a rose. He really needed to hire a gardener to replace Rowan; it was getting a little ridiculous to do this himself or drag Jane outside to help him when she had much better things to do. The silence unsettled him, of course—with Xornoth still out there, now stronger than he had been before, Atticus knew it was dangerous to be out here alone, his back turned to the open space. If not Xornoth, then anyone who had a bone to pick with him could attack him, and he wouldn't know until it was too late.
Just as that fearful thought struck him, Atticus felt a pair of eyes watching him.
He raised his head, turning it to the entrance of the gardens to find Jane, her arms crossed as she stared at him with no amusement. Her tone, however, betrayed her true feelings when she saw his questioning look. "A guard informed me that you had snuck out."
Atticus snorted, turning back to the roses. "I'm not a child."
Jane hummed, coming to sit beside him. "Sometimes I can't tell," she teased. Atticus huffed, sticking his tongue out at her before plucking another petal. Jane took it from him, turning it over to see the damage on both sides. "What are you doing out here, Atticus?"
For a long stretch of silence, Atticus considered deflecting. She had enough reason to worry about him already; finding him out here, alone, must have concerned her more than she was letting on. But that was the problem, wasn't it? She knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. She could see through any lie that he told her with as much ease as he told them.
"I upset the Codfather a while ago," he murmured; maybe if he said the words quieter, they wouldn't be true. "I'm worried that I've ruined things between us. Not the alliance, but our friendship." He swallowed, plucking another petal. "He sent me a letter today . . . yesterday, I guess. I haven't read it, but I've been reading books on human behavior. I guess I have anxiety and . . . a lot of other issues," he admitted. "So I haven't read the letter because I'm not ready to lose my friendship with the Codfather, if that's what it's about."
Jane rested a hand on his arm, giving him a soft smile. "Oh, Atticus. Anyone could have told you you have anxiety." Atticus laughed, glad for her joke before the mood grew serious once more. Jane sighed, shaking her head. "As for your relationship with the Codfather, I believe you will overcome this conflict and be as you once were. But you can't hide from the outcome you don't want."
Atticus sighed softly, nodding slowly. "I suppose you're right." He smiled at her tiredly. "Thank you. I'll read it and reach out to the Codfather if it's good news."
Jane patted his arm. "I'm proud of you for taking time for yourself and not jumping into something that will hurt you. But sometimes we need to be hurt to move on," she mused. Atticus nodded quietly—he didn't quite agree but thought that maybe she had a point.
After a while, Atticus stood up and helped Jane to her feet. "It's late. We should get some rest," he decided.
Jane nodded in agreement, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "That's the best idea you've had in days, Atticus."
Atticus led her back to her room and bid her goodnight at the door. She returned the words before stepping inside, and once the door was closed, Atticus walked to his room. He considered reading the letter just to get it over with but made the quick decision not to.
The letter could remain unread for one night. It wouldn't be the end of the world.