Eliza Aldric spent three days drafting appeals before she decided to take more direct action.
James found her in the kitchen on Tuesday morning, dressed in her finest clothes, the dark blue dress she saved for important occasions. Her hair was pinned back nicely. Her expression held the brittle determination of someone who'd stopped sleeping.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"The garrison. To see your father." She adjusted her collar with shaking hands. "They've denied my visitation requests twice. I'm going in person. They can't refuse me to my face."
"I'll come with you," James said.
"No. You'll stay home. Miss school if needed, but don't come to the garrison." Eliza's voice was firm. "If they arrest me for causing trouble, you can't be there. Someone needs to stay free."
The words hung heavy between them. Someone needs to stay free. As if his mother was already calculating the odds of her own arrest.
"Mother—"
"James." She cupped his face in a tender gesture. "Your father made his choice. I'm making mine. But you... you still have your whole life ahead. Don't throw it away trying to fix this."
She left before he could argue.
James went to school because staying home would draw attention, but he couldn't focus. He sat through mathematics while his telepathy stretched toward the garrison, trying to sense his mother's presence. It was too far. His range was improving but not enough to reach across town.
At lunch, Miranda found him sitting alone.
"Your mom went to the garrison," she said, cutting straight to the point.
"How did you—"
"My father saw her. He's worried. Says she looked..." Miranda hesitated. "Determined in a bad way."
James stood abruptly. "I need to go."
"James, you can't just—"
"Watch me."
He walked out of school, through the gates, past teachers who called after him. He didn't run of course, running drew attention. But he moved fast, threading through midday streets toward the garrison.
The territorial garrison was a squat stone building that radiated official authority. Guards flanked the entrance. Citizens with business waited in a line that moved with bureaucratic slowness.
James joined the line and he began to think. He couldn't just walk in demanding to see his father, he was eleven. But he could wait. Could watch for his mother. Could be ready if something went wrong.
The line crawled forward. James reached the entrance guard just as shouting erupted from inside the building.
His mother's voice, sharp with fury: "You can't deny me the right to see my own husband!"
"Mrs. Aldric, you need to leave. Now." A man's voice, strained patience breaking.
"Not until I speak with him! Five minutes. That's all I'm asking—"
"You were denied visitation by official tribunal order. Your continued presence is trespassing on Crown property."
James pushed past the entrance guard, who grabbed his arm. "Hey! You can't—"
"Unhand me you mendacious wretch, that's my mother!" James wrenched free with telekinetic force disguised as desperate strength.
He burst into the main hall to find Eliza surrounded by three guards, her hands gripping a desk like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
"I have the right to see him!" Her voice cracked. "He's my husband! The father of my son! You can't just—"
"We can and we are. Leave now or be arrested for obstruction."
"On what charges?!"
"We'll find some." The head guard's tone was professional. "This is your final warning."
Eliza saw James in the doorway. Her expression shifted from fury to horror. "James, get out of here. Go home."
"Not without you."
"James—"
"Mrs. Aldric, last chance." The guard's hand moved toward his restraints.
She looked at her son. At the guards. At the desk she was gripping hard enough to leave marks.
Then she let go.
"Fine. I'm leaving." Her voice was hollow. "But this isn't over. I'll file formal complaints. I'll petition the territorial governor. I'll go to the capital if I have to—"
"You go do that, ma'am." The guard gestured toward the exit. "Right now, you leave."
Eliza walked out with rigid dignity, James beside her as the guards watched them go.
Outside, in the cold afternoon air, his mother finally broke.
It would have been better if it was crying. It was worse. Just standing in the street, breathing hard, hands shaking with suppressed violence.
"They wouldn't let me see him," she whispered. "Wouldn't even tell me if he's alright. Just kept saying 'tribunal order' like that explains everything."
James took her hand and led her away from the garrison, through streets that suddenly felt like enemy territory.
At home, Eliza collapsed onto the couch and stared at nothing.
"What do we do?" she asked. Not to James. Just to the universe. "How do we fight this?"
James had no answer. Just sat beside his mother while daylight faded and cold reality settled over them like frost.
That night, Miranda arrived through the window as usual.
"Your mother tried to force her way in?" she asked.
"Demanded visitation. They threatened arrest." James was at his desk, not working on anything, just staring at blank paper. "She's in the kitchen now, writing appeals she knows won't work."
"James, I know this is terrible, but you can't do anything—"
"I know." His voice was cold and controlled. "My father is imprisoned by a system I can't challenge. My mother is breaking herself against bureaucratic walls. I know exactly how helpless I am."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Nothing. Because doing something would be stupid." James finally looked at her. "You came here to tell me not to do anything stupid, right? Don't worry. I'm not planning a prison break or an assassination attempt. I'm not that far gone."
"But?"
"But I'm thinking about what happens if they arrest her too. If she pushes too hard and they decide she's as seditious as Father. What happens to me then?"
Miranda went quiet. "Ward of the state?"
"Most likely. Assigned to a foster family or institutional care. Either way, completely under Crown control." James pulled out his emergency planning journal. "So I'm preparing. Escape routes. Supply caches. Identity documents. Ways to disappear if necessary."
"You can't just run away."
"What's the alternative? Let them take me? Let them register me officially, monitor me constantly?" James's hands clenched. "I won't be trapped. Not again."
—not again, what does that mean—
But before Miranda could ask, sounds from downstairs made them both freeze.
Heavy knocking. Official knocking. The kind that came with authority and bad news.
"Eliza Aldric? This is the territorial guard. We need to speak with you."
James and Miranda moved to the stairs, staying out of sight but close enough to hear.
"What is this about?" His mother sounded wary but tried her best to be calm.
"You're being summoned for questioning regarding your activities at the garrison today. There are concerns about potential seditious intent."
"Seditious intent? I was trying to see my husband!"
"Your husband is a convicted seditionist. Your behavior today demonstrated concerning disregard for lawful Crown restrictions. We need you to come with us for formal questioning."
"Am I under arrest?"
"Not at this time. But refusal to comply will result in arrest."
There was a pause. James could feel his mother's calculations. Comply and risk never coming back. Refuse and definitely be arrested.
"Let me get my coat," Eliza said finally.
"No need. This won't take long."
James moved before thinking, heading down the stairs. Miranda grabbed his arm but he shook her off.
"Mother?" He appeared in the doorway, deliberately small, young and scared. "What's happening?"
The guards—three of them, James noted and stored within his memory palace as they looked at him with something like discomfort.
"Your mother is needed for questioning, son. She'll be back soon."
"When?"
"When the questions are answered." The lead guard gestured to Eliza. "Ma'am. Now."
Eliza looked at James, and in her eyes he saw terrible resignation. She knew what this was. Knew that "questioning" could become "detention" could become "charges" with ease.
"James." She tried to sound calm despite everything. "Stay here. Stay safe. I'll be back as soon as I can."
—I might not come back, gods please let me come back—
"I love you, Mother," James said, because that thought demanded response.
"I love you too, sweetheart. So much." She kissed his forehead, lingering a moment too long. Then turned to the guards. "Let's go."
They led her out. Didn't cuff her, didn't drag her. Just walked her out like she was choosing to go.
The door closed behind them.
James stood in the empty hallway, Miranda silent behind him, and felt something crack inside his carefully controlled emotional walls.
"James?" Miranda's voice was small. "What do we do?"
"We wait." His voice came from somewhere distant and cold. "That's all we can do."
But he was lying.
He spent that night in his room, surrounded by plants that sensed his turmoil. The Soul Splitter sat on his desk, fully assembled, glowing faintly with stored mana.
Miranda stayed, sitting on his bed, watching him work through scenarios.
"They'll question her," James said, voice mechanical. "Look for seditious sentiment. Try to connect her to Father's statements. If she's smart, she'll give them nothing. If she's emotional, she'll defend him. Either way, they'll find an excuse to hold her."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do. This is how it works. Father spoke out, so they take Mother. Create pressure and make examples. Show everyone what happens when you challenge the Crown." James's hands clenched on his desk. "And I'm supposed to sit here and do nothing."
"Because doing something would get you killed." Miranda moved beside him. "James, I know you're powerful. I've seen what you can do. But you're not invincible. The garrison has dozens of guards. Trained soldiers and mages."
"I know."
"And even if you could fight through them, then what? Break your parents out? Run? Where? The territorial borders are monitored. The King controls the neutral zone."
"I know!" James's voice went uncharacteristically up. "I know all of that! I know I'm powerless to stop this! I know I can't save them! I know the smart move is to wait, I know!"
The plants around them grew wild, responding to his emotional state. Vines shot up walls. Flowers bloomed and died in seconds. The temperature dropped as ice magic leaked through his control.
Miranda grabbed his hands. "Then know this too: you're not alone. Whatever happens, however bad it gets, you're not alone."
James looked at her. Marked for persecution by association, risking everything just by being here. Perhaps she was still too young to understand what that meant.
"Go home," he said quietly. "Before they notice you were here. Your family can't afford the attention."
"I don't care—"
"Go. Please."
Miranda hesitated, then nodded. "Tomorrow. After school. I'll come back."
"Maybe don't."
"I'm coming back." She moved toward the window and paused for a moment. "James? Your mother will come back too."
"You don't know that," James said.
"Neither do you."
She left through the window, climbing down the tree into darkness.
James sat alone in his overgrown room, surrounded by evidence of his power and his helplessness.
The Soul Splitter hummed on his desk. The device that would let him cheat fate, control his destiny and hide what he was.
Useless for saving the people he loved.
He pulled out his journal. This was perhaps his way of dealing with things and he wrote:
Mother taken for questioning. "Seditious intent" they said. Translation: she defended Father too loudly. Showed too much loyalty. Refused to denounce him.
She might not come back. And if she doesn't, I become a ward of the state. Government property. Monitored. Controlled. Everything I've built, everything I've hidden, exposed.
Miranda says I can't save them. She's right. I'm eleven. The garrison is fortified. Fighting would be suicide.
But sitting here while they destroy my family is its own kind of death.
What's the point of strength if you can't protect anyone?
Tomorrow Mother might come home. Or she might not. And I'll have to decide: accept it and survive, or do something stupid.
James closed the journal as midnight passed.
His mother was in Crown custody and his father was in a cell. He wondered how it got so bad.
Tomorrow will bring news. Good or bad, but definitely news. He thought to himself.