The capital was two hours by horse from Millbrook, and Jack had made the trip enough times that he barely noticed the journey anymore. Through the forest road, past the merchant caravans, into the sprawling city where Queen Snow White and King Adrian's castle rose above everything else like a white jewel.

  His mother's house was in a nice neighborhood. Not the wealthiest district—that would draw too much attention—but respectable. Clean streets. Well-maintained homes. The kind of pce where merchants and successful tradespeople lived.

  Jack had bought it for her three years ago. Paid cash. Set her up with enough money that she'd never have to work again.

  She still worked, of course. Just not for money anymore.

  He dismounted in front of the house, tying his horse to the post out front. The curtains were drawn, which meant she was home. He walked up the path and raised his hand to knock—

  The door opened.

  An elf stepped out, tall and elegant, adjusting his shirt. He had that particur satisfied, slightly dazed look that Jack recognized immediately. The elf gnced at him, and recognition flickered across his face.

  "Oh. You're Jackie."

  Jack's jaw tightened. "I'm here to see my mother."

  "Yeah, she's in there. Waiting for you." The elf smiled—friendly, oblivious to the tension in Jack's shoulders—and walked past him down the path.

  Jack watched him go, then turned and walked inside.

  The front room was neat enough. Furniture he'd bought, curtains she'd picked out, everything arranged with a sembnce of domesticity. But Jack could smell sex in the air—that unmistakable musk of sweat and intimacy.

  "Septimus?" His mother's voice called from the back room. "That you, baby? Come back here, I'm not done with you yet."

  Jack closed his eyes briefly. "No, Mom. It's me."

  A pause. Then: "Jackie? That you?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, come on back then!"

  Jack walked through the house toward her bedroom, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. He pushed open the door.

  His mother was sprawled across the bed, completely naked, the sheets tangled around her legs. Her dark hair was messy, her skin flushed. She was forty-three but looked older—too much drinking, too many years of hard living before Jack had gotten her out of Millbrook. She made no move to cover herself, just stretched zily like a cat.

  Jack had seen this before. Too many times.

  "Hey, baby." She smiled at him, though there was no warmth in it. "Finally came to visit your old mother."

  "Hi, Mom." Jack stayed by the door, not moving closer. "How are you doing?"

  "Oh, you know. Can't compin." She sat up, still not bothering with the sheets. "Got a nice house, plenty of food, handsome men lining up to fuck me. Life's good."

  "That's... good."

  "You should try it sometime, Jackie. Might loosen you up." She ughed—rough and bitter. "Oh, wait. You're too good for that now, aren't you? The great Jack the Giant-Syer. Too respectable to think about things like fucking."

  Jack's hands tightened into fists at his sides. "I came to check on you. Make sure you have everything you need."

  "Everything I need." She repeated the words mockingly. "Yeah, I got everything I need. Money, house, food. Everything except a son who doesn't look at me like I'm something he scraped off his boot."

  "I don't—"

  "Yes, you do." She finally pulled a sheet across her p, though more out of boredom than modesty. "You look at me the same way everyone in that shit vilge used to look at me. Like I'm dirt. Like I'm shameful."

  "That's not true."

  "Bullshit." She reached for a wine bottle on the nightstand—half-empty already—and took a long drink. "You moved me here to hide me. To keep me away from all those fancy people in Millbrook who think you're so goddamn special. Can't have them knowing the hero's mother used to fuck anyone with coin, can we?"

  Jack's jaw was so tight it hurt. "I moved you here so you could have a better life."

  "A better life." She ughed again, that same harsh sound. "Jackie, baby, let me tell you something. When you were a certain age—oh, maybe six, eight —I had to suck stranger's dicks in the back of the tavern just to keep you fed. Just to make sure you grew into a man." She took another drink, her eyes hard on his face. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? Too busy being a hero."

  The words hit like a sp. Jack stood there, feeling twelve years old again. Feeling helpless and ashamed and angry all at once.

  "I know what you did for me," he said quietly. "That's why I'm here. That's why I take care of you."

  "Take care of me." She set the bottle down with a thunk. "You throw money at me and visit once a month to ease your guilty conscience. That's not taking care of me, Jackie. That's paying me off so you don't have to think about where you came from."

  "What do you want from me?" The words came out sharper than he intended. "I got you out of there. I gave you a house, money, everything—"

  "I want you to stop pretending you did it for *me*." She cut him off, her voice cold. "You did it for you. So you wouldn't have to be embarrassed. So you could be Mayor Jack the fucking Hero without anyone remembering that your mother was the vilge whore."

  Jack felt something twist in his stomach . Anger. Guilt. Resentment. All of it tangled together so tightly he couldn't separate them anymore.

  "Fine," he said. "You're right. I'm a terrible son. Is there anything else you need?"

  "Money," she said immediately. "I went through what you gave me st month."

  "I gave you enough for three months."

  "Well, I spent it." She shrugged, completely unbothered. "Wine's expensive. And I like nice things. You can afford it, can't you? Big important mayor with all that gold you stole from the giant."

  Jack reached into his coat and pulled out a pouch of coins. He set it on the dresser near the door. "That should st you."

  "How much?"

  "Enough."

  "How much, Jackie?"

  "Two hundred gold."

  She whistled low. "Business must be good."

  *You have no idea.*

  "I have to go," Jack said. "I have work back in Millbrook."

  "Yeah, you always have work." She y back on the bed, dismissing him. "Go on then. Run back to your perfect little life."

  Jack turned toward the door.

  "Jackie."

  He stopped, didn't look back.

  "You know I don't mean it, right?" Her voice had softened slightly. Almost maternal. Almost. "The things I say. I'm proud of you. Really."

  Jack didn't answer. He'd heard this before too. The softening after the cruelty. The half-apology that never quite nded.

  "I'll visit again next month," he said.

  "Sure you will."

  He walked out of the bedroom, through the house, out the front door. His horse was waiting where he'd tied it. Jack mounted and turned toward the road, not looking back at the house.

  *She'll never respect you. No matter what you do. No matter how powerful you become.*

  But he'd keep coming back. Keep paying for the house, the food, the wine. Keep checking on her.

  Because abandoning her would make him like her. And he couldn't be like her.

  Even if it meant coming here every month to be reminded that no amount of gold, no amount of power, no amount of hero worship would ever change where he came from.

  Or who he was.