Chapter Text
Wylan hides in his mother’s armoire. Knees tucked up to his chin, he drowns himself in the familiarity of her black mercher dresses and the more colorful skirts and blouses she wore in the summers to paint in the garden. Mama’s scent lingers on the fabric. He cries silently even though there’s no one to hear him. His voice has been stolen from him just like his mother.
The prologue was actually the second chapter written for this fic. The first actual chapter, where Wylan is slapped by the dishtowel, was written first because that opening scene was a very concrete image that represented his experience as the Cinderella character that I had in mind. Only after I finished that entire chapter I remembered the prologue existed and that it too would fit Wylan perfectly because like Cinderella, he lost a parent and that one event became the beginning of the end of life as he knew it.
In the draft the opening lines of the prologue were, Wylan’s grief is quiet. Obvious in the way he roams through the rooms and hallways of the Van Eck mansion with watery eyes and permanently tear stained cheeks, but completely silent. These sentences were a starting point, but ultimately beginning the chapter with the imagery of Wylan hiding in the armoire was a better choice.
Wylan hiding became a theme throughout the story, but one that strongly echoed Wylan in the book who often hid. Pretty sure he also mentioned hiding in the mansion during Crooked Kingdom, which probably planted the idea in my mind thought me being aware of it. The theme of Wylan hiding and wanted to be unseen happened organically and was never intended to be a thematic element.
He has never been a particularly loud child. Nor an energetic one. Wylan knows better than to run, jump, or cause a fuss, even in the privacy of his own home, but he still cried the day Father told him Mama died. Tears poured down his cheeks and his breath hitched in gasps until his father grabbed his arm right above his elbow, squeezing until Wylan cried out in pain, and told him to quit acting hysterical.
Warning: abuse. Prepare for a lot of my projection onto Wylan in this story. I grew up with an emotionally abusive parent who was incredibly controlling, isolated me, and had very strict behavior expectations. It feels strange to admit. Like, on the one hand I feel the need to justify that my mother’s actions even qualify as abuse, but on the other hand I try to convince myself it wasn’t that bad because plenty of people suffer more severe abuse and had worse childhoods than I did. I’m an adult and safe now, but I’m still coming to terms with my experiences.
Sometimes I think about the injustice of it, and later in the story Wylan will reflect in small moments on the injustices for his specific situation. Bardugo really nailed the complicated feelings Wylan has toward an abusive parent in Crooked Kingdom. How the memories of the good times intertwine and complicate the memories of the bad times. It’s something I struggle with too. Looking back, I think that I could have included more of Wylan’s mixed feelings toward his father in this fic. How he remembers being held, shown affection, and praised before his father discarded him. But in all honesty, I have no interest in exploring that duality and… I don't know, portraying Jan Van Eck (and my mom’s) actions as “complex and flawed” rather than the outright abuse they were.
Wylan being grabbed is based on several very specific memories of mine, though I was much older than 8 year old Wylan when it happened. Spoiler: I was a freshman and senior in high school. My mom didn’t often become physically violent, but I can recall more than one memory of her grabbing my arm right above my elbow and dragging me around in her fury.
So he muffles his sobs into his bruised arm like a good boy. Presses his face into the furniture until there’s no sound at all. Wylan hides under the covers of his bed until the sheets are damp, behind the thick red drapery on the upper floors where no one finds him. He tucks himself under the beds in the spare rooms on the third floor, beneath the garden hedges, and once in the pantry until the cook threw him out.
He likes fitting himself into tight spaces, feeling small and safe when nothing makes sense.
This may not come as a surprise, but I hid a lot as a child too. I liked the safety and privacy of small spaces.
Now no one hears him sob, scream, or throw a childish tantrum. Not his father, the nanny, or the servants.
In the back of the armoir he imagines yelling, shouting himself hoarse until Mama herself comes back from the dead, pushes her clothes aside, and tells him to quiet down.
Grief is not rational. Neither are children. It was a fun writing exercise to imagine how that anger, confusion, and sadness would manifest. Wylan is old enough to understand his mother is Gone. But he would do anything, no matter how childish to catch her attention and bring her back if it were possible.
A silly fantasy – only his nanny would come running. The staff pretend not to hear. They always turn away. If his father heard he would glare, grab Wylan too tight again, and hiss his disappointment under his breath.
Wylan wipes his wet cheeks again. He likes the idea that he can summon his mother just because he wants her back. He wants and wants and wants . Wants to demand where she went. Wants to stomp his feet until she understands how much he hurts without her. Wants to know why she left him behind. And most importantly, he wants to beg her to come back.
Because now Wylan feels so very, very alone hiding in the back of her closet to cry.
The door opens abruptly and sunlight pours into the dark space. Wylan jumps, blinded by the daylight. His nanny hauls him out and to his feet.
Kids aren’t as sneaky as they think. The nanny knew exactly where Wylan was the whole time. In the first draft Wylan was specifically hiding from her because he didn’t like how she talked down to him and treated him like a younger child because of his learning struggles. This idea was scrapped to keep the focus on Wylan’s grief. Everything is about to change for the worse and keeping his childhood conflict free until that turning point widened the gulf between the experiences before and after his mother’s death to show just how terrible his life became.
“Your father wants you, Master Wylan. Come.”
She starts leading him to his father’s office on the second floor before he slowly processes her words. He’s always been soft headed, stupid. Feet freezing in place, Wylan shakes his head. He doesn’t want to go back to that room where he learned Mama died, the one where his father scowls at him. Strikes him across the cheek.
Warning: abuse. I have two memories of being slapped by my mother. Like I said, my mother rarely became physically violent, preferring to weaponize her words and her silence. So I imagine Jan Van Eck similarly. It was rare for him to become physically violent himself (he was capable of it — we see that in Crooked Kingdom — he merely had other people who could do it for him). He preferred to insult and belittle Wylan instead because he considered himself intellectually superior.
But his nanny’s fingers lock around his wrist and she pulls him behind her like a stubborn animal. A dog resisting its leash.
There became a running thread throughout the story of other characters treating Wylan like an animal instead of a person, and this is the first instance of it. It wasn’t intentional and wasn’t planned to be used in multiple chapters. Just a repeated coincidence by the end of the story.
“Stop,” she hisses. A command, a warning. Then they are standing in front of his father’s imposing office door. A familiar wetness that hasn’t stopped all week pricks at the corner of Wylan’s eyes. The hallway begins to blur. He doesn’t want to go inside. Nothing good ever happens in that office.
To his surprise, his nanny doesn’t knock on the door immediately. Instead she turns to face Wylan, and rests her work rough hands gently on his young shoulders. After assessing him she frowns. Then smooths his ruddy gold curly hair into order and wipes his face with the sleeve of her blouse. It can’t ease the redness rimming his blue eyes, but it removes the wet tear tracks staining his small cheeks.
So originally I described Wylan using his show appearance with brown hair and eyes because you can rip Jack Wolfe’s portrayal of Wylan from my cold dead hands. But in the process of writing chapter 4, I reworked the final act with some guidance from my beta reader oneofthewednesdays. (Who was, for the record, amazing! She read through my drafts so quickly, always had excellent input, and corrected so many autocorrect typos.) I realized that I had the opportunity to tailor Wylan in order to pull off Kaz’s scheme and would be able to use both of his appearances — the best of both worlds!
Sometimes as a SOC fanfic writer, it feels like there is a real pressure to describe Wylan with his book appearance because it seems to be the dominant descriptor within the fandom, and to not use his show appearance. I don’t know why, though if I had to take a guess, I'd say it's probably because his book traits of ruddy gold curls and blue eyes is more unique than brown hair and brown eyes. I also feel like some writers are afraid that using Wylan's show appearance gives the impression that they are show only fans and therefore won't be loyal to his backstory or characterization. But that's not true at all. Yet I felt the same concern, the same pressure to not write about Wylan's TV description even though that's exactly what I imagined. Initially, I didn’t include many descriptions of Wylan’s appearance in order to be vague (also because it didn’t feel natural for the point of view character to describe their own hair and eye color. I DESPISE when traditionally published novels do this). When chapter 4 was posted I went back and added/amended a few descriptions of Wylan’s eyes and hair like the one in the paragraph above.
Since his mother died, it’s the kindest thing anyone in the house has done for Wylan.
In the nanny’s defense, she is in a tough spot. There’s not a lot she can really do to help Wylan. She can’t cure his grief. He was being quiet and just wanted to hide among his mother’s clothes so she allowed him to process the loss how he wanted. I do think that she genuinely cared for her little charge, as most nannies do. But she also knew, in this moment, that she couldn’t protect him from his father who was only growing increasingly frustrated with Wylan. The nanny was fired immediately after Wylan left the office. They did not get to say goodbye to each other.
The nanny raps a light fist against the door. She waits for permission before opening it and shoves Wylan inside.
He stumbles forward into his father’s office on unsteady legs. The door clicks shut, painfully loud behind him.
His father, Jan Van Eck, doesn’t even look up from the business papers on his desk.
Every time Wylan meets his father, Jan Van Eck refuses to acknowledge Wylan until he’s ready, making Wylan wait in a fucked up power play. My mom loved using powerplays, like the silent treatment and having the final word. They were never incidental, but instead purposeful and deliberate, so I have a hyper-awareness for when adults wield that type of power over children.
Wylan waits. His young eyes dart around the room from his father to the grand portrait of his great-great grandfather behind him. The bookshelves against the walls are lined with ledgers, thick leather bound spines with gold embossing that makes him dizzy the longer he looks. He tries not to fidget.
I had to look up in the book how many greats to add to the portrait of Wylan’s grandfather. I feel a lot of sympathy for Wylan, especially in modern AUs (which this is not) and all the “visual noise” from text everywhere that he has to filter out and learn to ignore. It doesn’t get mentioned in fanfic often, but it should.
Eventually his father picks up a single sheet of paper off the corner of the desk and sighs.
“This is a letter from your tutor.” He begins reading,
“Councilman Van Eck,
This week your son made no progress furthering his studies in reading and writing. Despite my efforts, the truth remains that the boy cannot identify solitary letters nor read the simplest of sentences decoded by the earliest of learners no matter how many hours are spent studying the alphabet or studying books for beginning readers. Any sporadic progress he seems to make is a crafted illusion hidden by memorization and the occasional correct guess. It is not true progress as the boy still cannot read a new, unfamiliar text. Nor is he capable of writing the most basic words, even his name, despite repetitive practice. In my professional opinion, after witnessing the boy’s attempts to read and write, he is incapable of learning.
This tutor is pretentious. The use of the incredibly long sentence at the beginning of the letter is deliberate and I hated writing it.
Yet your son is truly gifted in his sums and sciences, making progress in both years beyond what is expected of his age. He continues to excel in these subjects as long as content is presented to him orally or written numerically. However, no subject is studied independently of one another and sooner than later his success in maths and sciences will stall unless he learns to read and write…”
It was important for the tutor to point out Wylan’s academic strengths and mention the fairly simple accommodations he needed. This highlights that Jan Van Eck’s decision to end Wylan’s education entirely is absurdly drastic.
His father stops reading and looks at Wylan with disgust.
Wylan flushes, shame creeping across his skin. He knew the reports given to his father weren’t flattering, but he hoped they emphasized his better subjects. His tutor frequently commented on his ability to multiply and divide double digits without showing scratchwork. Of course Father doesn’t care about it. Not until he can read too.
At 8 years old, Wylan would be in 3rd grade in the US education system. My husband teaches 3rd grade. That’s so young. They really are just kids who still hero worship and want to please the adults in their lives.
Jan Van Eck sets the letter aside on his desk. “There’s more, but this is damning enough. It’s time we stop living in denial, there’s nothing more that can be done in your studies until you cooperate and start reading.”
“I will!” Wylan sputtered, “I promi—”
“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting new results.” His father snaps angrily, cutting Wylan off. Wylan shrinks back at the outburst. “Your tutors and I are both done waiting for progress where there is none. I’m dismissing your tutor and nanny. They can return when you start reading, when you are ready to continue your studies. As of today you’ll be trained by the servants how to cook and clean. Without an education, domestic labor is the most you can accomplish. You’ll finally be able to make yourself useful under Ghezen.”
Jan Van Eck is framing his decision to force his son into domestic labor as one that is in Wylan’s best interests, but that’s very much not his intention. He is manipulative. Turning Wylan into a servant is absolutely a punishment in his mind. Van Eck is classist. He sees domestic and servants’ work as a character flaw indicative that the individual could not work harder to find a better station for themselves. He sees cleaning as a humiliation fitting for someone that cannot conduct business or find a respectable career.
A year ago Wylan traveled to Fjerdia with his parents on a ship that crossed the True Sea. He remembers the gentle sway of the vessel beneath his feet, except for one stormy afternoon. Gale winds and choppy water shook the ship. It lurched so suddenly that Wylan fell in his family’s cabin. Even on his hands and knees he couldn’t stabilize himself enough to stand as the room swung from one side, then another.
We know few events from book canon Wylan’s early life. I assume that he often traveled with his father (like to the Ice Court) before his father gave up on him entirely when he was 8 years old. It felt fitting to reference one of the few canon events that readers knew took place in his childhood.
The floor of his father’s office isn’t moving, but Wylan feels equally unsteady as if the whole room tilts sideways. His stomach rolls as if it had.
No more tutors, no more hours of lessons staring at indecipherable words. Fear chokes any joy he might have at the news. He was going to be a … His father was sending him to the … It couldn’t be real. Father wouldn’t–
Wylan’s young mind cannot comprehend what’s happening because it's such a drastic solution to a small problem. He never would have predicted that becoming a servant was ever a possibility no matter how much he failed. He’s spinning out.
Tears prick at the corners of Wylan’s eyes again. Without thinking, he blurts, “Plea–”
“Do not argue with me, Wylan!” his father shouts.
He falls silent in his father’s wrath, eyes wide, wet, and hurt.
I really like the alliteration in the line above.
Jan Van Eck takes a breath, calms himself and continues speaking. “This is in your best interests. I take no joy in seeing my son become a scullion. Nor would your mother.”
Manipulative as fuck. He’s purposely twisting the knife by mentioning Marya to Wylan whose grief is so fresh.
He wishes his father struck him instead. It would hurt less than mentioning Mama.
“In the meantime I’ll tell my associates that you are away at boarding school, where you should be if you weren’t defective. Head to the kitchen, the housekeeper will give you instructions from now on. You’re dismissed.”
The housekeeper is a character who’s mentioned several times throughout the story in Wylan’s memories, but isn’t physically present in the main timeline of the story when he’s an adult. This is because there needed to be a realistic explanation of who taught Wylan how to clean and the adult he answered to as he grew up. But this character is unnecessary by the time the present events of the story take place. The housekeeper was an awful person. Wylan has no kind memories of her. Partly, she acted as an extension of his father’s will to punish him. Partly, she was stern, grumpy, and hated that she was suddenly saddled with the responsibility of “caring” for a child on top of managing the household, which is already an enormous job. Caring is too generous a description of what she did for Wylan. She gave him a list of chores and made sure he was always busy working, but did nothing to support his physical or emotional welfare. When Wylan first started working he tried going to her for emotional support in absence of his mother or nanny. Very quickly he learned that he would find no comfort in her.
Numbly, Wylan nods, opens the door and walks out. Step by step his feet carry him downstairs to the kitchen, but he remembers nothing else about that first day. He doesn’t remember crying, though he must have, or being given an apron so large he only wears it by tying a knot to shorten the loop around his neck and circle the ties twice around his middle.
Wylan was in shock and so overwhelmed at the newness and denial of it all that he didn’t remember that first day.
When he’s sent to his own bedroom the next afternoon to remove the sheets from the bed, Wylan freezes in the doorway. The room is empty, stripped bare. His sketchpads stacked neatly on his desk are gone, as is everything else: the untouched books for studying, the stuffed bunny laid carefully atop his pillow, his blocks and toys, all his clothes from the wardrobe, the tin on a shelf holding his baubles – pretty stones, marbles, and other nicknacks – is missing. As if they were never there.
Wylan was forced to witness and even participate in the erasure of his existence, which is an awfully cruel thing to do to anyone, especially a child.
Most readers will think the stuffed rabbit is a reference to Jesper, whose childhood nickname was Little Rabbit. It actually wasn’t written to be a Wesper reference. I included it because my toddler carries around a stuffed bunny and it’s the cutest, sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. This is the real reason Wylan is a bunny boy; bunny boys are precious.
Warning: abuse. My mom very deliberately took away my comfort object (my baby blankie) when I was in middle school. It was a punishment and she had no intention of ever giving it back. I was older than Wylan is in the prologue (probably too old to be so emotionally dependent on a comfort object, but given that my mom’s affection was conditional and often denied, it’s not a stretch of the imagination why I needed one in the first place.) Her taking it away was cruel. I was devastated and remember the horror of feeling so utterly alone without it. The first time I ever defied my mom was by sneaking into my parents’ room and stealing my comfort object back. I hid it for years until I moved out, similarly to Wylan hiding the portrait of his mother. The good news is that I still have my blankie and snuggle it to this day.
All this is to say, I personally think denying a child their comfort object is one of the most deliberately cruel things an adult can do so that’s why Wylan’s bunny was taken from him.
The housekeeper scolds him for taking so long. She tells him that his things were collected and moved to his new room in the attic’s servant’s quarters. That night by the time his chores are complete and he’s dismissed, it’s so late that he digs through the single trunk at the end of his tiny new bed by candlelight. The only thing he finds inside are clothes. No toys, drawing pencils, sheet music, or his bunny. Not even a pillow.
I’m sorry, Wylan. I hurt you because I love you. You’ll get your happy ending.
Everything has been stolen from him. Wylan is eight years old.
It’s important to keep in context that he was so young. Wylan was just a child.