Against The World

Chapter 105: Something That Would Grow

Aldren finished the western junction with his head inside the wall.

This made thanking him difficult.

“Is it working?” I asked.

“Ask the wall.”

The Castellan’s eye brightened on the bronze plate beside us.

“The restored warning circuit is responding correctly.”

“Then thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Aldren withdrew far enough to look at us.

“I did some of it.”

Evelyn handed him the cloth he had left on the floor.

“We noticed.”

There was plaster in his hair.

He wiped his hands, inspected the last connection, and let Eliza begin.

She crossed the passage.

A quiet note sounded from the plate.

Then she tried the service stair, the adjoining door, and an approach that required her to emerge from behind a laundry basket.

Each time, the Castellan answered.

Della watched the final attempt.

“If you’re going to stand there, you might carry that upstairs.”

Eliza looked at the basket.

Then at me.

I found something interesting in the repaired wall.

The work left a pale rectangle in the plaster.

Eleanor said someone would finish it after it had settled.

For the moment, it remained visible whenever we passed.

I found that I liked seeing it.

The gap had existed.

Now someone had repaired it.

There was something reassuring about being able to point to the difference.

That afternoon, Evelyn stopped beside the junction with Carol against her shoulder.

“Does it make you feel better?”

“A little.”

“Me too.”

She shifted our daughter, who had caught a fold of her gown and appeared unwilling to return it.

“I keep thinking I should feel entirely better.”

I looked toward the service stair.

“So do I.”

A maid came up carrying fresh towels. We moved aside.

She greeted us, asked whether the nursery needed another stack, and continued when Evelyn said we had enough.

Ordinary footsteps.

An ordinary question.

We stood there until she had gone.

Then Carol put her damp hand against Evelyn’s cheek.

My wife closed her eyes.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Magistrate Vey’s first report reached us four days later.

Sennath had appeared before the royal court.

The charges had been read publicly.

His request to return to his own house while the case proceeded had been refused.

Mary read the relevant passage twice, once for the wording and once because Garrick asked to hear it again.

There would be witnesses.

The household secretary would testify.

The correspondence from Stoneford had been entered into the record.

Evelyn sat beside me without speaking.

When Mary finished, my wife reached for the report.

“Leave this one with us.”

“Of course.”

There were other matters waiting.

A damaged mill wheel.

A disagreement over the weight of salt delivered from Orselle.

Three proposed names for a new street, all submitted by people who owned buildings on it.

We dealt with them.

After council, Evelyn folded Vey’s report and placed it in the drawer with the earlier letters.

Then she shut the drawer.

“Come outside with me.”

We went to the lower garden.

The afternoon was mild enough that Helena had brought the twins down with their nurse. Garrick sat nearby, repairing a loose fastening on the little wooden stand he had made.

Our son watched his grandfather’s hands.

Carol watched a branch moving above her.

Evelyn sat beside the blankets.

I lowered myself onto the grass.

It was colder than it looked.

My wife noticed the expression on my face.

“Regretting your choice?”

“Assessing it.”

She spread part of her cloak beneath me.

I accepted the assistance without further assessment.

Along the garden wall, a man knelt beside a row of young trees. Their roots lay wrapped in damp cloth.

Evelyn watched him measure the spacing.

“What are those?”

“Pear trees,” Helena said. “The old gardener asked whether this corner could have fruit again.”

“Again?”

“There were roots when they cleared the ground. And a very elderly woman who remembered being chased out of it.”

“By the gardener?”

“Apparently she had taken a basket.”

I looked toward the saplings.

Thin trunks.

Bare branches.

Nothing to suggest much confidence.

“How long before they bear?”

The gardener heard me.

“A few years for a little fruit, Majesty. Longer for a proper crop.”

I looked down at Garrick.

He was attempting to bring both hands to his mouth at once.

A few years.

Beside me, Evelyn smiled.

Aurelia’s garden had changed when we next dreamed.

There was a path beyond the courtyard.

Previously, the arch at its end had opened into uncertain light. Now I could see a low wall, a climbing rose, and the roof of a small building beyond it.

Aurelia stood beneath the arch.

I stopped.

“That wasn’t there.”

“It was,” she said. “I couldn’t hold it clearly enough for you to see.”

Evelyn took my hand.

We followed her.

The path smelled of damp earth.

At the little building, Aurelia lifted a latch.

Inside were shelves, a worktable, and a long window looking over the garden. Several clay pots stood beneath it.

One had a crack down its side.

I touched the edge of the table.

“Was this yours?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do here?”

“Mostly things I had been asked to do somewhere easier to clean.”

Evelyn smiled.

Aurelia looked around the room.

For a moment, she seemed to forget we were there.

Then she drew out three stools.

“I thought we might sit down for this lesson.”

She placed a shallow clay dish on the table.

A simple groove ran around its rim.

“Your warning thread has been living entirely in your attention,” she said. “Tonight, we will give it somewhere to rest.”

I leaned closer.

“Like the lamps.”

“Some of the same principles.”

Evelyn ran a finger beside the groove.

“Will this keep it working after we leave?”

“Eventually, a properly prepared piece can. This one will help you learn how to set the shape without gripping every part of it.”

Aurelia laid her hand flat beside the dish.

“Uriah. Follow the rim.”

I gathered a thin line of power.

It settled into the groove.

For several breaths, nothing happened.

Then the dish cracked.

I looked at it.

Evelyn looked at me.

Aurelia reached beneath the table and produced another.

“How many have you brought?” I asked.

“Enough to avoid discouragement.”

The difficulty was knowing when I had done enough.

I could feel the groove.

I could feel my power moving through it.

But every time one part seemed weaker, I fed more into it, which disturbed the part beside it, which then required correcting.

Evelyn watched my third attempt.

“You’re going around it again.”

“There’s a thin place.”

“There was a thin place last time.”

“Yes.”

“Did adding more help?”

I looked at the broken dishes.

Aurelia rested her chin on one hand.

I let out a breath.

Then eased back.

The line dimmed.

It remained.

“Oh.”

Evelyn smiled.

Aurelia passed her a second dish.

“Now yours.”

My wife’s light gathered slowly along the rim.

It was finer than mine.

One section faded before she completed the circle.

She stopped, frowned, and tried again.

This time, she closed the shape.

Aurelia moved one finger through the space above it.

Evelyn glanced down at her wrist.

“I felt that.”

“So did I,” I said.

Aurelia looked at me.

“Then you have joined the wrong edge.”

Evelyn laughed.

I inspected my dish with considerable seriousness.

We worked separately until both dishes answered only their own maker.

Then Aurelia asked us to exchange places.

“Leave your work where it is.”

I moved around the table.

The small circle stayed behind.

It felt peculiar.

Like hearing my name from another room.

Aurelia passed her hand over the dish.

A faint touch brushed my wrist.

I looked at Evelyn.

She had felt her own warning too.

Neither of us spoke immediately.

We were only a few steps away.

The dishes were small.

Still.

Aurelia’s expression softened.

“There.”

Evelyn looked down at her hands.

“Will we remember how to explain this?”

“To the children?”

She nodded.

“When they’re old enough. I don’t want to tell them to do something and discover I only know how because you stood beside me.”

“Then explain it to Uriah tomorrow.”

My wife glanced at me.

“He may be a difficult pupil.”

“I have observed that.”

“I’m still here,” I said.

Aurelia smiled.

“Yes. And you may explain his mistakes back to him afterward.”

Before we left, I noticed the climbing rose through the window.

One branch had reached the roof.

“Are you tired?”

Aurelia followed my gaze.

“Some.”

“We can stop.”

“We have stopped.”

She said it gently.

Then she took my hand.

“I am stronger than I was, Uriah. I can keep this room around us and attend to your lesson without losing one while I do the other.”

I looked at the shelves again.

The cracked pot.

The little latch on the door.

“Does it hurt less?”

Her fingers tightened briefly.

“Today, yes.”

Evelyn came to stand beside us.

For a while, none of us asked anything more.

Aurelia showed her the pots beneath the window.

Apparently one had once contained a plant so difficult to keep alive that three palace gardeners had advised surrender.

“What happened?” Evelyn asked.

“It died.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Aurelia looked pleased.

“I was very cross.”

The waking dishes came from the potter.

He listened to my description, asked several sensible questions, and made six.

Tilda said we should begin with those before discussing metal.

Perrin drew the groove as carefully as though the fate of the workshop depended on its depth.

Oswin inspected the first fired piece.

“Uneven here.”

“Will that matter?” I asked.

“We’re about to learn.”

It mattered.

So did how dry the clay was, how smoothly the groove had been finished, and whether I was attempting to answer Brin while setting the last part of the circle.

By the end of the morning, one dish held a warning for the length of a short conversation.

Then it faded.

Evelyn’s lasted less time, but she managed to set hers twice.

We wrote both results down.

Perrin turned the successful dish over in his hands.

“What would you use it for?”

“A doorway, eventually,” I said.

“Or a cupboard,” Della added.

Everyone looked at her.

“The little ones at home have discovered where I keep the good soap.”

Oswin nodded gravely.

“A serious matter.”

We returned to the garden on planting day.

Evelyn had arranged it with the gardener.

I had learned about it when a spade appeared outside our rooms.

“Is that mine?”

“If you’d like it to be.”

I picked it up.

“What are we doing?”

“Something you can finish before supper.”

The gardener had already prepared two holes near the warm wall.

He introduced himself as Fenrick, explained that the ground had been improved, and handed me a tree.

It was lighter than I expected.

I held it upright while Evelyn loosened the cloth around its roots.

“Like this?” she asked.

Fenrick knelt beside her.

“A little wider. Let them spread.”

She worked carefully.

There was soil on her sleeve almost immediately.

Helena sat with Carol beneath the covered bench. Garrick held his grandson, who seemed interested in the spade whenever it caught the light.

We planted the first tree.

Then the second.

I wanted to firm the earth with magic.

Fenrick handed me his boot scraper and pointed to the ground.

“Your heel will do.”

Evelyn’s shoulders shook.

When the watering was finished, we stood back.

The trees looked much as they had before.

Only now they belonged to a place.

Fenrick adjusted one tie.

“We’ll need to keep an eye on these as the trunks thicken.”

“How often?” Evelyn asked.

He told us.

She listened.

Behind us, Carol made a small sound.

Not quite a laugh.

Enough that all four of us turned.

Helena was brushing the edge of a clean cloth lightly across her granddaughter’s fingers.

She did it again.

Carol’s mouth opened.

This time, the sound was unmistakable.

Evelyn reached the bench before I did.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Helena smiled at her.

“Apparently I’m amusing.”

We tried to persuade Carol to repeat it.

Naturally, she declined.

Garrick watched from his grandfather’s arms with an expression of profound concern.

“Competition,” his grandfather told him.

I sat beside Evelyn.

She leaned against me, still smiling.

We stayed until the light began to leave the wall.

Fenrick put his tools away.

Somewhere beyond the garden, a cart wheel rattled over uneven stone. The kitchen door opened, releasing the smell of onions and warm bread.

Evelyn looked toward the trees.

“Do you think they’ll climb them?”

“The children?”

“Yes.”

“Eventually.”

“We’ll have to tell them to be careful.”

“Several times.”

“And they’ll insist they are.”

I considered our daughter’s determined grip and our son’s growing interest in everything beyond his reach.

“Probably while doing something that suggests otherwise.”

She slipped her hand into mine.

At the bench, Helena began gathering the blankets.

I rose to take Carol.

Evelyn lifted Garrick from her father’s arms.

We carried them back along the path together.

Behind us, the two young pear trees stood beside the wall, their roots watered, their branches tied loosely enough to move.

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