Against The World

Chapter 142: A Morning Kept

On the third morning after our return, I woke to find my daughter sitting on my chest.

Evelyn held her steady.

Carol regarded me with considerable interest.

“Good morning,” my wife said.

I looked from one to the other.

“Is this an audience?”

“A complaint.”

“About what?”

“You were asleep.”

“That seems unreasonable.”

Carol slapped my collarbone.

Evelyn smiled.

“The complaint has been repeated.”

I lifted our daughter and kissed her cheek.

From the cradle beside the bed came a noise indicating that her brother objected to being excluded.

We had both children between us before the first bell.

For once, neither of us hurried to hear it.

Mary had given us the morning.

Not as a favor.

She had looked at the council schedule, crossed out two matters that could wait, and sent the third to someone already capable of deciding it.

I had begun to ask whether—

She had stopped me.

“You asked me to arrange more time at home.”

“Yes.”

“This is it.”

I had accepted the schedule.

Now, sitting on the nursery rug while Garrick attempted to climb my leg, I found no fault with her judgment.

Evelyn lay on one side nearby, moving a wooden ring just far enough for Carol to reach.

Our daughter caught it.

Then looked at her mother as though the matter had never been in doubt.

“She gets that from you,” I said.

“The success?”

“The expression.”

My wife smiled.

We took breakfast into the lower garden.

Helena joined us.

Garrick came with a small packet of wood shavings caught in his sleeve.

He did not notice until his daughter removed one.

“What are you making now?”

“Nothing ready to show.”

“That has never prevented you from discussing it.”

He reached for the bread.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes.

I decided not to assist either side.

On the blanket, our son held a spoon.

He seemed pleased to have been trusted with something so important.

Our daughter wanted it.

There were two spoons.

That did not help.

Aurelia came near the end of the meal.

She had entered through the chapel again.

I wondered how long it would take before I stopped listening for the particular change in the courtyard when people noticed her.

Perhaps I never would.

She sat beside Helena.

Garrick offered her tea.

She accepted.

No one rose to bring a special cup.

The ordinary one was already there.

For a while, she listened to Evelyn describe the spoon dispute.

Then she looked toward the blanket.

“They are learning what the other one has.”

“Will that pass?” I asked.

Helena and Aurelia exchanged a glance.

My father-in-law laughed into his cup.

Apparently I had asked the wrong people.

We kept the morning.

That was the remarkable part.

No messenger arrived with a demand only I could answer.

No roof fell.

No old working woke beneath the floor.

A gardener came to ask whether we intended to remain beside the young trees while he watered.

We moved the blanket.

That was all.

Later, Evelyn took my hand beneath the table.

I looked at her.

She smiled without saying anything.

I knew what she meant.

I was there too.

After luncheon, Aurelia asked us to meet her in the practice yard.

Alistair had already arrived.

So had Eliza.

There were no sacks of straw.

No buckets.

Only a broad chalk circle and three wooden posts.

I looked at Aurelia.

“Should I be relieved?”

“Not yet.”

Evelyn laughed.

Our teacher stood beside the nearest post.

“You can leave a shield in place. You can let it yield without losing its shape. Now you must learn how to take turns sustaining it.”

I looked at my wife.

“One of us rests while the other holds it?”

“Yes.”

Eliza’s attention sharpened.

“That would be useful.”

Aurelia nodded.

“It would.”

Evelyn set the shield.

I supplied the greater part of its strength.

We had become comfortable enough with that arrangement that I felt the difference immediately when Aurelia asked me to withdraw.

My wife’s working tightened.

The shield thinned.

“Slowly,” Aurelia said.

I eased back another fraction.

Evelyn drew a breath.

The gold held.

Then I let go entirely.

For two seconds, nothing happened.

On the third, the shield folded inward.

Alistair lowered his staff before striking.

Evelyn stared at the empty space.

“I had it.”

“You did,” Aurelia said.

“Then I lost it.”

“Yes.”

My wife looked at her.

Aurelia smiled.

“Both things may be true.”

We tried again.

This time, Evelyn let the shield become smaller before taking its weight.

The change passed through my hands like cloth being gathered.

I withdrew.

The barrier remained.

Alistair struck it once.

The gold bent.

Recovered.

My wife exhaled.

Then Aurelia told me to take it back.

I reached too quickly.

The shield flared and vanished.

Eliza folded her arms.

“That part needs work.”

I looked at her.

“I had begun to suspect.”

By the end of the lesson, we could exchange the working twice.

Not gracefully.

Not while moving.

But without leaving the chalk circle unprotected.

Alistair tested it with three steady blows during each exchange.

I learned to feel when Evelyn was ready before letting go.

She learned that she did not need to reproduce my strength to preserve the shape.

Aurelia watched us with increasing satisfaction.

At last, she called a halt.

My wife leaned against one of the posts.

I sat on the low wall.

Eliza looked between us.

“How soon can you do that while walking?”

Aurelia answered before either of us could.

“After they can stand without leaning on my teaching materials.”

The letters waiting afterward were less comfortable.

Three houses had answered our offer of help.

One needed medicines.

One wanted copies of the safe disconnection procedure, though we had not yet made a version we trusted others to follow alone.

The third reported that its keeper’s healing had weakened.

Mary handed me that letter last.

I read it twice.

“Since the observance?”

“They noticed it after returning home.”

“Do they think Avar withdrew it?”

“They don’t know.”

Evelyn took the page.

The keeper had been ill for several days before traveling.

She had continued treating patients.

She had helped with the lamps.

There were several possible reasons for exhaustion.

None made the fear less real.

“Ask Ilyen who can go,” my wife said. “Someone who can examine her and cover the house while she rests.”

Mary nodded.

We had made an offer.

Now it needed a person, supplies, and a place on the road schedule.

Cael volunteered.

Soren objected to his leaving so soon after the journey.

Cael objected to being discussed as though he were a cracked vessel.

Nessa ended the argument by offering to go with one of the experienced apprentices.

“You can both remain here and teach the people who’ll do it next time.”

They considered that.

Then accepted with differing degrees of grace.

I signed the supply order.

Evelyn added a personal note to the keeper.

Nothing grand.

Rest.

Let Nessa help.

Write again.

I watched her fold it.

Then she looked at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She gave me the expression Carol had worn that morning.

I smiled and handed her the seal.

Castellan found me outside the council room.

“I have completed the comparison of the remaining attestations.”

Three remained.

I knew that.

I still disliked hearing the number.

“Anything we should act on immediately?”

“One surviving office. Two uncertain locations. No evidence of a current renewal in the copies we possess.”

I nodded.

“Show me tomorrow.”

He paused.

Then inclined his head.

“Tomorrow.”

I had taken several steps before turning back.

“Did the second frame pass its lifting trial?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Eleanor has requested a third.”

“Of course she has.”

“She also requested that I convey her approval.”

I looked at him.

“Did she use that word?”

“No.”

“What did she say?”

He straightened slightly.

“This one will do.”

I laughed.

“High praise.”

“Yes, my lord.”

That evening, I found Evelyn in front of her unfinished painting.

Aurelia’s hands.

The children.

The little crooked fish.

She had begun it before the journey to the Hall of Accord.

Before the sanctuary.

Before we had learned how much could hide beneath a lamp’s rim.

The faces were still only sketched.

But the hands were nearly finished.

I stood beside her.

“Will you change it?”

“Why?”

“She can stay longer now. Sit for you.”

Evelyn considered the painting.

“I might ask her about the light.”

“But not the scene.”

“No.”

She touched the edge of the board.

“That was the first time.”

I understood.

I pulled up a chair.

She handed me a clean cloth and asked me to hold it.

Apparently my place in the artistic process remained well defined.

Aurelia joined us after the children were asleep.

She stood before the painting for a long time.

Then she sat without being asked.

Evelyn studied the fall of light across her sleeve.

“Your hand a little higher?”

Aurelia raised it.

“Like this?”

“Yes.”

I sat by the window with the household account I had promised to read.

For several minutes, the room was quiet.

Then Aurelia said, “I heard Sereth.”

My wife’s brush stopped.

I lowered the account.

“When?”

“This afternoon.”

“Did you answer?”

“Yes.”

I waited.

Aurelia looked at the painting rather than either of us.

“She asked whether I would forgive her.”

“What did you say?”

“That I was not ready to answer that question.”

Evelyn set down her brush.

Aurelia turned toward us.

“I told her I had seen what she chose to do when she finally looked. I was grateful for it.”

I thought of Sereth kneeling beneath the central vessel.

The cracked seal.

Her own name beneath the orders she had authorized.

“But gratitude isn’t everything,” I said.

“No.”

Aurelia let her hand rest in her lap.

“She listened.”

For a while, none of us spoke.

Then Evelyn reached across and gently returned Aurelia’s hand to its earlier position.

“May I?”

Our ancestor smiled.

“Yes.”

My wife picked up her brush.

I returned to the account.

For once, the figures were simple.

Timber delivered.

Stone moved.

Wages paid.

There was a small expense for replacing a basket damaged in the nursery.

I looked toward Evelyn.

She was concentrating.

I looked toward Aurelia.

She noticed my expression.

“What is it?”

“Our children have entered the household accounts.”

“Already?”

“Jointly.”

Evelyn began laughing before I explained.

Aurelia joined her.

I set the page aside.

The work could wait until they finished.

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