Ch. 119 The Way Back

Chapter 119: The Way Back

We left Veylan with the morning tide.

This time, nobody stood at the harbor mouth with a list of people forbidden to leave.

The watch commander remained on the quay until the last rope came aboard.

Beside him, Councillor Teren held a packet of copies for the council’s records.

Belda stood farther back with Orren and the other workers.

She lifted one hand when she saw me looking.

Then pointed toward the lower village.

The repairs.

The people staying.

I nodded.

She turned away before the ship had cleared the quay.

There was work to begin.

Fara watched the island until it became a dark line behind us.

Her mother sat nearby with Lio asleep against her.

Dain had found a place where he could keep his leg stretched without obstructing the crew.

Nobody spoke much during the first hour.

I stood at the rail with Dorran.

The captain glanced toward the children.

“Seven this time.”

“Yes.”

He nodded.

Then looked ahead.

For a while, that was all either of us needed to say.

The return passage was slower.

The wind shifted on the second day and left us making less progress than I liked.

I went to Tamsin.

She saw the question before I asked it.

“No.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You’ve been looking at the sail.”

“I could give it a little help.”

“Have you ever held a ship on its course through changing wind?”

“No.”

“Then speak to Dorran before you become part of his weather.”

I looked toward the helm.

The captain was already watching us.

He beckoned me over.

We discussed it.

For quite a long time.

In the end, I helped with one short stretch under his direction, adding a steady pressure that he could judge and ask me to stop.

When he raised his hand, I released it.

The sail settled.

Dorran nodded.

“That will do.”

I found myself absurdly pleased.

Tamsin looked at me.

“Now leave it alone.”

I did.

There were ordinary things to do aboard.

A water cask needed shifting.

One of the children had dropped a cup where an adult hand could not easily reach.

A loose latch kept waking people below.

I helped with what I could.

Melody found me repairing the latch with a borrowed tool.

“You’ve become useful.”

“I was useful before.”

“Occasionally in ways that required rebuilding afterward.”

I tightened the fastening.

Tested it.

The door stayed closed.

Melody watched.

Then nodded.

“No rebuilding.”

“An achievement.”

She leaned against the wall.

“How are you?”

I looked down at the tool.

For once, she had asked without a joke waiting behind it.

“Tired.”

“Yes.”

“And ready to be home.”

Her expression softened.

“So am I.”

On the fourth evening, Annet asked whether I would sit with Lio while she helped her daughter wash.

The boy had recovered enough to dislike being told to rest.

He regarded me with suspicion.

“Are you going to say I should sleep?”

“Probably not immediately.”

He considered that acceptable.

I sat beside him.

The ship creaked around us.

For a while, he watched my hands.

“Did you make the air hard?”

“At the house?”

He nodded.

“Yes.”

“Could you do it around a boat?”

“Perhaps a small part. I haven’t tried.”

“Why not?”

“Because there would be people in the boat while I was finding out.”

Lio thought about that.

Then nodded.

I liked him for it.

He asked about Greykeep.

The walls.

The gates.

Whether there were horses.

Whether my children could ride them.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“They’re babies.”

He looked disappointed on their behalf.

“What can they do?”

I began with smiling.

Then rolling.

Then grabbing things they had no intention of returning.

By the time Annet came back, I had described both cloth fish and the extraordinary importance of a particular nursery window.

She stood in the doorway, listening.

Lio looked at her.

“The king’s babies don’t do much.”

His mother shut her eyes briefly.

I laughed.

“No,” I said. “But we’re very impressed by it.”

That night, I dreamed of our rooms.

Not Aurelia’s garden.

Not a lesson.

Only the chair near the window and Evelyn sitting in it.

For a moment, I thought she had come.

Then she turned, and the dream became something else before I could hear her voice.

I woke with my hand stretched toward the wall.

The cabin was dark.

Water moved beneath us.

I lay still until the disappointment eased enough to breathe around.

Then I got up and went on deck.

Eliza stood near the rail.

She glanced at me.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not anymore.”

She moved aside to give me room.

We watched the stars until the next watch changed.

The lighthouse appeared on the sixth evening.

Three flashes.

A pause.

Three again.

I knew what it was before Dorran named the headland.

Still, hearing him say Orselle changed something in my chest.

People came up from below.

Annet carried Lio.

Fara stood beside her uncle.

Tessa pressed one hand to the rail and watched the light sweep across the water.

I thought of the broken ring on our workshop table.

Sella’s padded boxes.

Edda checking the controls.

Then the beam passed over the ship.

For an instant, the faces around me shone.

We entered the harbor after dark.

A boat met us with instructions.

The quay was ready.

So were the rooms for the passengers.

Tamsin had sent a signal as soon as the headland came into view, and Edda’s people had relayed it down to the harbor.

I stood beside the gangplank while Eliza organized the landing.

Then I saw Mary.

She waited beneath a quay lamp with her book held against her coat.

Behind her stood Helena.

And Evelyn.

I stopped listening to the ropes.

To the crew.

To everything except the blood in my ears.

My wife saw me.

She began walking before the gangplank had quite settled.

Mary caught her sleeve.

Evelyn stopped.

Only just.

I went down carefully.

I remember that because I wanted to run.

At the bottom, Evelyn reached me.

Her arms closed around my neck.

I held her so tightly that I loosened my grip almost immediately.

She pulled me close again.

For several moments, neither of us spoke.

Then she drew back and put both hands against my face.

“You’re here.”

“Yes.”

She looked at me as though the answer required checking.

I kissed her.

She made a small sound against my mouth.

Behind us, someone cleared a throat.

Probably Mary.

Possibly the whole harbor.

I did not investigate.

Eventually, Evelyn rested her forehead against mine.

“The children?”

“Home with Father and their nurse. Asleep when we left.”

I nodded.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

She let out a long breath.

Then looked past me toward the ship.

“The seven?”

“All here.”

I turned with her.

Fara was coming down beside Eliza.

Annet followed with Lio.

Dain moved slowly behind them.

Evelyn stepped aside to greet them.

Her hand remained in mine until she needed both arms to help steady an older passenger.

I watched her.

The familiar way she bent to listen.

The quiet questions.

The immediate attention to what someone needed.

For days, I had been trying to remember exactly how it felt to stand beside her.

Now I did not have to.

We stayed until the passengers had somewhere to go.

Not until every matter was settled.

Mary had people for the records.

Helena had people for the rooms.

The healers had come through the gate with what they needed.

At last, Eliza approached.

“Go home.”

I looked toward Dorran.

He stood with Tamsin beside the ship, discussing the morning unloading.

Melody was already carrying a bag toward the gate hall.

I turned back to Eliza.

“Thank you.”

She nodded.

Then went to finish her work.

Evelyn took my hand.

This time, when she began walking, I went with her.

The gate opened onto Greykeep’s familiar hall.

Warm stone.

Lamplight.

A faint smell of bread from somewhere beyond the passage.

The Castellan’s eye brightened as we entered.

“Welcome home, Your Majesty.”

I stopped beneath the plate.

“Thank you.”

Evelyn looked up.

“He’s very tired.”

“I have been informed that no routine reports are to be presented before tomorrow afternoon.”

I looked at her.

She smiled.

“A temporary arrangement.”

“A good one.”

We went upstairs.

Garrick met us outside the nursery.

He put one hand on my shoulder.

Held it there.

Then drew me into a brief, hard embrace.

I closed my eyes.

When he released me, he looked me over in much the same way Evelyn had.

“Good.”

It was all he said.

It was enough.

He kissed his daughter’s forehead, gathered his coat, and left us with the quiet.

Evelyn opened the nursery door.

I followed her inside.

They looked larger.

That was my first foolish thought.

As though I had expected them to wait.

Carol slept with her face turned toward the shaded lamp.

Garrick lay on his back, one hand open beside him.

I stood between the cradles.

My throat hurt.

Evelyn came beside me.

“He’s been reaching farther,” she whispered.

“Garrick?”

She nodded.

“And Carol has decided rolling should happen whenever we turn to fetch something.”

I smiled.

Then our son stirred.

His eyes opened.

For a moment, he looked at the ceiling.

Then at me.

I bent closer.

“Hello.”

His mouth moved.

A small sound.

I offered one finger.

He caught it.

That was when I had to sit down.

Evelyn lifted him and placed him in my arms.

He was warm.

Heavier.

Utterly himself.

I held him against my chest while he examined my coat with serious interest.

My wife knelt beside the chair.

I looked at her.

“I missed you.”

“I know.”

“All of you.”

Her hand settled over mine.

Garrick made another soft sound.

Then Carol woke and informed us that something important was happening without her.

Evelyn laughed through a breath that was not quite steady.

“Yes,” she whispered, rising. “We know.”

She brought our daughter over.

We sat together with the twins between us.

Nobody asked for a report.

Later, after I had washed and changed, Evelyn brought a tray to the table.

Soup.

Bread.

Something baked with apples that I had no intention of examining closely before eating.

She sat opposite me.

For a while, she watched.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

I raised an eyebrow.

She smiled.

“I’m allowed.”

I ate.

Then told her about the things that had not fitted into the letters.

Dorran’s face when all seven were aboard.

Belda’s instructions.

Ressa reading Neri’s message.

The little girl with the pails.

Evelyn listened.

When I told her about the empty place behind my shoulder, she reached across the table.

I took her hand.

We did not speak about everything that night.

There would be time.

Carven’s inquiry would continue.

The cisterns still needed lining.

Belda would send measurements.

People would decide whether to stay, travel onward, or one day return to Veylan.

All of that remained.

But when we finally lay down, Evelyn moved close enough that I could feel her breathing.

I put my arm around her.

She rested one hand against my chest.

For several moments, we listened to the quiet sounds from the nursery.

Then she said, “You kept your promise.”

“Yes.”

Her fingers tightened in my shirt.

“Good.”

I kissed the top of her head.

This time, when I reached for her in the dark, she was there.