Ch. 122 A Place Beside Us

Chapter 122: A Place Beside Us

For six days, the chair remained an ordinary chair.

People sat in it.

An elderly man rested there after climbing the courtyard steps. A woman settled her sleeping daughter against its cushion while she prayed. Soren used it to remove a stone from his boot.

I was glad nobody had thought to put a rope around it.

On the seventh morning, I found a folded blanket over one arm.

“Yours?” I asked Soren.

“No. Someone thought it might be useful.”

“Who?”

He glanced toward the door.

“Several people have been bringing things.”

There were fresh flowers beside the basin.

A small cushion on the bench.

Someone had repaired the draught beneath the door.

I looked at that last improvement for a while.

Aurelia had not asked us to stop training while she rested.

She had, however, become quite willing to teach from her armchair.

That week, she gave us something new to attempt.

A shield that could remain in place after we stepped away.

I understood why I wanted it immediately.

Understanding how proved less convenient.

In the practice yard, I raised a small barrier between two posts.

Then took three steps back.

It followed me.

Alistair watched it approach.

“I believe the posts remain unprotected, my lord.”

“I noticed.”

Evelyn stood beside the far post with her arms folded.

“You’re still holding it as though it belongs around you.”

“It does belong to me.”

“That may be the difficulty.”

I looked at her.

She smiled.

Then raised her own shield.

It remained between the posts when she stepped away.

For a moment.

After that, it folded rather slowly into the grass.

Alistair considered it.

“A more local failure.”

My wife laughed.

That night, Aurelia listened to our account.

Then she asked me to put my hand against the garden wall.

“Feel where the working meets the stone.”

I did.

The wall was cool.

Beneath its surface, I felt something that reminded me of pressure beneath my palm.

“Now step away.”

I kept the shield where it was.

My shoulder tightened.

“Uriah.”

“Yes?”

“You are attempting to take the wall with you.”

Evelyn turned her face away.

I sighed.

Aurelia waited until I had let go.

Then she placed one finger against the stone.

A narrow curve of gold settled beside it.

“You know how to leave power in a lamp,” she said. “This is a different shape, but you have already learned part of the work.”

That helped.

More than the wall had.

By the following afternoon, we could each leave a barrier standing long enough to walk around it.

Mine endured three blows from Alistair’s padded staff.

Evelyn’s endured one.

But hers remained after mine had faded.

We examined the empty space between the posts.

“Yours holds longer,” I said.

“Yours takes a harder blow.”

“Could we—”

“Yes,” she said.

Alistair lowered the staff.

“I should prefer to hear the rest of the proposal before standing beside it.”

We explained.

He moved farther away anyway.

Our first shared attempt shivered when the two workings met.

We stopped and began again.

This time, Evelyn set the shape while I added power slowly.

The barrier settled.

A faint gold curve.

No brighter than hers had been.

We stepped back together.

It stayed.

Alistair struck it.

Once.

Twice.

On the third blow, I felt a tug beneath my ribs.

Evelyn reached for my wrist.

“Let it finish.”

I had already begun reaching to feed it more power.

I stopped.

The fourth blow passed through.

Alistair lowered his staff.

We stood looking at the posts.

“That,” my wife said, “was better.”

I nodded.

The working had lasted less than a minute.

We were both tired.

Still, for those few moments, we had been able to move away from something we were protecting.

I looked toward the castle.

Evelyn knew what I was thinking.

“When they’re older,” she said.

“When we understand it properly.”

“Yes.”

She leaned against me.

Alistair gave us a little time before asking us to move the posts back.

Belda’s measurements arrived with the next ship from Veylan.

So did a letter from Bera.

The temporary water collection was still working. The lower village had agreed on a place for a larger covered cistern, and Orren had begun clearing the foundations with six paid workers.

Belda wanted more lining material.

She also wanted Eleanor to explain why the estimate included a tool nobody on the island had requested.

Eleanor read that part twice.

Then turned the page over.

“That’s a badly written nine.”

Beatrice held out her hand.

The disagreement moved to the other end of the table.

I continued reading.

The council’s inquiry had begun hearing witnesses from the second holding house. Carven remained suspended. Some of the people who had left wanted their possessions sent after them.

Others wanted to know whether they could return without being put to work again.

Evelyn read those lines beside me.

“We should send them the council’s written terms when they arrive,” she said. “And Bera’s account of what is actually happening.”

I nodded.

There were people here beginning new lives.

There were also people who still dreamed of going home.

We needed to make room for both.

Bera had included a separate scrap for Arwen.

I carried it to the infirmary.

Arwen read it while standing beside a cupboard.

Then she laughed.

“What?”

“She says my apprentice told her she ought to sit down more often.”

“Was she wrong?”

“No. That will make her considerably harder to live with.”

She folded the note carefully.

“Did Bera say how the children are?”

“Better.”

Arwen’s face softened.

For a moment, she looked older than she usually allowed herself to look.

Then someone called from the next room.

She tucked the letter into her pocket and went.

Aurelia told us she was ready two nights later.

We were in the garden room when she said it.

Evelyn had been describing Garrick’s latest attempt to pull himself toward a toy by gripping the blanket beneath it.

“He brings the fish closer,” she said. “And seems entirely satisfied.”

“A sensible approach,” Aurelia replied.

Then she looked at me.

“Would tomorrow afternoon suit them?”

I stopped turning my cup.

“Yes.”

“If they’re awake.”

“We can bring them even if—”

“Uriah.”

I smiled.

“If they’re awake.”

Evelyn hesitated.

“May Mother and Father come?”

Aurelia looked surprised.

Then pleased.

“I would like that.”

Helena received the invitation without speaking.

That was unusual enough that Garrick looked up from the hinge he was repairing.

Evelyn repeated the time.

Her mother nodded.

Then sat down.

Garrick put the hinge aside.

“Both of us?”

“Yes, Father.”

He rubbed his thumb over a mark on his hand.

“What does one bring?”

I thought of flowers.

An offering.

Something carved.

Evelyn answered before I could decide.

“Yourselves.”

Helena reached for her husband’s hand.

For once, neither of them suggested anything further.

The twins disagreed about the afternoon.

Garrick woke cheerful.

Carol woke offended by something that had happened while she was asleep.

We fed them.

Changed them.

Found both fish.

Lost one beneath a chair.

Found it again.

By the time we reached the chapel, I had a damp patch on my shoulder and Evelyn’s hair had escaped its pins on one side.

Helena reached to fix it.

My wife shook her head.

“It will only happen again.”

Her mother smiled and lowered her hand.

Inside, the chair stood beside the basin.

The blanket remained folded over its arm.

We sat together and waited.

Carol grumbled against me.

I kissed the top of her head.

“I know.”

The water stirred.

Garrick noticed first.

His gaze shifted toward the basin.

Gold gathered beside the chair.

Helena’s fingers closed around her husband’s sleeve.

Aurelia appeared more steadily this time.

There was still a moment when the candlelight showed through her shoulder.

Then she was there.

She looked at the four of us.

And the two small people who had occupied nearly every thought we had brought into the room.

“Oh,” she said softly.

Carol stopped grumbling.

Aurelia greeted Helena by name.

Then Garrick.

My father-in-law had risen.

He looked as though he had prepared something respectful and now could not locate it.

Aurelia held out her hand.

“I have wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the cradles.”

He looked toward his grandson.

Then back at her.

“They were a pleasure to make.”

“I know.”

She said it with such warmth that his face changed.

Helena took Aurelia’s other hand.

“Thank you for looking after our daughter.”

Aurelia glanced at Evelyn.

“She has been looking after me too.”

My wife lowered her eyes.

I knew she was smiling.

We settled close around the chair.

Evelyn held Garrick while Aurelia touched his small fingers.

He closed his hand around hers.

Firmly.

She laughed.

“There you are.”

He studied her face.

Then smiled.

Aurelia did not look away.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Carol decided she had waited long enough.

She leaned toward the sound and made a demanding little noise.

I moved closer.

“Yes,” Aurelia told her. “You too.”

Our daughter accepted a finger.

Then tried to pull it toward her mouth.

“I brought an alternative,” I said.

I offered the fish.

Aurelia examined its crooked eye.

“A fine creature.”

“His brother is equally distinguished,” Evelyn said.

I sat beside Aurelia with Carol against my chest.

My daughter’s hand rested on her wrist.

We stayed that way while Evelyn told her about the twins’ mornings.

Which window Garrick liked.

How Carol watched the nursery door when she heard familiar footsteps.

The song Helena used when neither baby wished to settle.

“What song?” Aurelia asked.

Helena looked slightly embarrassed.

“An old one.”

“Would you sing it?”

My mother-in-law glanced at us.

Then began.

Her voice was quiet.

Something about a wren beneath the eaves and a child who ought to close their eyes.

Garrick had heard it often enough to relax against Evelyn.

Carol continued gripping Aurelia.

I watched our ancestor listen to a song that had survived without a book, passed from one tired parent to another.

When Helena finished, Aurelia wiped her cheek with her free hand.

“That was lovely.”

She tired sooner than any of us wanted.

This time, I noticed before the gold began to loosen.

The slight effort in her breath.

The way she settled farther into the cushion.

Evelyn saw it too.

“We should let you rest.”

Aurelia looked at the children.

Then nodded.

She kissed Garrick’s fingers.

Carol objected when I gently opened her hand.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Aurelia leaned close enough to kiss our daughter’s forehead.

“You may complain,” she told her.

Carol did.

Aurelia laughed as she faded.

The sound remained for a moment after the chair was empty.

We left the chapel slowly.

Helena carried Garrick.

Her husband walked beside her with one hand beneath our son’s feet, though they required no particular assistance.

Evelyn and I followed.

Carol had fallen asleep against me.

At the courtyard steps, Garrick stopped.

He looked back through the open door.

“I should make her a chair.”

Evelyn’s mouth trembled.

“Father, she liked that one.”

“I know.”

He considered the chapel again.

“One that belongs here.”

Helena slipped her hand into his.

Nobody argued.

Later, Evelyn brought her sketchbook to the nursery.

I expected her to draw the chair.

Or Aurelia’s face.

Instead, she began with hands.

Helena’s folded around Garrick’s sleeve.

Our son’s tiny fingers.

Carol gripping Aurelia as though she had every intention of keeping her.

I watched the pencil move.

“Will you paint it?”

“I think so.”

She paused.

Then added the crooked fish beside Aurelia’s hand.

I sat on the floor near the blanket while the twins slept.

For a while, the only sounds were their breathing and Evelyn’s pencil.

Then my wife looked up.

“What colour was her sleeve?”

“Cream. With gold near the cuff.”

“I thought so.”

She made a small note.

I leaned back against her chair.

“We can ask her.”

Evelyn’s pencil stopped.

Then she rested her hand in my hair.

“Yes,” she said.

“We can.”