Ch. 224 The Lives We Might Have

Chapter 224: The Lives We Might Have

Garrick fell asleep with one hand on his boat.

It took me several minutes to free it.

The boat had been finished that morning. His grandfather had given it a blue sail, which our son had immediately tried to pull loose.

Carol had wanted the sail too.

Helena solved the dispute by offering her a strip of the same cloth for her carved horse. Carol tied it around the horse’s neck and wore it herself for most of the afternoon.

Now both children were asleep.

Evelyn closed the nursery door partway.

“You can leave the boat beside him,” she whispered.

“I know. I was checking the sail.”

“You’ve checked it four times.”

“His grandfather would want me to check again.”

We sat by the fire in our room.

Evelyn had one of Garrick’s sleeves in her lap. He had caught it on a chair, and the tear had grown while he tried to free himself without help.

I watched her set a stitch.

Beyond the window, snow fell somewhere north of the ridge. I could feel it moving through the dark without reaching for it.

“Would you want another child?” I asked.

Evelyn’s needle stopped.

I had meant to find my way to the question slowly.

“Someday,” I added. “I’m asking about someday.”

She laid the sleeve across her knee.

“I know.”

For a moment, she looked toward the nursery.

Then she said, “Maybe one more.”

I turned to her.

“That was quicker than I expected.”

“I’ve thought about it.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I wasn’t certain there was anything to tell.”

She took my hand.

“I love the family we have. I can imagine another child here. That’s as far as I’ve gone.”

“Maybe one more,” I repeated.

“Yes. Maybe. You may try saying it without looking startled.”

“I’ll need practice.”

Evelyn smiled.

Then her expression grew thoughtful.

“Is there a reason you asked tonight?”

“Tomorrow is close.”

“You’re wondering what life will be like afterward.”

“I’ve wondered for months. Tonight I realized I’d been picturing everything we already have, as though nothing new could happen after I change.”

“Our lives won’t stop.”

“I know.”

I looked toward the closed door.

“Carol and Garrick are growing so quickly. Sometimes I miss a part of their day because I was at the walls or on the road. I’d like to know I haven’t already seen the last time we hold a baby of our own.”

Evelyn leaned against me.

“I understand.”

She let the silence rest before speaking again.

“We should ask whether it’s possible.”

“For us?”

“For a god and a mortal.”

“I don’t know whom to ask without inviting twelve opinions about how many children we ought to have.”

“Aurelia will answer the question we bring her.”

“And Thesra?”

“She’ll answer at least two more.”

“That is what I’m afraid of.”

Evelyn laughed softly.

“Then we’ll ask them together.”

We found Aurelia the next morning in the garden room with Maelin and Thesra.

A stack of replies to the Accord lay on the table, though none of the three was reading them. They had tea and appeared to have been arguing.

Aurelia looked up.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” Evelyn said. “We have a question.”

“That has been how several difficult mornings began.”

“This one is about our family,” I said.

Aurelia’s face changed.

Maelin set down her cup.

I sat beside Evelyn.

“If I ascend, can we still have a child?”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Aurelia asked, “Is that something you want?”

“Perhaps,” Evelyn said. “One more, someday. We want to know whether the choice remains open to us.”

“It does,” Maelin said.

I looked at her.

“You’re certain?”

“A god and a mortal can have a child. I have known families in which one parent was a god.”

Thesra nodded.

Aurelia looked at Evelyn.

“That answers whether it is possible. It does not tell us what a pregnancy would be like for you.”

“We didn’t expect you to know everything,” Evelyn said.

“I wanted to say it clearly.”

“Would a child be divine?” I asked.

“We cannot promise that,” Maelin said. “Nor can we promise a child would be mortal in the way you and Evelyn were born.”

“Carol and Garrick have already complicated that distinction,” Thesra added.

“They have,” I said.

Aurelia reached across the table.

“There would be care available to Evelyn. The same care she gives others, with as many people beside her as she wanted. She would decide when she wished to be examined and by whom.”

Evelyn nodded.

“Thank you.”

“You needn’t decide whether to have another child before tomorrow,” Aurelia said.

“We aren’t going to.”

I hesitated.

Thesra noticed.

“You have another question.”

“Othellos would be interested.”

“That is likely,” she said.

“And the child would have no say in it.”

“No child has a say in the world into which they’re born,” Evelyn replied. “That is why their parents make a home for them.”

She had spoken gently.

I looked at her.

“We’d have to think about safety.”

“We would. We already do.”

Aurelia kept her hand on the table.

“You’re allowed to want a future without first knowing how to make every part of it safe.”

I let out a breath.

“I’m trying to learn that.”

As we rose, Thesra spoke to Evelyn.

“If you want to talk about carrying another child, you may come to me without Uriah.”

“I know.”

“And to me,” Aurelia said.

“I know that too.”

I looked between them.

“I helped ask the first question.”

“You did,” Evelyn told me.

Maelin stood.

“Then you can help with another.”

“What?”

“Come with me. There are two seals on the southern gate I want you to look at.”

Evelyn gave me a kiss before I could protest.

Apparently our conversation was finished.

For now, I found that I was glad.

I never reached the southern gate.

Mary met us at the stair with two letters.

Eliza and Ivara followed her.

“The first is from Othellos’s court,” Mary said.

Nathaniel stood beside the window. His cloak carried dust from the road.

“You delivered our copy?” I asked.

“To the agreed courier station,” he said. “Eliza’s guard witnessed it received. Ivara’s separate route confirmed the other copy entered the hall.”

Mary held up the reply.

“And he sent this by the ordinary post.”

“The paper itself?” Thesra asked.

“The Castellan checked it at the gate. You should check it too.”

Thesra passed a hand above the folded letter.

“There is no working in the seal.”

We gathered in Mary’s office.

It was a poor room for that many people, but she had the records there and declined to move them.

She opened the letter.

Othellos refused to acknowledge the Accord of Greykeep as a legitimate pantheon.

He named its founding gods as members of his high court. He stated that no declaration made elsewhere released them from its offices or authority.

“That seems clear,” I said.

“There are four more pages,” Mary replied.

“Of course there are.”

They cited appointments, precedents, and decisions recorded by clerks who had served Othellos.

Ivara read each page after Mary.

“What does he ask us to do?” Eliza said.

“Nothing directly,” Mary answered.

“He’s asserting his claim,” Aurelia said.

“Does the claim open anything in our wards?” I asked the Castellan.

“No.”

“Does it summon anyone?”

Thesra took the pages and read them once more.

“No. It is a refusal in writing.”

Maelin had been quiet.

“He thinks that if he names our old offices enough times, we will begin answering to them again.”

Aurelia looked at her.

“Will you?”

“No.”

Thesra took her place beside Maelin.

“Neither will I.”

Ivara laid the letter flat.

“We should preserve every page. The reply tells us what he asserts, and what he has chosen not to address.”

“The right to leave,” Mary said.

“Complaints brought by mortals,” Evelyn added.

“Consent to healing,” Aurelia said.

Eliza folded her arms.

“Are we answering?”

“Yes,” Maelin said.

“Not immediately,” Mary replied. “We can let every founding member read it first.”

I looked at Aurelia.

“He refused to recognize you.”

“He has refused many things that exist,” she said.

Mary’s pen moved.

“That should go in our private account,” she said.

Aurelia glanced at her.

“Private?”

“I am not giving him the pleasure of knowing it made us laugh.”

Mary placed the second letter in the middle of her desk.

Its seal bore the mark of Concordia.

The reply acknowledged that King Lexander and Queen Io had received the charter. Their council intended to study it before making a formal statement.

“Fair,” Eliza said.

“There’s another page,” Mary told us.

It had been folded separately.

The writing was larger and pressed more firmly into the paper.

Mary read the signature first.

“Thor.”

Veyra, who had come in during the discussion, lifted her head.

“The goddess of lightning?”

“Yes,” Mary said.

Thor wanted to visit Greykeep.

She asked to speak with Aurelia, the founding gods, and me, and to see how the Accord worked among the people living here. She would send notice before traveling.

“That sounds reasonable,” Aurelia said.

“Wait until you’ve read the rest,” Mary replied.

Thor had included a warning.

Surtr had taken an interest in Lexander and Io’s children, Ignatius and Seraphina. Concordia had increased its care around them.

Thor did not claim to know whether Surtr had heard of Carol and Garrick.

She believed we should guard what we told strangers about the twins’ abilities.

I listened as Mary read the paragraph again.

“Does she say what Surtr wants?” I asked.

“No.”

“What does she know of him?”

“The letter doesn’t say,” Mary replied. “She offers to tell us what she can when she visits.”

Aurelia rested a hand against the back of my chair.

“She chose to warn us before asking to come inside our walls.”

“Yes,” I said.

I was grateful for it.

Eliza asked Mary for a copy.

“We should look at what information already travels with the messengers.”

“People know the twins’ names,” Mary said. “They know the king and queen have children.”

“They don’t need accounts of what Carol does with a doorway,” Evelyn replied.

“Those records stay with us and the Castellan,” I said.

“They already do,” Mary said.

“Then we continue that care,” Aurelia said. “We needn’t treat every traveler as a danger.”

Eliza nodded.

“I want the guards to know Thor is expected. I don’t want someone hearing goddess of lightning at the gate and deciding on the spot whether to let her through.”

“That,” Melody said, “would be a difficult decision to make in the rain.”

Veyra looked toward the window.

“I would like to meet her.”

Mary began a reply.

Thor would be welcome to visit under the same arrangements as other divine guests. We would arrange a time, meet her at the gate, and allow her to speak with the founding members who wished to join her.

I told her to add that we could ask the castellan about possible wards they could use to prevent anyone they don’t want from reaching the children.

We thanked her for the warning.

“Should we tell her Uriah is crossing tomorrow?” Evelyn asked.

I thought for a moment.

“She needs to know if she plans to travel at once.”

Mary wrote that a major working was planned at Greykeep and asked Thor to send word before setting a date.

She left its nature out of the letter.

Thor could ask when she came.

After the meeting, I went to the nursery.

Helena sat on the rug with the twins.

Garrick had placed his boat beneath a chair and was trying to bring it out without lowering his head. Carol held her cloth book open on her knees.

“Papa,” she said.

I sat beside her.

“Hello.”

She turned to the little house.

“Door.”

“Yes.”

“Open.”

She lifted the cloth flap.

Garrick retrieved his boat and set it in my lap.

“You’ve both accomplished something,” I told them.

Helena watched me over Carol’s head.

“Was the letter difficult?”

“One of them. The other was useful.”

I told her about Thor’s warning.

Her gaze moved to the twins.

“We’ll be careful,” she said.

“We will.”

Then Carol asked me to close the little door so she could open it again.

At supper, Garrick Valewood wanted to know whether Thor was coming as a visitor from Concordia or as an envoy of its rulers.

“Her letter says she wants to visit for herself,” I said.

“Good. We’ll ask her what she thinks before deciding what anyone else thinks.”

He cut a piece of bread for his grandson.

“Did Othellos ask for anything in his reply?”

“No. He refused to recognize the Accord.”

Garrick looked toward Aurelia.

“Are you still living here?”

“Yes.”

“Then his letter has failed to settle much.”

Mary, seated beside him, nearly smiled.

That night, Evelyn finished mending the sleeve.

She turned it inside out and checked the seam.

“You’ve been thinking about this morning,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Which part?”

“The answer you gave me.”

“Maybe one more?”

“I like hearing it.”

“It is still a maybe.”

“I know.”

I took the sleeve from her and set it aside.

“I don’t want Othellos or Surtr to decide whether we have another child.”

“Neither do I.”

“We can wait until we know what tomorrow changes.”

“We can.”

I went to the window.

Snow moved beyond the northern ridge.

The distance felt smaller than it once had.

Tomorrow, I would return to the threshold and choose whether to cross it.

Othellos’s refusal lay on Mary’s desk. Thor’s warning lay beside it.

Neither letter could tell us how our family would live afterward.

Evelyn came to stand beside me.

I let the snow remain where it was and reached for her hand.