Ch. 231 Gold in Them There Hills

Chapter 231: Gold in Them There Hills

Damar joined the council after supper.

Not to discuss Othellos.

Not at first.

Damar placed both hands flat against the table.

“Your territory is wealthy.”

Mary looked toward the city plans.

“In people?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at her.

“Also in what lies beneath them.”

The Castellan produced a regional map.

Damar did not examine it.

He closed his eyes.

The floor trembled faintly.

I felt his awareness move downward.

Through cellars.

Foundations.

Old tunnels.

Buried roads.

Then farther.

Into the ridges surrounding Greykeep.

Beneath the forests.

Below the river.

Damar opened his eyes.

“There are rich veins of silver in the northern ridge.”

Eleanor leaned forward.

“How rich?”

“Enough to support careful mining for several generations.”

Mary’s pen stopped.

Damar continued.

“Copper lies nearer the eastern slope. Iron beneath the southern hills. There is gold, though less than your stories will claim once people hear of it.”

“That is usually how gold works,” Melody said.

“There are gemstones beneath the western heights. Blue crystal. Red garnet. Smaller deposits of emerald.”

The room remained silent.

I looked at the map.

All that wealth had been beneath us while we worried about paying builders, equipping soldiers, expanding the city, and constructing the chapel.

“How did nobody find it?” I asked.

“Some did.”

Damar tapped the northern ridge.

“Old workings exist here. They collapsed long ago.”

The Castellan’s eyes dimmed.

“I retain no record.”

“Then they predate what you remember.”

“Can the old workings be reopened?” Eleanor asked.

“Perhaps.”

“Safely?”

“Not without examination.”

Damar sat back.

“I will help you find the veins. I will help plan the shafts. I can hear strain before stone breaks. I can identify poisoned air and unstable ground.”

“What do you want in return?” Eliza asked.

“Shelter.”

“Only shelter?”

Damar looked at her.

“No.”

That answer pleased her more than a simple yes would have.

“I want the workers protected. I want no child sent below ground. I want no debt used to hold a person in a mine. I want the earth restored where extraction ends. And I want no god claiming the wealth as tribute.”

Mary wrote every word.

“The city will need the metal,” I said.

Damar nodded.

“So will your army.”

“Can we mine enough without damaging the ridge?”

“Yes, if you accept that enough is not the same as everything.”

Eleanor looked at the map.

“We’ll need survey teams.”

“Miners,” Melody said.

“Experienced ones.”

“Supports. Ventilation. Roads.”

“Smelters,” Halen added from the wall.

Everyone turned toward him.

He had spoken only twice since arriving.

“Metal in stone does not build a gate,” he said.

Eleanor nodded slowly.

“You should come to the workshop tomorrow.”

Halen looked relieved.

“I hoped you would ask.”

We agreed that no claim would be announced until the surveys were complete.

That decision lasted until breakfast the following morning.

Perrin overheard Eleanor request new measuring cord.

One of the stable workers heard him ask whether mining carts needed hinges.

By noon, half the lower city believed we had discovered a mountain made entirely of gold.

By supper, the mountain contained diamonds.

The next morning, someone asked Mary whether every citizen would receive a personal emerald.

Mary added public notices to her list.

Damar read one.

It stated that surveys were underway and no mine had opened.

He considered.

“You should also say the mountain is not made of gold.”

“We did not think that required clarification,” Mary said.

“It will by evening.”

He was correct.

The twins began their lessons in the nursery.

Aurelia insisted that the first lesson contain no deliberate use of power.

Instead, she placed three wooden bowls on the floor.

One was marked with a blue line.

One red.

One plain.

“When we use power,” she told them, “we ask.”

Carol pointed to the blue bowl.

“Ask.”

“Yes.”

Garrick picked up the red bowl.

“No.”

“Sometimes.”

He put it over his head.

The lesson paused.

Aurelia tried again.

The blue bowl meant a power could be practiced.

The red bowl meant stop.

The plain bowl meant ordinary play.

Carol understood quickly.

Garrick understood too.

He preferred the plain bowl because it could be rolled across the floor.

Dorian created a small light.

Carol looked toward Aurelia.

“Ask?”

Aurelia placed the blue bowl between them.

Carol reached for the light.

It settled into her hand.

She smiled.

Then Garrick moved it into the plain bowl without crossing the space between.

Aurelia placed the red bowl down.

“No.”

He returned the light immediately.

We all stared.

Garrick clapped for himself.

“He listened,” Evelyn said.

“He did,” Aurelia replied.

“Should we praise him?”

“Yes.”

Everyone praised Garrick.

Carol frowned.

She created her own light.

Then extinguished it when Aurelia placed the red bowl down.

We praised her too.

The twins looked at each other.

Something passed between them.

Not power.

A decision.

They began producing and extinguishing tiny lights as quickly as possible.

The nursery flashed.

Aurelia covered her eyes.

“This is not the lesson.”

The twins laughed.

The first divine nursery lesson ended shortly afterward.

Preparations for their second birthday continued.

Helena had already begun altering clothes they had not yet worn.

Garrick Valewood carved two small chairs, then reinforced them after Carol stood on one.

Evelyn wanted the celebration smaller than their first birthday.

Mary had compiled a guest list that suggested she interpreted smaller as a philosophical goal.

Aurelia began repairing the cloth book.

The house page had survived.

The ribbon door had not.

Carol had discovered she could make it open without touching it.

Garrick had discovered he could move it elsewhere.

We found it inside one of my boots.

Some traditions remained.

Aurelia’s birthday would follow not long afterward.

The holiday had been my idea.

That meant everyone else had been required to make it practical.

Gifts.

Decorations.

Food shared beyond individual households.

Visits to people who might otherwise spend the day alone.

Offerings to the chapel that would be distributed rather than stored.

Aurelia had objected to statues.

We had not proposed statues.

She objected in advance.

Now we needed a name.

Mary brought a list to the council chamber.

“Aurelia’s Day,” she read.

“No,” Aurelia said.

“The Feast of Aurelia.”

“No.”

“The Golden Mercy.”

“No.”

“The Day of Divine Compassion.”

Melody looked pained.

“That sounds like a sermon nobody escapes.”

Aurelia agreed.

“Hearthlight,” Evelyn suggested.

The room became quiet.

She rested one hand on the back of my chair.

“It is held during winter. People light their homes. They give something to another person. The chapel keeps its doors open. It honors Aurelia without requiring every use of the day to be about her.”

Aurelia considered.

“I like that.”

Mary wrote it down.

“Hearthlight Day?” I asked.

“Only Hearthlight,” Evelyn said.

“That is better.”

Melody leaned back.

“We could hang colored cloth through the streets.”

“High enough that Carol cannot reach it,” Helena said.

“No height has proven sufficient,” Melody replied.

Damar touched the stone tabletop.

“Lantern niches could be cut into the outer walls.”

Eleanor looked at him.

“Without weakening them?”

“Yes.”

“Show me tomorrow.”

Halen spoke from beside her.

“We could build wooden lantern frames for the lower streets.”

Sava smiled.

“And songs.”

Mary added three new sections to the plan.

Aurelia watched the holiday grow beyond her.

Her eyes shone.

“You intended gifts?” she asked me.

“Yes.”

“To me?”

“To each other.”

She looked relieved.

Then suspicious.

“Will people still bring things to the chapel?”

“Food. Blankets. Things that can be given away.”

“That is acceptable.”

Mary underlined the name.

Hearthlight had begun.

She turned the page.

“One more unresolved matter.”

I looked at the stack before her.

“Only one?”

“One that should have been resolved years ago.”

“That does not narrow it.”

“The city.”

“What about it?”

Mary stared at me.

“It has no official name.”

“Greykeep.”

“That is the castle.”

“People call the settlement Greykeep.”

“People also call the eastern slope Mud Hill.”

Melody raised a hand.

“It is accurate.”

“We are not putting it on a charter,” Mary said.

The room quieted as everyone considered the problem we had allowed to grow around us.

Greykeep had once meant one fortress.

Then a refuge beneath its walls.

Then streets.

Workshops.

Homes.

The chapel.

The new districts marked across Mary and the Castellan’s expansion plans.

Thousands of people now lived where there had once been only stone and memory.

“What have we written on agreements?” Evelyn asked.

“Greykeep and its surrounding settlement,” Mary replied.

Thor had signed an alliance with that phrase repeated seven times.

I understood why the document had been so thick.

“I wanted to wait for the citizens,” I said.

“I remember.”

“Then we should ask them.”

Mary tapped her pen against the page.

“How?”

The council proposed names.

That failed immediately.

Caldris suggested Accord.

Mary said it would be confused with the pantheon’s charter.

Dorian suggested Beacon.

Nathaniel said there were already four towns named Beacon.

Damar suggested Deepstone.

Melody said nobody would move willingly to a city that sounded buried.

Aurelia refused any name containing Aurelia.

I refused any name containing Uriah.

Someone outside the chamber suggested New Greykeep.

Mary closed the door.

“We ask every district for names,” Evelyn said.

Mary opened the book again.

“Each household?”

“Each resident,” I said.

“That will produce thousands.”

“Good.”

Mary’s expression suggested that, for once, I had created enough paperwork to injure her.

Melody smiled.

“You said the citizens should choose.”

“I did.”

“And now Mary must record democracy.”

Mary looked at her.

“I can hear you.”

“That was intentional.”

We settled on a process.

Every resident could submit one name.

Mary’s staff would remove duplicates.

The council would reject only names that were already in use, openly insulting, or impossible to place on a sign.

The remaining choices would be posted in every district.

A second round would narrow them.

A final vote would decide.

“No divine influence,” Thesra said.

“No royal preference,” Mary added.

Everyone looked at me.

“I wasn’t going to give one.”

“You will have one,” Evelyn said.

“I will keep it private.”

Melody laughed.

“You have never kept an opinion private.”

“I have.”

“When?”

I could not remember.

Mary wrote that the king’s ballot would remain sealed like everyone else’s.

That evening, the first collection boxes were placed in the great hall and lower market.

Perrin built them.

They had hinges.

This time, hinges were appropriate.

The Castellan marked each box so no submission could be removed or altered before counting.

Maelin added a memory seal.

Ivara added a record seal.

Mary added a written warning.

Melody added a second warning stating that Mary would discover anyone who ignored the first.

By supper, twelve names had been submitted.

Six contained Greykeep.

One was Mud Hill.

Mary stared at it.

Melody looked innocent.

I returned to our room after the children slept.

Evelyn sat before the mirror brushing her hair.

I changed my shirt.

The clean one fit no better than the first.

She watched me through the mirror.

“You need new clothes.”

“I need my old body to stop changing.”

“You may need both.”

I sat beside her.

The pale color had spread farther through my hair.

My eyes still looked like frozen glass with lightning caught around their edges.

I expected the face in the mirror to feel like someone else’s.

It did not.

Not entirely.

Evelyn rested her chin against my shoulder.

“You’re staring.”

“I am trying to decide whether I still look like me.”

“You do.”

“Only more handsome?”

“Considerably.”

I turned toward her.

“That sounded rehearsed.”

“It was not.”

“You answered quickly.”

“I have been considering it all day.”

That silenced me.

She smiled and kissed the corner of my mouth.

Outside, wind moved along the castle wall.

I heard the city beyond it.

The unnamed city.

Hammers in a workshop.

A song from Sava’s new room near the chapel.

Damar walking beneath the lower foundations.

Mary sorting slips of paper.

Melody telling someone that Mud Hill possessed historical significance.

Farther above us, the twins slept in their newly lengthened beds.

Two years approached.

So did Hearthlight.

A holiday now had a name.

A city did not.

Beneath both, silver, iron, copper, gold, and gems waited in darkness.

Beyond the western hills, Thor carried our agreement toward Concordia.

And in the mirror, winter continued spreading through my hair.

I extinguished the lamp.

For an instant, my eyes still shone.

Frost in the center.

Lightning at the edges.

Evelyn took my hand in the dark.

Whatever else changed, she recognized me.

For that night, it was enough.