Ch. 233 The Power They Share

Chapter 233: The Power They Share

The nursery remained quiet for three days.

The twins did not stop using power.

Carol still made small lights when the room grew dark.

Garrick still moved toys without carrying them across the space between.

Both could warm their blankets.

Both could summon frost.

Once, Carol placed her hand against a crack in a wooden block and closed it with a thread of Aurelia’s healing.

The altered wards had stopped new power from flowing directly through their room.

They had not removed anything the children already carried.

That had been the purpose.

It was still unsettling to see how much remained.

On the fourth morning, the western gate sounded.

Then the southern.

Then the western again.

The Castellan stood beside the breakfast table with his head tilted.

“How many?” I asked.

“Five divine presences.”

Mary put down her spoon.

“Together?”

“Three at the western gate. Two approaching from the southern road.”

Melody reached for another piece of bread.

“They’re becoming organized.”

Eliza stood.

“That is not reassuring.”

“It could be.”

“Organized enemies are rarely an improvement.”

Aurelia looked toward the wall.

“They are not attacking.”

“Yet,” Eliza said.

She left to alert the guards.

Melody took the bread with her.

The western group had walked the last several miles.

Their clothes carried road dust and patches of half-melted snow.

The first was a thin man named Talven.

He tended granaries, preserved food, and the labor that kept a harvest useful after it left the field.

The second, Kesra, carried a sleeping fox inside her cloak.

Her domain concerned animals that chose to live beside mortals.

Not beasts of war.

Not wild creatures claimed by hunters.

Dogs near hearths.

Cats in barns.

Horses that trusted hands.

The fox opened one eye when she introduced herself.

Then returned to sleep.

The third goddess said her name was Rysa.

She looked older than Aurelia.

Not ancient.

Old enough that silver ran through her dark hair and fine lines gathered around her eyes.

She carried no weapon.

Only a cloth bag containing toys.

“Your domain?” Mary asked.

Rysa looked toward the walls.

“Childcare.”

Mary’s pen paused.

“Children?”

“Their care. Safe infancy. The burdens carried by those who raise them. Protection that does not become possession.”

Aurelia’s expression changed.

Not recognition.

Interest.

Rysa looked at her.

“You are the healer.”

“One of them.”

“And Uriah?”

I raised one hand.

Lightning sparked at the edge of my eye.

Rysa studied me.

“The new storm.”

“I would prefer Uriah.”

“Good.”

She looked toward the nursery tower.

The movement was slight.

I noticed anyway.

“Our children are not part of your entry examination,” I said.

“No.”

She met my gaze.

“They should not be.”

I liked her more for that answer.

All three accepted the terms of entry.

Talven’s crossing made the grain stored beneath the kitchens feel suddenly distinct.

I could not sense it.

Mary could.

She turned toward the lower halls.

“We have seven sacks beginning to spoil.”

Talven nodded.

“Eight.”

Beatrice left the yard before anyone dismissed her.

Kesra crossed next.

Every horse in the stable became quiet.

Dogs throughout the lower city began barking.

Not in warning.

Greeting.

The fox inside her cloak woke and climbed onto her shoulder.

Then Rysa stepped into Greykeep.

Nothing obvious happened.

No light.

No sound.

From somewhere inside the castle, a crying child became quiet.

Rysa closed her eyes.

Only for a moment.

Then she followed us inside.

The two gods at the southern gate arrived before midday.

One refused to give his name until he had slept.

Greykeep admitted him under a temporary designation Mary recorded as the unnamed god from the southern road.

He disliked that.

He still refused to provide an alternative.

The other was a goddess named Pelen, whose domain concerned thresholds crossed by people returning home.

Nathaniel came to meet her.

They spoke for an hour beside the gate.

Neither appeared angry.

Mary recorded that too.

Rooms filled.

The kitchens adjusted.

Eliza added patrols.

The pantheon gained no new members that day.

Sanctuary did not require immediate allegiance.

Aurelia insisted upon that.

Rysa slept until the following afternoon.

When she woke, she ate two bowls of stew and asked for a bath.

Only after both did she request a meeting.

Evelyn and I joined her in the small room beside the chapel.

Aurelia came with us.

Mary appeared with a book.

Rysa looked at her.

“Is that necessary?”

“Yes,” Mary said.

Rysa considered.

“Good.”

Mary sat.

“I heard about your children before I reached Greykeep,” Rysa said.

“From whom?” I asked.

“People leaving Othellos’s court.”

My eyes sparked.

The lamp flame leaned away from me.

Evelyn placed her hand over mine.

Rysa watched the movement.

“They know the children are powerful,” she continued. “They do not know why.”

“Do you?”

“Not yet.”

She folded her hands.

“I would like permission to examine them.”

“What kind of examination?” Evelyn asked.

“Observation. Play. A light touch against their power if they permit it.”

“They cannot understand everything you might find.”

“No.”

“Then their consent cannot replace ours.”

Rysa nodded.

“It should not.”

Aurelia leaned forward.

“What do you suspect?”

“That their growth is not caused by the wards alone.”

We did not agree immediately.

Rysa did not press.

She answered every question.

She would not place power inside them.

She would not draw power out.

She would stop if either child became distressed.

Aurelia would remain present.

So would Evelyn and I.

The Castellan would close the nursery to every divine contribution except Aurelia’s healing and my connection to the children.

Rysa accepted every condition.

Then she added one of her own.

“No council.”

Mary looked up.

“No witnesses beyond those the children know.”

“I am known,” Mary said.

Rysa studied her.

“Do they come to you when they are frightened?”

Mary’s expression changed.

“Sometimes.”

“Then you may attend without the book.”

Mary looked wounded.

But she agreed.

The examination took place the following morning.

Before Rysa entered, the Castellan checked the nursery three times.

The divine channels still passed around it.

Not through.

Every contribution had been separated.

Damar’s awareness of stone.

Talven’s sense of stored food.

Kesra’s bond with companion animals.

None touched the room.

Rysa stood outside the door.

“Ready?”

“No,” I said.

Evelyn looked at me.

“We are still doing it.”

“That answer appears often in this family.”

Aurelia opened the door.

Rysa sat on the floor.

She placed her cloth bag beside her and waited.

Carol watched from Evelyn’s lap.

Garrick stood against my knee.

Rysa did not call them.

She opened the bag.

Inside were wooden animals.

Cloth dolls.

Stacking cups.

A ball made from tightly wound yarn.

Garrick looked at the ball.

Rysa rolled it toward herself.

Then away.

Carol slid down from Evelyn’s lap.

Within minutes, both children sat across from the goddess.

No power had been used.

That was the first test.

Rysa gave Carol a cloth doll.

Our daughter examined its face.

Then its clothing.

The doll’s dress had one loose fastening.

Carol tried to close it.

When her fingers failed, a tiny line of light appeared.

The fastening repaired itself.

Aurelia felt the working.

“Healing,” she said.

Rysa nodded.

“More precisely, repair shaped by care.”

Garrick took the yarn ball.

He pushed it beneath one cup.

Then looked at Rysa.

“Gone.”

She lifted the cup.

The ball was no longer there.

It dropped from inside my coat.

I stared at it.

Garrick laughed.

“Nathaniel’s crossings,” I said.

“No,” Rysa replied. “Not entirely.”

She retrieved the ball and returned it to him.

Then she placed a wooden dog beside a wooden horse.

“What does the dog need?”

Carol picked it up.

“Home.”

Warmth gathered in her hands.

Nara’s domain.

The little wooden dog smelled briefly of smoke and bread.

“What does the horse need?” Rysa asked.

Garrick considered.

“Food.”

Talven had arrived in Greykeep the day before.

His contribution did not pass through the nursery.

He had not met the twins.

Still, Garrick pointed toward the wall.

Far below us, one of the eight spoiling grain sacks split open.

The Castellan spoke through the bronze fitting.

“Stored grain disturbance detected.”

Mary’s hands twitched as though reaching for the book she had been forced to leave outside.

Talven was not connected to the nursery.

He had never held Garrick.

He had never demonstrated his domain near him.

That should have mattered.

Rysa looked toward Carol.

“What does the fox need?”

Carol’s gaze went to the closed door.

Kesra’s fox rested three floors below.

“Asleep,” she said.

At that exact moment, the fox woke.

It climbed from Kesra’s lap, crossed her room, and sat facing the nursery tower.

Kesra came to the passage outside.

She did not enter.

The fox placed one paw against the door.

Inside the nursery, Carol smiled.

“The wards are not giving them these connections,” Evelyn said.

“No,” Rysa replied.

“How, then?”

“Greykeep itself?”

Aurelia shook her head slowly.

“The castle recognizes belonging. It might carry awareness, but not this precisely. Not through a closed boundary.”

Rysa held out one hand to Carol.

“May I?”

Carol looked at Evelyn.

My wife nodded.

Carol put her hand in Rysa’s.

The goddess closed her eyes.

Garrick immediately moved closer.

He placed one hand over his sister’s wrist.

Rysa’s breath caught.

Something filled the room.

Gentle.

Watchful.

The certainty that a child nearby had eaten.

Was warm.

Was safe.

Rysa’s domain.

She released Carol at once.

The presence remained.

Not around Carol alone.

Between the twins.

Garrick looked at his sister.

Carol looked back.

For one strange moment, I felt them count each other.

Not numbers.

Needs.

Tiredness.

Hunger.

Safety.

Carol reached for the blanket behind Garrick and pulled it around his shoulders.

He was not cold.

He accepted it anyway.

Rysa sat very still.

“What?” I asked.

She did not answer.

“Rysa.”

Her eyes opened.

“You changed the wards recently.”

“Yes.”

“Because you believed they were receiving domains through the castle.”

“Yes.”

“They continued afterward?”

“A few abilities remained.”

“Not remained,” Rysa said. “Were retained.”

Evelyn moved closer to the twins.

“What does that mean?”

Rysa looked at Aurelia.

Then at us.

“Their domain is shared.”

“Shared between them?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“One domain divided into two people?”

“Not divided.”

She searched for the words.

“Completed by two people.”

The room became quiet.

Even the twins seemed to feel it.

Carol kept one hand on Garrick’s blanket.

He held her wrist.

“What domain?” Evelyn asked.

Rysa looked at the small light above the repaired doll’s dress.

At the folded space where the yarn ball had crossed.

At the warmth around the wooden dog.

At the awareness reaching toward Kesra’s fox and Talven’s grain.

“Mimicry,” she said.