Chapter 384: A Place at the Table

Cassia asked about the college while Mary was explaining why we could not have six people collecting the same delivery.

“Four of them had different lists,” Mary said.

“That seems to be the difficulty,” I replied.

“The difficulty is that they all returned with candles.”

Across the breakfast table, Cassia turned a spoon between her fingers.

Lysandra noticed. She had been talking with Io about a letter from Concordia, but she stopped halfway through the next sentence and looked at her friend.

Cassia set the spoon down.

“May I ask something?”

Mary closed her book with one finger marking the page.

“If it concerns candles, we have enough.”

“It doesn't.”

Something in her voice brought the rest of us quiet.

Cassia looked at Mirelle first. Then Adriana, Evelyn, and me.

“Would I be allowed to attend the college in Concordia?”

Lysandra's expression changed so quickly that I knew she had been hoping to hear the question for some time.

Mirelle put down her cup.

“Is that what you'd like?”

“Yes.”

Cassia answered without hesitation. Then, apparently worried that the answer was insufficient, she hurried on.

“I wouldn't have to leave entirely. There is the gate. I could still help here. I could arrange my lessons around the receiving rooms, and the visits to Westmere, and—”

“Cassia,” Adriana said.

Her sister stopped.

“You haven't told us what you want to study yet.”

At first, Cassia said history.

Then mathematics.

Then she admitted that she did not know enough about the subjects to choose properly.

“I want to understand how things are made to work,” she said. “A town. A school. The roads between them. How people decide what to build first when everything needs doing.”

Mary's ears shifted forward.

Cassia noticed and smiled uncertainly.

“I know you've been teaching me.”

“That doesn't prevent someone else from doing so.”

“I didn't mean—”

“I know what you meant.”

Lysandra leaned her elbows on the table.

“You could visit before deciding. Meet the teachers. See the lessons instead of trying to imagine everything from what I've told you.”

“Would that be possible?” Cassia asked.

“Yes,” Lexander said.

She looked toward him so quickly that her sleeve caught her spoon.

It fell to the floor.

Nobody moved for a moment.

Then I bent to retrieve it, remembered my side, and stopped.

Thor picked it up instead.

“A complicated question,” she observed, handing it to an attendant.

Cassia laughed, and some of the tension left her shoulders.

Lexander waited until she looked back at him.

“We can arrange a visit. The college will tell you what preparation you need and which classes would suit you.”

“I don't want you to order them to take me.”

“I wasn't going to.”

“Good.”

He smiled.

“But I can certainly help you find the right door.”

We might have settled it there if Cassia had not looked at her mother again.

There was something unfinished in that glance.

Mirelle saw it too.

“Come and sit beside me.”

Cassia moved around the table.

“Have you been worrying about asking?”

“A little.”

Lysandra examined the ceiling.

Cassia looked at her.

“You promised.”

“I'm not saying anything.”

Mirelle took her daughter's hand.

“What worried you?”

Cassia looked down at their joined fingers.

“There is so much to do here.”

“There is.”

“And people still come looking for us. For you. Sometimes for Father.”

The table grew quieter.

“I thought it might seem…” She searched for the word. “As though I was leaving them to everyone else.”

Mirelle did not answer immediately.

Adriana's hand rested against her stomach. I watched her thumb move slowly over the fabric.

“Your father expected you to be educated,” Mirelle said at last.

“By tutors.”

“Those were the arrangements available to us. They weren't a promise that you must learn in the same room forever.”

Cassia glanced at Lysandra.

“There would be other students.”

“Yes.”

“People who wouldn't already know me.”

Her voice had become softer.

I began to understand that she had imagined more than books.

Mirelle touched her cheek.

“I would like you to have that.”

Cassia swallowed.

“You wouldn't mind?”

“I would miss you when you were away. That isn't the same thing.”

From the far end of the table, Julian looked up from his bread.

“Would you come back for supper?”

Cassia turned toward him.

“Most days, if the lessons allow.”

He thought about that.

“Then you could tell us what you learned.”

“You might find it boring.”

“Grandfather explained three sorts of hinges yesterday.”

Garrick Valewood lowered his cup.

“Four.”

“I forgot one.”

“We'll go over it again.”

Julian looked back at Cassia.

“I don't think it will be boring.”

After breakfast, she stayed behind with Lysandra while Mary brought a clean sheet of paper.

It was an encouraging sign that she brought only one.

“We need to know the times of the lessons before discussing your duties,” she said.

“I could keep the same duties.”

“No.”

Cassia blinked.

Mary put the paper down.

“You could keep some. You could help arrange who takes the others. You cannot spend a full day studying and another full day working simply because both places possess clocks.”

Lysandra folded her arms.

“I've tried telling her.”

“You suggested it while carrying three baskets yourself.”

“Two. You gave me the third.”

Mary waited until they finished.

Then she asked what Cassia was doing regularly and what she had simply begun doing because she happened to be nearby.

The second list grew considerably longer.

I watched Cassia recognize the difference as she named each task.

Sorting lesson materials for Westmere. Helping at reception. Finding bedding. Carrying notes. Sitting with newcomers who recognized her family's crest and wanted news from home.

Some things she wanted to keep.

Some she had never intended to become solely responsible for.

“We can work with this,” Mary said.

Cassia studied the page.

“You make it sound possible.”

“It is possible. It will require arranging.”

Lysandra reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“I can go with you for the visit.”

“I'd like that.”

“After Julian's birthday,” I said.

Cassia straightened.

“Of course. I wasn't going to miss it.”

“I know.”

From the doorway, Julian said, “You can talk about the college on my birthday.”

We turned.

He had come back for the book he had left beside his chair.

“It's still allowed,” he added.

Cassia smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

He tucked the book beneath his arm.

“But not while we're cutting the cake.”

“A reasonable distinction,” I said.

The remaining preparations took two days.

Not two days of frantic work. Two ordinary days during which people quietly did what they had promised.

Tobin's family sent word that he could come. Tarin and Oren accepted together. Mila and Lenna asked whether there would be room for a game on the grass, and were told there would.

The two boys who had helped with the waterwheel arrived early on the second afternoon to inspect the demonstration Julian intended to give.

This resulted in another wet floor.

Garrick Valewood declared the wheel satisfactory and the bucket handling less so.

Ressa and Oswin confirmed they would attend. Chairs were arranged for Eamon and Nessa where they could be comfortable, with shade and room to move without climbing around other guests.

Mirelle chose a small table near her place for Roderic's portrait.

There would be no empty chair.

When she told Julian, he leaned against her for a moment and nodded.

That was enough.

Elsewhere, Io's supper remained four days beyond his birthday. Lisbeth kept its decorations packed away. Evelyn made certain the two celebrations did not become one expanding list.

Elyan visited the activity room to help the children test their little lights, then left when they began explaining several secrets at once.

“I believe I know too much,” he told me in the passage.

“Avoid Io until you've had time to sort it out.”

“She just asked whether I was settling in.”

“What did you say?”

“That the children were very welcoming.”

“Excellent. Keep using that.”

On Julian's birthday, I did not go to the training yard.

Avarn had already moved the lesson. Vaerun merely told me that hurricanes could wait until tomorrow, which struck me as unusually considerate of them.

Elyan sent a note wishing Julian a happy day. It arrived by an entirely ordinary messenger.

The morning began with warm bread.

Mirelle had asked for a small breakfast, and we kept it small: her children, Garrick Valewood, and those Julian had specifically pulled into the arrangement.

Evelyn, Adriana, and I joined them in the family sitting room, where the honey had been set beside a pot of tea and the windows stood open to the garden.

Julian arrived wearing comfortable clothes and an expression that suggested he was trying not to look too pleased.

Cassia rose to kiss his cheek.

“Happy birthday.”

“You've said it already.”

“That was in the passage. This is breakfast.”

Adriana opened her arms, and he went to her next, careful of the baby without needing to be reminded.

Mirelle waited until he sat beside her.

Then she kissed his forehead.

“Happy birthday, my darling.”

For a moment, he simply leaned against her.

Garrick Valewood busied himself with the bread basket.

“Well,” he said, once Julian sat upright again. “We should eat before we spoil supper.”

Mirelle's hand stopped above the honey.

Julian looked at him.

Then he laughed.

“Father used to say that.”

“So I've been told.”

“It never made sense.”

“Many things said before breakfast don't.”

Mirelle smiled, though her eyes had filled.

Julian saw both things.

He stayed beside her and reached for another piece of bread.

The first present was the chest.

Garrick brought it in after breakfast with a cloth over the lid, looking more uncertain than he had when overseeing half the repairs at Valewood.

Julian stood immediately.

“Is that—”

“You'll have to look.”

The cloth came away.

For several heartbeats, Julian did nothing but run his fingers along the carved border.

Then he opened the lid.

The tray lifted smoothly. Beneath it lay spaces for wood pieces, unfinished projects, and things none of us could yet predict he would decide to keep.

“For my tools?”

“And drawings. And whatever else needs somewhere to belong.”

Julian touched the smooth panel inside the lid.

“You left this empty.”

“For your name. You can put it there yourself.”

He looked up.

“Will you help?”

“If you want me to.”

Julian closed the lid carefully.

Then he stepped around the chest and wrapped both arms around his grandfather.

Garrick's hand settled against the back of his head.

Neither spoke for a while.

Helena arrived at the doorway in time to see them. She stayed there, smiling softly, until Julian stepped back.

Then she came in carrying a small parcel of her own and informed him that his grandfather had been unbearable about the hinges.

“They needed to be right,” Garrick said.

“They are right.”

Julian opened the lid again to test them.

I suspected the chest would be opened a great many times before anything was put inside.

By early afternoon, the garden belonged to children.

The adults were permitted to occupy its edges so long as we did not interfere with the important work of deciding which game came first.

Tobin brought a little bundle wrapped in plain cloth. He gave it to Julian with an embarrassed explanation about having made it himself.

Julian opened it to find a narrow wooden boat.

“For the channel,” Tobin said. “If it fits.”

The channel beside the waterwheel had apparently become common knowledge.

“We can try it.”

That settled the order of activities.

Tarin and Oren followed them to the demonstration, with Mila and Lenna close behind. Ressa took a seat beside Mirelle. Oswin stopped to admire the chest before being called over to look at the wheel.

Eamon's chair had been placed where he could see without anyone standing directly in front of him. Nessa sat nearby and immediately acquired the responsibility of holding three parcels that nobody wanted to put on the grass.

Carol tried to climb onto the edge of the water basin.

I intercepted her.

“Today Julian is demonstrating.”

“I can see better there.”

“You can see from here.”

She considered protesting.

Then the wheel began turning, and she forgot.

Julian explained the axle while his friends poured. Water ran down the little channel. Tobin's boat stuck against one side, freed itself, and lurched forward to considerable cheering.

Ignatius bounced on his toes.

“Again!”

“Let Julian decide,” Io told him.

Julian looked at the bucket, the boat, and his audience.

“Again,” he agreed.

Cassia and Lysandra gave him the map case together.

It was wide enough for his drawings, with a strap he could adjust and a fastening that he worked twice before looking up.

“You remembered the long paper.”

“I've watched you fold it into your coat,” Cassia said. “It was painful.”

“I only did that twice.”

“Three times,” Lysandra said.

Julian looked between them.

“You compare things I do?”

“Only when necessary.”

He grinned and tried the strap over his shoulder.

The children's gift took longer to open.

Carol had added more ribbon.

When the box finally emerged, Julian found Garrick Grey's painted figures across the lid and Ignatius's little wheeled construction nestled inside. Seraphina had added the large picture, folded with considerable difficulty, and Carol had contributed an explanation of every part before anyone could ask.

“That one's you. That one's Grandfather. The wheel stays now.”

Julian turned it gently.

It stayed.

Ignatius looked deeply relieved.

Seraphina spread the picture across the table. One corner drooped over the edge, and Lexander caught it before it reached a plate.

Julian studied the whole thing.

“I'll put it beside the chest.”

Carol climbed onto the chair next to him.

“Then you'll see it every day.”

“Yes.”

She leaned against his shoulder, satisfied.

For once, nobody asked him to help with anything.

There was a quiet moment before the cake.

Julian found Mirelle near the little table where Roderic's portrait stood. A small vase of garden flowers sat beside it, leaving enough space for her cup.

He looked at his father's painted face.

“He would have liked the boat.”

“He would have tried to improve it,” Mirelle said.

“Would it have worked?”

She considered.

“Eventually.”

Julian smiled.

Then the smile faltered.

I stood far enough away to give them room, close enough to hear when he said, “I wish he could see the chest.”

Mirelle drew him against her.

“So do I.”

She did not tell him that his father was watching. She did not try to replace the missing man with everyone who had come.

She held her son while he missed him.

After a little while, Julian wiped his cheek with the heel of his hand.

Mirelle offered him a handkerchief.

He used it, folded it poorly, and looked toward the garden.

His friends were waiting beside the tables. Not watching him. Arguing about whether the boat would go faster if the water ran from higher up.

“Can we have the cake now?” he asked.

Mirelle kissed his hair.

“Yes.”

They went together.

The cake was sensible.

This was the word Julian used when it arrived, and Garrick Valewood agreed after a solemn inspection conducted without tools.

It was also large enough that nobody could possibly mistake it for several little cakes persuaded to share a plate.

“Good foundations,” Garrick observed.

Helena took his elbow.

“You promised.”

“I haven't touched it.”

“Keep progressing in that direction.”

Julian laughed so hard that he had to wait before cutting the first slice.

There was singing. Some of it kept time with the rest.

There was no receiving line and no speech waiting at the end.

When several people began standing to offer formal wishes, Mirelle waved them gently back to their seats.

“He can hear you sitting down.”

They sat.

Julian gave his mother the first slice and his grandfather the second. Then he became distracted trying to make certain nobody received a piece without enough icing, and Cassia helped him until the distribution grew less uneven.

Evelyn sat beside Adriana beneath the shade, a plate balanced between them. Adriana's hand moved to her stomach, and Evelyn leaned close to listen to something she said.

I joined them with three cups.

“Everyone fed?” Evelyn asked.

“Bruni is negotiating for another slice.”

“Already?”

Across the lawn, Bruni pointed at his plate while Julian considered the request.

Whatever explanation he offered proved persuasive.

“Apparently,” I said, “he's still growing.”

Later, I found Cassia and Lysandra carrying empty cups toward the kitchen passage.

They were talking about the college again.

“What if everyone else already understands the lessons?” Cassia asked.

“Then you ask questions.”

“What if I ask something foolish?”

Lysandra looked at the cups in her hands.

“Do you remember when I thought that mill account was the quantity of flour rather than its price?”

Cassia began to smile.

“You thought Westmere was storing enough to feed an army for years.”

“I was impressed.”

“You proposed a second warehouse.”

“And then you explained it. I survived.”

Cassia's smile lingered.

They stopped when they saw me.

“Mary has arranged for someone else to take the next lesson materials to Westmere,” I told her. “You can spend the morning after tomorrow visiting the college.”

Cassia looked toward the garden, where Julian was showing Tobin how the tray lifted from his chest.

“It feels strange to be planning something so ordinary.”

“Lessons?”

“Next week.”

I understood.

Lysandra nudged her shoulder.

“We can begin with the visit.”

Cassia nodded.

Then she looked back at me.

“I do want to go.”

“You have our support.”

“Even if I choose something that isn't immediately useful here?”

“Yes.”

That answer seemed to matter most.

She held it quietly for a moment before carrying the cups inside.

Julian's birthday lasted until the lamps came on.

His friends left with cake wrapped for their families. Tobin's boat remained beside the waterwheel, with permission to borrow it until his next visit.

The four younger children became tired enough to disagree about who was tired.

Io carried Ignatius. Lexander took Seraphina. Evelyn persuaded Carol to walk indoors by telling her she could choose where the remaining ribbons were kept, and Garrick Grey fell asleep against my shoulder before we reached the stairs.

I handed him over before my healing arm began to complain.

Julian stayed in the workshop a little longer with his grandfather.

When I looked in, Garrick was guiding his hand through the first letter of his name inside the chest's lid.

The next letter Julian carved himself.

Neither noticed me.

I left them to it.

In the sitting room, Mirelle was wrapping Roderic's portrait in its soft cloth.

“A good day?” I asked.

She looked up.

“A very good day.”

Her eyes were tired. Her smile was real.

Cassia came in with Lysandra and a slim notebook she had found among her things. She sat beside her mother and opened it to a clean page.

“Would you help me make a list of what I've already studied?”

Mirelle set the portrait carefully aside.

“Of course.”

Lysandra drew up another chair.

They began with languages, then the histories Cassia's tutors had taught her, then arithmetic. Soon they were disagreeing amiably over whether a lesson spent arguing with a tutor counted as completing the subject.

Julian appeared a little later, carrying the chest with Garrick's help.

He placed it by the wall, opened the lid, and showed his mother his name.

One letter sat slightly lower than the others.

Mirelle traced the air above it without touching the fresh cut.

“Beautiful.”

Julian leaned against her, watching Cassia write.

“When you go to the college,” he said, “you should get a case for your papers too.”

Cassia looked at the one resting against his chair.

“Perhaps I should.”

“I'll help you choose it.”

“I'd like that.”

Evelyn came to stand beside me in the doorway.

“Four days,” she murmured.

Across the passage, Io was laughing at something Lexander had said, entirely unaware that a second celebration was waiting for her.

“Four days,” I agreed.

But tonight, when Julian asked whether anyone wanted to see how the tray fitted one more time, we all moved closer.