Chapter 25: 24. Dinner

The Boyar was better but still sick. His mother found rooms for the party, and then they had nothing to do but wait.

“He will recover,” Corvo overheard Rada Aleksandrovna say to Mother. “But he has barely eaten in weeks. He isn’t ready to meet you.”

“We will stay until he is,” Mother said.

They were in the library. Corvo sat on the ground with a book written in Veshod, bound in leather. The words meant nothing to him, but he tried to read them anyway. Maybe, he thought, if he could only sound out the syllables, he would be able to understand their meaning.

It didn't seem to work.

Rada Aleksandrovna hung her head. “Thank you. I will see that you are repaid.”

“We—may discuss that later. For now, go be with your son.”

The castle’s library was not nearly so impressive as the musty stacks within the Tower of Keraz. But Mother and Aletheia perused the shelves anyway, never letting Corvo go far; Mother almost never let him out of sight, and when she did, it was only with Aletheia.

Sometimes Aletheia took him through the castle’s corridors with a flame in her hand. They prowled past bedchambers and onto the upper parapet near twilight, to the ramparts at the very top of the castle. They were exposed to the open sky there, and the tops of the clouds glowed red and orange from the splitting rays of the setting sun. It looked as though the whole of the sea at the horizon was ablaze. For a moment Corvo really did think there was a huge fire approaching them from the west, but it faded quickly, and then they were within shadow.

Aletheia conjured a light to keep them company. She sat on the parapet, with her back to a high wall, and pulled Corvo into her lap. They talked about the same things they always did, with Corvo asking the same questions about his father, and where she grew up, and the other castles they had stayed at through all their time as adventurers.

Corvo would have preferred to play. But it was enough to keep him distracted, for a while.

She and Mother were often busy, though, and with their need to watch him at all hours, the next few days in the castle passed in boredom. Once Mother went to speak with the Boyar, and Aletheia went through the various tomes in the castle library while Corvo was left to play alone nearby. Hours went in silence; when Mother finally returned, Corvo ran to greet her—but their hug was subdued. She tapped him on the back and sent him back to Aletheia.

“There is more I must do,” she said, but she did not seem sure of herself. She looked nervous as she spoke. “Aletheia will watch you. She will protect you from the Shadow Man. I—will be in our chamber.”

“What’s wrong?” Aletheia asked.

“There is nothing wrong. I only think—we may discuss it later.”

With that she left. Boredom returned.

Corvo felt near to crying. He had been abandoned by his mother so quickly after her return. That same morning she had promised him she would be back before lunch. Now would she ever come back at all?

His sorrow was evident in his face, because when Aletheia saw him, she beamed and tossed aside her book.

“Okay, Corvo,” she said. “I'm sick of reading, too. Let’s play swords.”

They chased each other down the corridors, magic lights following after them, for hours. This was the fun Corvo had been missing. He laughed as they hit each other’s wooden blades, chasing up and down stairs, and occasionally barreling into servants.

“Sorry!” Aletheia would shout, and then they’d be off again.

By the time they made it back to the library, Corvo collapsed to the ground. He was exhausted, and it was dark out, and he decided it was finally bedtime. He almost forgot about Mother and how it had felt to watch her leave twice in the same day.

He fell asleep in a pile of blankets near a bookshelf.

He awoke in comfortable sheets and atop a soft mattress. Someone sat beside him on the bed, and while at first he closed his eyes again to return to sleep, he soon heard Mother’s voice, hushed and low beside him:

“You have not seen the way they treat each other,” she said. “It is—I thought it was charming at first, in a way I would not have as a girl, but they have become inseparable. It is revolting.”

“He was dying,” said Aletheia’s voice, quieter and farther away. “They haven’t been together for months.”

“It does not matter. A day of sentimentality would be appropriate, perhaps, but you would think they were close friends from their conversations. Not mother and son.”

“Can’t parents be friends with their children?”

Mother shifted on the mattress. She traced a hand across Corvo’s forehead. He faced away from her, and he kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

“I want my son to be strong,” she said slowly. “I do not want him to be my friend. And… I fear that we are too close.”

“He’s still little. You’re allowed to be close.”

“For how much longer? And if I do not make him begin sleeping alone, or withhold my affection, at what age will he become like the Boyar—a weak, effeminate mother’s boy, well into adulthood?” He felt her lips brush across his hair. “Corvo will not be so. Once the Shadow Man is gone—I will be stricter. He will sleep alone. I will be more distant from him, and I will find tutors and instructors besides myself. There is no choice.”

Aletheia said nothing for a long time. But finally, after a sharp breath, she said, “If that’s what you think is best. You don’t need to prove it to me.”

“But I love him so much,” she whispered. “I do not want to let him go. Can he not stay a child forever?”

“You wouldn’t want him to,” Aletheia said. “Eris—I don’t think you need to worry. It’s okay to be close to your son. It’s good that you love him. Maybe when he’s fifteen you’ll have to pull back, but not now. A five-year-old doesn’t need tough love. He just needs a mother.”

Mother snorted. It sounded as though she had been crying. "I do not know how to do this. I—have no experience. It seems impossible—that I will damage him, no matter what I do. I have not learned anything since he was born. Nothing is easier."

"No one knows how to be a mother. Or a father. You just do whatever seems right, and you love him, and he'll be okay. You're doing a good job so far. Don't stop because you're worried that Ilya and Rada are too close."

Mother sighed, and there was silence for a long time.

“Thank you," she said. "For—listening to me. I must seem ridiculous to you.”

“A little bit,” Aletheia said. "But that's okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

The bedroom door closed. It was bright behind Corvo’s eyelids. And despite what she had said, within moments of Aletheia’s departure, Mother's arms wrapped tight around his chest, and he felt instantly safe and secure.

She didn’t let him go all night.

The boring days passed slowly, but Corvo always looked forward to dinner. They were invited each night to dine with the Boyar’s mother, and a few other men and women in fine clothes. The food was unlike anything he could remember from elsewhere.

Pork and dumplings. Mutton and fresh fish. Sweets and bread. There were other less appealing foods, too, like vegetables and mushrooms served with every meal.

Corvo did not understand why anyone would eat a mushroom. He tried a single bite of one, black and dense, and spit it back out onto his plate.

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Mother scolded him. “Corvo,” she whispered. “You must remember your manners, especially in the presence of these lords.”

A fat man near Dorian’s age laughed.

“I’m with the boy!” he said. “Who ever thought a man should eat fungus? That’s not what a growing lad needs. Pass along more bacon, eh?”

That was fine with Corvo. When a servant did as instructed, he took as much bacon as he possibly could.

Bacon was good. But best were the sweets. In Castle Erod he had stayed mostly with the other boys, not with Mother, and they hadn’t eaten nearly so well. Here Rada Aleksandrovna brought out infinite amounts of cheese-filled delicacies, sweet cookies, cakes, and more.

The next night, he tried to pile two of each onto his plate.

Mother grabbed his hand. “You may take one,” she said.

“Why?” he asked, appalled by the suggestion.

“Because you will grow to be fat and ugly should you eat too many, that is why. Put them back.”

Corvo looked around the table. Mostly the others were engaged in their own conversations, not paying attention to Mother as they had before, but he spotted Melitas sitting three chairs down from them.

Melitas had nothing on his plate but sweets. Three cookies, two slices of cake, a piece of pie, a sweet roll....

“Melitas isn’t fat. Look!” Corvo said, pointing.

Melitas had a cookie in his mouth, but he looked toward Mother when he heard his name.

“What?” he asked.

Mother glared at him. “It is only on the charity of others that he is permitted to be so gluttonous. On his own, he is quite starved. But you, my little crow, must learn temperance, for there will always be food for one such as you.”

Corvo stared longingly at the pastries. Any price seemed worth the flavor he was denying himself. “I want to be fat,” he whispered sadly.

“No,” Mother said, “you do not; for if you were, your mother would no longer love you. Would a cookie be worth it then?”

Corvo shook his head. He rapidly did as instructed then, and returned to his plate.

“Good,” Mother said. She patted him on the head. “Now eat your vegetables.”

The vegetables were nearly as bad as the mushrooms. But Mother’s veiled threat terrified him enough to do exactly as he was told. Yet he couldn’t help but notice that she never ate any of her own vegetables, nor any mushrooms. In fact Mother never ate anything but meat.

After the meal was finished on the fourth night, the Boyar finally emerged from his room. The adults around the table whispered on business, and Aletheia and Mother spoke to Trito about where they would go after they left Veshod. Corvo sat silently and tried to listen, but he barely fit in the chair, and thus he only noticed that something was wrong when the whole of the dining hall fell silent.

The Boyar entered from beneath an archway. He stepped in front of a burning hearth, and his shadow stretched far down along the length of the table.

He was tall, clean-shaven, and very thin. He smiled as he saw the congregation. His mother ran to him and embraced him, and she led him to the head of the table—a seat that had been vacant all week.

He spoke to all of the strangers from the court who joined him at dinner. They drank wine and shook hands, and for a long time no one from Corvo’s party said a word. But at last, when he felt himself growing drowsy, the Boyar tapped a spoon against a mug.

“I thank you all for your warm greeting,” he said. Something was very strange about his voice. Corvo took a moment to realize that it was his accent. The Boyar spoke in Kathar—no spell translated his words. “It is good to be back. I think I will be well enough to come to breakfast tomorrow. For the moment, I should like to speak to those who retrieved the acorns. I would ask the rest of you depart.”

The various men and women whom Corvo did not know slowly stood and exited at this command, until soon none remained except the Boyar and his mother, Rada Aleksandrovna.

“You all have shown great patience in waiting for me,” he said as he settled again into his seat.

“Oh, yes, very great,” Melitas said. He was still eating sweets. “You have no idea how taxing it’s been to lounge about in this castle. Truly.”

The Boyar smiled. “You are right. I suppose, maybe, you should want me to wait a little longer?”

“So long as you are ready to speak with us,” Mother said, her voice cutting loudly across the table, “we are grateful to speak with you. We have other business to attend to; we cannot linger in Veshod for long.”

“As I would imagine,” he said. “You are not so grateful as I am. I hear my mother promised each of you three talents from our treasury each, if you brought back a branch of the Oak of Spring?”

“Yes, that’s what I remember,” Melitas said. “But a generous boyar would give more, I’d say.”

He nodded. “I have been preparing gifts for you that I hope you will find satisfactory. But truly—I owe you my life. All of you.” He looked pointedly at Aletheia, smiling slimly, and she smiled back.

Corvo perked up at the mention of “gifts.” He didn’t expect anything, but if gifts were to be given out...

The Boyar continued, “Thus I want to make sure I can offer anything it is in my power to give. Ask only, and I will do what I can in return.”

“You may keep your talents,” Mother said. “We cannot carry so much gold while we travel.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Dorian said. “A fair amount of gold is never amiss.”

“Yes, gold is certainly never amiss,” Melitas said. “Mountains of it. Not amiss. In fact, if she doesn’t want her share, I’d be happy to take it in her stead. You know she wasn’t even with us when we first met your mother.”

“I would ask only for enough to repair my weapons and armor,” Trito said. The elf loomed always at the far end of the table, towering over the rest, yet the softness of his voice made him seem nearly invisible. “And to keep a single acorn for myself.”

“Indeed. There is the question of what to do with those that remain,” Mother said. “I should like to keep at least two for myself, and one for Aletheia. The others are worth more than three talents each.”

“I would ask for two more, for myself and my mother,” the Boyar said. “But beyond this—I believe they are yours to keep.”

“There is another matter that requires some attention,” Mother said. “My son is suffering from an affliction of his own. If you should do all in your power to cure it, which I do not think will be much, my debt can be considered paid.”

The Boyar looked to Aletheia. She shook her head.

“I didn’t do it for money,” she whispered. “If you can help Corvo—that’s enough.”

“Well, I did,” Melitas said. “I’m glad you’re all very charitable and such, but a hero has to build a name for himself, you know? I want the bards to sing of Melitas the Resurrectionist far and wide, and I’ll take as much money as I can carry for my part in this affair.”

“Which was?” Rada Aleksandrovna asked.

“What?”

“What was your part, Master Melitas?”

Melitas was silent. He looked pale, and he put his food down.

He blinked.

"Well. I—uh, the Hydra, I... and it was me, mostly, who—"

“He slew the trolls,” Aletheia interrupted. Her voice was wry. “He fought off a dozen of them single-handedly. I couldn’t believe it.”

"The ogres, too," Mother said with a sigh. "His talents are dazzling."

“And he saved my life when threatened by the Hydra,” Trito said. "Were it not for him..."

The elf shrugged.

“You must be a powerful enchanter,” the Boyar said.

Melitas shrank in his seat. “I am,” he whispered, but he covered his face. He looked away from the table.

A moment passed. Then, the others all laughed. First Aletheia broke, and then Mother, and Dorian, and even Trito. Corvo laughed, too, although he didn’t know what was funny.

Melitas’ face turned red. Suddenly he leaped from his seat and stormed off into the dark of a hallway, disappearing from sight.

“Did I miss a joke?” the Boyar asked.

“Melitas didn’t do a thing,” Dorian said. “Nor did I, if I’m honest. It was the two girls who did most of the work, and the elf. They’re the ones you should listen to.”

Mother grinned. “I have offered my deal already. Gold is not our concern, at least not at the moment. You will help us? At least you will give us a place to stay, while we decide where next to go?”

“Of course we will,” Rada Aleksandrovna said. ‘You have earned far more than that.”

“Good. Then we can discuss more on this tomorrow. But I think it is past my son’s bedtime; and I do not like how the shadows in this hall move always along the walls. I find it—uncomfortable. So I will take my leave.”

Corvo had been staring at a plate with more treats on it for the last several minutes, intent on plucking another up into his mouth, but he nodded as Mother rose, and the two departed while the others continued to converse.

Then it was goodnight, and another boring day to follow.

The Boyar came around in the morning. While Mother helped Corvo dress himself for the court, and as she perused several dresses that had been brought to her by servants, she answered a knock.

She had been wearing nothing but a shift, but an illusion to make her seem clothed fell upon her when she saw the Boyar.

He held his hands behind his back.

“I hope that is not a knife,” she said warily. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Your Lordship?”

He smiled and brought his hands around to his stomach. “It is not a knife, Lady Eris. My mother had prepared gifts for Melitas and Trito, and of course Aletheia, should they return—but she did not expect you.”

“There is no gift you can give to me,” she said.

“No. I would not think so. But Corvo…” He shrugged, and Corvo slinked closer to get a better look at what he held.

It was a glass toy, a figurine, painted from top to bottom, of a man atop a horse. In one hand was a shield, and in the other a spear or lance. The man appeared to wear some kind of Veshod armor, scale, like the man who had led them into the castle, and the detail was nearly real—like a man had been taken and shrunken into the size of a toy.

Corvo sprinted forward, grabbed it, and took it to the floor a few feet away. Mother never could have stopped him from taking it.

She sighed.

“We must carry all we have,” she said. “We do not have room for many toys.”

“This toy is quite special,” the Boyar said.

Mother frowned. Yet she came to Corvo and kneeled down beside him.

He already was fiddling with the rider, taking him from the horse and looking both over, when he placed them on the ground.

The rider’s head had been faced toward Corvo. Suddenly, it turned to look at Mother instead.

She gasped.

“The library—it was stocked by a magician who served my family for some time,” he said. “When I was a boy, he left me this. I believe he made it for me.”

The rider rolled his shoulders. Then he straightened his pose, and he walked, lifelike, to the horse, mounting it again and spurring it.

The horse animated. It shook its head. Then it rode in a circle until it faced Corvo, when it seemed to turn again to glass, inanimate and lifeless.

Corvo laughed and clapped. “Do it again! Go there!” He pointed at a wall.

The glass was still for a moment. Then it moved, and it did as it was told.

Mother shook her head. “This is powerful magic,” she said slowly. “There is no enchantment over—” Her features froze. “He gave this to you as a toy?”

“Yes. It’s harmless. It does whatever it’s told to do. These days I leave it on my desk, doing nothing. Your son will get more use from it, I think.”

Mother stood suddenly. She scooped the toy rider up into her hands and said, “I must speak to Aletheia at once. Have you seen her?”

“We spoke this morning,” he said. “I’m sure—but what’s wrong? It isn’t dangerous, I promise.”

“You do not understand,” she said. She held the horse and rider aloft. “With this toy, you may have saved my son.”