The Exiles

6. Cerulean Blood

Attin sat leaning against the wall opposite the furnace the next morning, unable to stop his leg from bouncing impatiently. Unable to stop watching his sister Nessa as she sat before the fire, blanket-wrapped, along with Mawsie and Vanylla, eating their morning porridge with a small chunk of honey in beeswax Amer had found in the forest at the end of last summer. He'd cut a good chunk of the beehive before the swarm had riddled him with stings and he'd finally thrown up a shield he conjured. Mama had to draw him a warm lavender and rosehip bath — a luxury they could rarely afford — to soothe his aches and swollen skin.

Vanylla kept throwing furtive glances at Attin as he stirred his bowl of porridge around, not hungry in the slightest this morning. Not since he'd heard about Nessa from Vanylla.

"Attin? What is the matter, child? You've barely touched your food this morning." Granny asked from her place near the stove where she set about preparing the soup for the day; turnip and radish with a hunk of potato and pumpkin. Vegetables Mrs Pattermore a kilometre up the road had been happy to throw out last night. Vegetables Mama had scavenged from the pile of discards. Perfectly edible except for a few spots here and there that were turning. Perfectly edible. Waste it, want not, she'd often say.

"Nothing is the matter, Granny." He stole his gaze away from Nessa just as the front door rattled, forcing a spoonful of cold porridge into his mouth.

Papa was home.

"Morning munchkins!" Papa said, hanging his jacket and hat on the empty hook. Amer, long gone for his stable job. He often was gone before Papa got home, and Papa was often gone before Amer returned. Today was one such morning where they might have met, had Amer not left an hour earlier than he ought to. He wasn't in the mood to see the frostiness between his parents, frostiness that had been getting worse with Nessa's prolonged sickness.

"Morning, Papa!" the children chimed from the floor. Nessa's cough catching her out again rather violently.

It made Attin's face darken evermore, not that anyone noticed. They were far too busy watching Papa walk over to his three youngest and kiss their heads one by one lovingly. He did just this every morning, first thing, before he greeted Attin and the older two. Before he kissed his Mama on the cheek or tried to kiss his wife on the lips.

This morning, Mama barely even glanced at him as she busied herself scrubbing the mud of the few potatoes in a bowl of icy water by the furnace. A queen reduced to dirty chores. A queen fuming.

Granny grumbled something unintelligible under her breath as she patted Papa on the arm and watched him warm his frozen fingers by the fire.

"Where are Amer and Ursa?" he asked, looking about the small cottage. "It's Sunday. I usually catch Amer on Sundays."

"He left early," Mama replied, her tone icy.

"And the Merryton twins fetched Ursa at the break of dawn, something or other about their mother in labour." Granny dropped the chopped radish into the large pot. "Did you bring me the flour I asked for, Ovek?"

"Aye, Mama. But I could only get my hands on a little." Papa walked back to his jacket and fished out a small parcel made of a fine handkerchief, made from material not of this Earth. Supple, yet strong enough to hold anything you placed in it without losing even a sprinkle of dust, not even water. "The bakery was being cleaned out this morning, and I helped clear a flour drum."

Father fished out a handful of sickles next, the metal clinking against one another. He placed the money on top of the furnace where Mama could see it. "This should last us a week more. Send the boys to town tomorrow and have them fetch what we most need."

Mama shrugged, barely an acknowledgment she'd heard him. "We need everything," she was mumbling. "But most of all, we need to go home before..." it was a thought she could not finish.

Papa heard her all right. In fact, everyone did, though only a few knew what she was talking about. Nessa.

"I heard of a job two towns over. Ten days of security on the road for the visiting Royalty. Some Prince or princess or something of the sort," Papa said, clearing his throat. "I thought, if Attin or Amer could do the night watch, then I'd—"

"No!" Mama turned finally, anger flashing in her eyes. "Attin is but a boy, and so is Amer. I will not have them out there all night, alone. They deserve better than this."

"But—" Papa looked devastated and hurt. Mama had never been one to yell at him until recently. Since she discovered that the child they thought abandoned at their door all those years ago by a desperate human mother wasn't the child they thought she was. Nessa wasn't abandoned. Not exactly. Nessa appeared, as children of Cerulean Lands often did — at the passing of one parent, a child appeared to the other remaining parent. It was the law of their land, of their life. The moment Nessa had coughed regularly, with threads of weaves escaping her every time in misty wisps, Mama had known. Mama had known the child was a Cerulean. At least partially. She was a Chymer, one of them. Another heir in line to the throne. A throne they'd abandoned in a rush. A throne it was time they tried to get back to. To re-secure.

For Nessa.

Though she was half-human, the weaving hadn't taken her as quickly as it did others. Days they'd last. At most, a week or two. Nessa had so far lasted a whole month, and something in Mama said, Take her home, take her home and watch her heal. A calling Mama was tempted to answer — if only she could convince her cowardly husband. But it was time. Mama wasn't about to watch her child die in a land that wasn't theirs. No Chymer had ever died outside their palace walls, walls that were embedded with old magic. Old lores—of a child, half of Cerulean and half of red blood, born in a veil, able to restore their broken world. A child the old prophesies had often spoken of. The one weaver who could weave what their world needed the most. Peace.

It was time. Time for them to go back home.

Mama dried her hands on her frayed apron, another item she'd saved from the pile of discards. "We need to talk," she finally said, meeting her husband's gaze. "Alone."