The Heartwood

Chapter 9

The lessons continue with the summer.

Where his tutor does not exhaust him with new and fascinating topics and challenges, his parents dote on his time constantly if he does not study. They delight in his answers and he even masters a few tricks to amaze them. He can fool his mother and father with vanishing small things like spoons and cards, but Lynna is yet to be caught. He spends his Saturdays catching up on work, researching for new things he wants to learn and trying to outsmart Lynna's sharp eyes.

Each Sunday, it is impossible to drag himself from bed at the prospect of church until Darren finds out and agrees to joins his family at service. They practice Psalms, Asher praised when he can quickly repeat them without having to peek at the scripture for help. His instructor shows Asher how to watch the behaviors of the gathered people. The man privately confides that this is more valuable than the morals of hypocrites, and Asher memorizes biblical passages and recites them flawlessly as needed before the adults present - an exercise in acting (another form of hypocrisy) which is strange and thrilling to do in front of the gazes of neighbors and family.

And Darren. Asher is one thing to one crowd and another thing completely to his Chiron.

By the time he returns from church, though, Asher wants nothing more than to drop onto his bed and catch up on sleep. He sleeps soundly on Sundays, and only then.

Outside of the accompaniment of his parents, Asher never gets the chance to leave the estate. He no longer surveys his own yard without the shadow of Mr. Kingsley on his heels, distracting him with inexhaustible information. He is too caught up to be frustrated or annoyed by the constant and demanding presence. Darren proves that a man had recently trespassed across the yard, revealing the tracks through the grass and gardens. Asher suspects that his old escape route is apparent to his instructor, and laughs at the stupidity of his earlier attempts at faking faerie trails.

He misses Heart Wood. He forgets Heart Wood. He remembers in the morning and at night between wakings - his mind funneling into the study, through a window, hiding a spoon, opening that casket.

That casket...

He makes plans. When he wakes and resumes sleep, the ideas start. Asher does not know when he will revisit the estate of Mr. Fry, but there will come a time when he does. The walls of the house close around him in his head, and invited or (most likely) not, Asher will darken that doorstep and prove himself worthy of respect with his mischief and goodwill.

He recalls the study. The desk and the placement of the chair. The door, and how to lock it and unlock it. And failing that: the window. He feels it, the air settled with smoky spice and the shadows outlining a hole for the elusive Count to hide within. And a casket, once open under Asher's spying amber eyes.

Yes. He will open the casket.

He will take Mrs. Goddard's brooch. He will talk Mr. Fry into sharing tea in the garden again, and with sleight of hand (which he is close to performing flawlessly these days) he will slip the brooch into the Count's cup and its discovery will remind the man of their first encounter. The surprise that follows will teeter into any of several reactions: outrage or delight; respect or dismissal; fear or confidence placed.

Acceptance or crashing towers.

Asher wakes to smoke. It coats his tongue like a soft blanket, flavoring the air and leaving him dry and brittle. He sits up and sees his room in grey with a detached curiosity asking if his house is on fire.

The silence of the morning does not encourage a sense of danger and Asher dresses as normal. Tuesday, and he is ready for false starts. To pull awake from a deeper dream. The quiet settles like the woodsmoke air into an anticipation of something impossible. He interrupts the soft click of metal and plates in his kitchen, wondering if his Chiron could articulate the sensation. Perhaps another culture has a proper word for it that English-speakers have not bothered to describe.