Si glyph [https://i.imgur.com/mHhTdaF.png]

House Numisma was newer than Oryche, as Houses reckoned such things, though outsiders might consider the difference insignificant when both had stood for hundreds of years. Numisma had the grander building. Where House Oryche was low and rambling, Numisma was tall and upright, cold in crisp white stone. Of course, the size of the Oryche mansion was deceptive: the Oryche had always been miners, and naturally they dug tunnels beneath their House, mile upon mile of them, spiralling out and down to join the Labyrinth and the undercity and the old mines.

Numisma’s principal trade was money — measured in gold, paper, and information. They had begun small, lending money to merchants and shippers and miners, and as the city grew, they grew. No House was as rich or as powerful. For the last hundred years the Lord (or Lady) of Numisma had headed the city council.

Simon approached the gates. The two guards eyed him; they were hirelings from House Phylaxes, a young woman and a man dressed in Phylaxes red, with a green sash worn cross-wise for their employers.

‘Excuse me,’ he ventured. ‘My name is Simon vai Oryche.’

Their coldly professional gaze didn’t waver. ‘Your business?’ one of the guards said.

Simon thought he shouldn’t be here. He should have come tomorrow or in a few days time, having brought new clothes more suitable for the city. After twenty years, a few days delay hardly mattered. But he was here, and she was his mother. He had to see her, if he could.

‘I wish to speak to someone of the House, regarding my mother, Geneva sa Oryche vai Numisma.’

‘Wait.’ The guard marched off toward the house and vanished through a side door.

Simon waited.

‘You’re Oryche?’ the other guard said.

Her stare and manner were insolent, but Simon was tired, and besides, she was Phylaxes. It was no business of his to correct her attitude. He just nodded.

‘Huh. The face is Oryche but you dress like a norther.’

‘I’ve been travelling,’ he said, not really paying attention. The other guard was returning across the courtyard, and behind him came a dark-haired woman wearing Numisma green. His stomach jolted and he forgot to breathe.

Twenty years—more than that—since he’d seen his mother, and she was still beautiful—  But no, it wasn’t her. Of course it wasn’t her. He dropped his gaze in embarrassment at his own foolishness. This woman resembled his mother only slightly, and she was nearer to Simon’s age.

The two guards resumed their posts as the woman approached. She smiled warmly. ‘You are Simon vai Oryche?’

He nodded. 

Her grey eyes met his as an equal. ‘I am Grace vai Numisma. My mother is cousin to yours, so I know of your…’

Heat rose to his face. ‘If you don’t mind, I would like to see my mother. If she’s well enough, of course.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘That shouldn’t be a problem. Come in. Be welcome in our House, Simon.’

She led him, not into the house itself, but along a path toward a complex of low buildings set in gardens bright with the last of autumn’s flowers. Fallen leaves crowded the paths, russet against the damp green turf. 

‘We have a place here, for members of the House who are elderly or in need of special care,’ she said.

‘My mother—’ He didn’t know what to say or ask.

‘I’m afraid she’s not often lucid. Don’t expect too much.’

He nodded. He hadn’t been expecting much anyway.

She opened a door and gestured for him to enter first. The entrance hall was clean and white, smelling of soap and sickness.

‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll let the attendants know you’re here.’

He perched on a hard chair. The low table beside him held a vase of sweet-scented yellow roses. Already a few of the petals had fallen to the table; the blooms were fading fast. He stared at them, wondering when he had last seen roses. The wild grasslands around Sark bloomed in the spring, great drifts of wildflowers in blue and white, but there were no roses such as these, no nurtured garden flowers.

‘She’s not awake, I’m afraid, but you can visit her,’ Grace said.

He started, and got to his feet. His leg had stiffened while he sat. It ached now with a dull, deep pain, remembering the miles he had walked to get here.

Grace led him along a hallway to an open door. The room inside was small and simply furnished: just a narrow bed with white linen, wooden chairs on either side, a table with a vase of flowers—more of the yellow roses—and a jug of water. And in the bed lay his mother.

He swallowed. She had aged, of course, and he shouldn’t be shocked to see her hair white, her face lined, but she was so frail and so still. 

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‘Go in,’ Grace said.

He approached the bed, feeling loud and awkward and dirty. His mother slept on, her eyes twitching beneath closed lids. Her hands lay lax on the bedcover.

He sat in the chair to her right. ‘Hello, Mother,’ he said softly, uncertain whether he should try to wake her or not. When she went deep, she couldn’t be woken even with shouts and shaking—he recalled trying it once as a child, and being told off. ‘It’s Simon. I’ve come back.’

Pain swelled in his throat. He had hoped, though he knew it was foolish, that she would have improved, that he could speak to her and tell her about her grandchildren. She would like that, he was sure. 

Very carefully, he took her hand. Her fingers were thin and delicate as twigs. 

A woman glided in, holding a bowl of water and a cloth. Not Grace — she had remained outside. The attendant was an older woman, wearing a green uniform with a sharp white collar and crisp apron. She nodded and smiled to Simon before setting down the bowl.

‘You’re her son?’ she said.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s nice.’ Her voice was low and gentle, her eyes distant as she damped the cloth and began wiping his mother’s face. ‘She doesn’t have many visitors.’

His mother’s fingers flexed. Her eyes blinked open, and she drew a deep breath.

‘Mother? It’s Simon.’

She gazed at the ceiling. Her mouth worked silently while the attendant continued wiping her  free hand.

‘Arakiel,’ she whispered, ‘Arakiel has told me. Monsters walk the city. The heart rots.  Athanor will burn.’

‘Mother? Do you hear me?’

Her eyes drifted closed, and with a small sigh, she was still again. The attendant placed her hand carefully on the bedcover.

Simon glared at her. ‘Can’t you help her? Can’t you wake her up?’

The attendant smiled calmly. ‘I know it must be hard. Be patient. We try not to disturb her when she’s Visited. You must understand, her work is important to her, and she isn’t suffering.’

No, Simon wanted to say. Her face was peaceful; she seemed to sleep, though perhaps she flew with angels in golden dreams. Not suffering, no, it was him that was suffering, and he wanted to shout and curse, but he did not. He swallowed the pain and stroked her tiny hand with his calloused fingers.

He had only been sitting with her a few minutes and he wanted to go, to leave her to the beautiful dreams in which he had no part. Perhaps another day he’d return and find her awake.

The attendant glided out as quietly as she had come. He heard her exchange a few words outside the door. 

Grace stood in the doorway. ‘Do you mind if I come in?’

He shrugged and mustered a smile. ’I’d be glad of the company.’

She took the other chair, and for a few moments they sat in silence, watching over his mother as she slept, or dreamed, or travelled to realms beyond mortal understanding to converse with angels. 

‘Your father’s death was a great shock to her,’ Grace said.

‘A great shock for everyone.’

’She retreated, I think. It was hard for her to lose you both so quickly.’

She had somewhere to retreat to, Simon thought, but said nothing.

‘What brings you back to Athanor?’

‘It had been long enough,’ he said. ‘And I have children. Two. I didn’t want them to grow up, never knowing—’ He gestured, hardly knowing what he was trying to say, but she seemed to understand.

‘Do you have a place to stay?’

‘For a day or two.’ He rubbed his forehead. He felt so tired, suddenly, as if all the pain and exhaustion of the journey had fallen on his shoulders. ‘Then I don’t know. I’ve just come from Oryche. Eranon—my Lord Oryche, I should say—he didn’t exactly receive me with open arms.’ He was babbling, he realised, as if Grace was a friend and not a complete stranger. Though she was a relation, and the first person in Athanor who’d spoken to him as an equal, he shouldn’t forget she was Numisma.

‘It’s not my business, I know, but will you be all right? Do you have money?’

‘We won’t starve,’ he said, more curtly than he’d meant, and added, ‘We were robbed on the journey, but we’ll manage. I can work…’ He looked down at his hand, his maimed right hand with the still-healing stumps where fingers should be. What work could an Earth Adept do, without drawing sigils? He didn’t know, but there must be something.

She frowned. ‘Again, this isn’t my business, but on your father’s death, your mother’s dowry reverted to her. Of course, House Numisma manages her assets.’

He blinked at her. ‘I don’t understand. You mean I have money?’

‘Not exactly. Your mother has money, and I assume she’d be happy to assist you—if she were awake. The House could assign you a portion of her income.’

Simon’s mouth was dry. ‘How much?’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps several hundred forint a month, but I’m only guessing.’

’Simon?’ A faint voice came from the bed. ‘Arakiel said you were here.’

‘Mother?’

Her eyes were open, not entirely focused, but open and looking at him. ‘I’m glad you’re home, dear. I have missed you.’

‘I’ve come back to stay,’ he said. ‘My children are with me. I’ll bring them to see you, would you like that?’

She nodded carefully. ‘That would be nice. I don’t see any children, not in this world anyway. What are their names?’

‘Lorie is sixteen. Sam is fourteen.’

‘Lorie. Sam,’ she whispered, as if fixing the names in her memory. ‘Not Athanor names.’

‘No. Their mother was a norther. Her name was Rane. You would have liked her, I’m sure.’

‘Oh, yes.’

Simon hesitated. She might slip back into her trance at any moment, and there were so many things to say, he didn’t know where to start. ‘Mother, I don’t want to upset you. Would you mind if I ask about father, about his death?’

‘Mm,’ she said. 

He took it for assent. ‘Who was the Anemari woman?’

‘It wasn’t true, you know. He loved me. He would never have left me. She was married, besides.’

‘Her name?’

‘Mm. I forget. Carinna, I think, something like that. Some odd Anemari name. It doesn’t matter now, does it?’

‘No, I suppose it doesn’t.’

Her eyes drifted closed, and her hand in his relaxed.

‘I think she’s gone again,’ Grace said. ‘That was good. She’s not often so lucid, and she knew you.’

Simon laid his mother’s hand on the bedspread. ‘I should go.’ He stood.

‘You’ll be back?’

‘Yes, though I’m not sure when. I’d like to bring the children. Is that all right?’

‘Of course. You’re family.’

‘And about the money, do you know who I need to speak to?’

‘I’m not sure who is responsible, but if you like, I’ll make enquiries and set the wheels in motion. It will take some time, I’m afraid. If she were awake, it would be simple, but…’ She sighed.

They walked back through the echoing white corridors that smelled of soap, into the rose garden.

‘There’s something else I thought of,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m interfering, but if you do need a place to live…’

‘I won’t take offence,’ Simon said.

‘The House owns some workshops in the city, with rooms over. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be cheap and it’s a roof over your heads. I blush to suggest it, really.’

Simon breathed in the mild rose-scented air. A tightness in his chest relaxed. ‘That sounds perfect.’ A home for his family was the first step to rebuilding their lives. The money from Eranon would tide them over until he could find work. He still had to arrange the sale of the tomb on behalf of the miners, get Lorie some training, and fulfil his promise to Andra — but the difficulties which had weighed so heavily this morning seemed almost manageable now. And this he owed to House Numisma, where he had never expected to find family, or hope, or a friend. ‘Thank you, Grace.’