"Shut the door, Ella. You’re letting the heat out." He looked at the bucket in her hands. "Don’t worry, I’ll shut it."
Ella was careful to avoid sloshing water all over the floor. She filled the heavy iron pot with water and added oats and a sprinkling of salt from their meagre store. Brandon took the pot from her hands, carefully resting it over the coals. Ella’s eyes smarted from the acrid smoke.
"What were you doing when I came in?" she whispered, in case Miro was still sleeping. "You need more light — you’ll strain your eyes."
Brandon held it their nightlamp. "It doesn’t work anymore. The runes have faded."
"It was working before…"
"Well it isn’t now —" Brandon broke off, coughing; the winter had been hard on him and he’d picked up a chill he couldn’t seem to shake.
Ella reached over and took the nightlamp — a carved piece of marble the size of a man’s fist. Silver symbols covered its surface, and she traced them with her fingertip, mouthing the names of the runes.
"Tish-tassine," she spoke softly. The nightlamp lit up with a wan, gentle glow.
Brandon started. "How did you…?"
Ella smiled. "When they start to get depleted they become a bit less forgiving with the way you activate them. The inflection has to be just right. Still, it probably won’t last another week. We’ll need to buy another."
"More gilden," Brandon grumbled. "So you went to the funeral then?"
Ella nodded. "They let me put my arrangement on the barge."
"That’s good." He nodded. "Poor woman, she deserved better than to die like that."
Ella turned her head; there was something strange in the way he said it. "What do you mean?"
Brandon coughed. "Forget I said anything, lass. I merely meant that drowning’s not a good way to die."
"Where’s Miro?" she asked.
"The boy’s still sleeping." Brandon grunted. "They’re working him hard at the Pens. Poor lad’s chest is blue with bruises — he needs armour, and a sword. Each year without his own arms holds him back." He looked up at Ella, and she thought of all the money she’d saved.
Ella realised with a sense of dejection that there was no reason for her to work so hard anymore. At that moment she acknowledged the truth — she would never be an enchantress.
"Uncle?"
"What is it?"
"The gilden I’ve saved. I want you to use it to buy Miro the things he needs. Get us a new nightlamp too — and a coat for you"
There was a long pause. Finally Brandon spoke. "No, Ella. You’ve worked hard for it and it’s yours."
"Please, it’s what I want," Ella looked down so Brandon wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I’m sure."
Brandon gripped Ella’s hand, surprising her — it was rare for him to show affection. "Thank you, lass. The boy won’t know it but this is what he needs. They say he’s got real talent. Don’t worry, we’ll find you work. Or you could keep working at the market — perhaps a merchant will take you on as an apprentice. Maybe we’ll even find you a husband, eh?"
Ella couldn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded.
At that moment a cry came from Miro’s room. Ella glanced at her uncle. "I’ll go and see."
Miro tossed in his bed. Sweat glistened on his skin. He rolled first one way, then another, fighting with unseen enemies.
Ella crouched next to her brother. "Miro!" She gently shook his shoulders. He lashed out, and she barely missed being hit. Ella shook him harder, calling his name. He fought like a demon, but suddenly his eyes were open and wide with confusion.
"Wh… What is it?"
"You were having a nightmare."
Miro blinked. He took a deep breath and looked away. "It was nothing."
Ella pitched her voice low, so it wouldn’t carry to the next room. "You were crying out. It was the same dream, wasn’t it?"
"It’s always the same," his voice shook. "I never see his face properly, only reflected in his dagger. And I can’t fight back."
Miro had been having the same nightmare since childhood. Ella tried to brighten. "Well, it’s daytime now. Get up."
Miro sat up and wiped his eyes. He studied her. "What is it? Something’s wrong."
Ella smiled, though it was hard. "Come on, sleepy. I’ve got some oats on."
She returned to where Brandon still sat, watching the pot about to boil over.
"Uncle!" She quickly grabbed a cloth and lifted the pot from the heat. Had he been asleep? It was fearful how old he was getting.
"Sorry, lass, I didn’t notice. Smells good," he said.
Ella filled three bowls, Brandon taking his and digging in with a metal spoon. She took the other bowls out to the front deck where a pair of wooden chairs slumped near a small table. Ella looked out over the trees and shrubs that surrounded their forest home. She could hear the woods come alive. Birds and insects formed a buzzing music. She heard Miro’s footsteps, and soon he was sitting across from her.