VI.

My morning begins with prayer. I face the North Chapel—a place where I have never physically been, but to which my spirit goes daily—and recite the sixteen Yachtras. When I have finished, I remain standing a moment longer, until the words cease ringing in my ears and the trembling passes from my hands.

I am still damp from the night. Bone chills course up and down my body; I sense the onset of flu. Nevertheless, I must have slept; all that remains of my wound is a flakey yellow discolouration coating the point of entry.

I change into a clean tunic hanging from the Wall Rack, then climb down to the Meal at Table Room. A note is set beside my Place at Table.

Gone ahead with Erwan and Diesel. Breakfast in Crux. See you at the Grounds.

I consider the note for a moment, then fold it carefully and slip it into my tunic. I do not recall the last time my wife attended one of my executions. It is not that she objects; there are simply limits to how often one can witness such things.

I open the Crux and find a hearty bowl of flax porridge, still warm, and a tall cup of black coffee. The surface of the porridge has begun to form a skin. I stir it back in and sit at Table.

The house is almost perfectly quiet. From above, a faint stirring—the yarflängyrr finally settling after a restless night. I passed them on the way down the ladder, but I did not see a single one. I never do. Before they arrived, the Kingdom sent a special crew to paint the room black and seal the windows. The pamphlet explained that yarflängyrr must live in conditions of perfect darkness, for the very act of being seen will almost certainly kill them. Once, I thought I heard one strike the wall.

I take my time eating. It is the only time of day I really get to myself. The coffee is lukewarm but strong. It steadies the hands against the hastening chills.

As I am finishing the last of the porridge, I hear a voice above me.

“Hey, Dad?”

I turn toward the hatch, slightly startled. “Nokweed?” I say. “Shouldn’t you be with the others this morning?”

He climbs down the ladder and pulls up a chair at Table. He does not sit immediately, but rests his hands on the back of it, staring at me with his head cocked.

“I’ll walk with you,” he says.

I nod. “That would be nice.”

He nods back, then sits. For a moment neither of us speaks.

“Slept well?” I ask.

“Well enough.”

“Your elder brother seemed pleased with you last night.”

“He was.”

“And you?”

Nokweed shrugs. “It was clean.”

“Yes,” I say. “Very clean.”

His gaze drops to the floor.

“Hey,” I say. “So what if it took you a few months to master the rifle? Jerry had years of experience. Nobody expected you to get it right the first try. I’m proud of you for yesterday.”

He glances back up, resisting the urge to smile. He is like his mother—hard as he tries, he cannot hide his feelings.

“Any good?” he says, nodding toward my cup.

“The coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“Mama makes the best coffee, you know.”

He reaches for the cup and takes a small sip without asking. He makes a face, sets it back down. “Way too bitter.”

“It’s better with milk,” I admit.

Silence settles between us. And in the silence a handful of memories return of Nokweed, younger—when his mother and brother and sister and I were his entire world. When it was easy to make him laugh, and it was enough to simply be in each other’s company.

“Listen…” I say. “You’re getting older now, and it’s normal, I suppose—but it seems to me we speak less than we once did. I would not have that become a habit.”

He stares at me for a moment; he did not expect the candour with which I spoke to him. Neither did I, if I’m honest.

At last he nods. “I know,” he says. “It’s not you. It’s just that… you’re not around like before. It’s different.”

“I know I’m not as spry as I once was. It takes me longer to recover. But how’s this?” I say. “I’ll make more of an effort from now on.”

He narrows his eyes, then says, “You know what, Dad. I think you do enough for us already.”

He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.

I wonder if he sees me bite my lip.

“Come on,” I say, rising and smoothing my tunic. “We don’t want to be late.”