45. Rev
Chapter 45
Rev
“ Looks like a lumen.”
I jumped, almost cutting into my hand with my whittling knife. Adaynth sat in the blue chair across from mine, bent forward and watching as I shaped a piece of pine over a basket.
“ That’s not your chair,” I responded, adding, “ Move .”
He lifted his hands in defeat, his shadowy form standing and shifting to the fireplace which I had kept burning bright as Karus slept on our bed, exhausted in more ways than one.
“ Do you…” I started, jerking my head to the bed where Karus and I had spent a long, lazy hour enjoying the promise I had given her for her shield work.
He cringed. “ No . Any inkling of desire in your head sends me far, far away. And she doesn’t let me in regardless.”
I nodded, tilting my head and continuing my work. “ She can contain a shield to the corners of this room.”
He frowned.
“ And ,” I added, looking up at him, “she can keep me out of it.”
“ How ?”
“ You know how,” I lashed. “ You are constantly reminding me how it is that she holds so much power.”
“ And what do you plan to use this shield for?”
I cleared my throat softly. “ She might need it.”
“ I see.”
I worked in the quiet, shaving away at the wood, carefully shaping the features of the head. Minutes passed and nothing stirred in the quiet crackling of the fire.
“ It is a lumen.” I broke the silence, knowing he was still there.
I rose from my black chair and brought it to the cradle which would rock our baby to sleep in a few more weeks. My first gift to Saelyn , shaped from the hands of her father. I tossed the shavings into the fire and set the basket back on the floor.
“ Are you staying here all night?” I asked. I waited for the answer that didn’t come, looking up to see that Adaynth was gone.
My jaw tightened and I crossed my arms at my bare chest. I tried to smile. I tried to fill my heart with the joy I had felt every day as Karus lived with me, growing our child, challenging what she could do with her power.
The smile did not come.
I glanced once more to the empty cradle and admitted in the silence that I might never see it filled.