Chapter 6 : When We Spoke of Tomorrow
The grass was already warm by the time we stopped walking.
The cattle spread out on their own, lowering their heads, tails swaying lazily. Father had shown us where the ground was firm and where it dipped after rain, then left us to watch while he checked the fence line farther out. He trusted us with that much, knowing we would shout if something went wrong.
Nothing did.
So we sat.
Tomas lay flat on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring at the sky like he was measuring it.
Lior stayed upright, knees pulled to his chest, a thin book balanced carefully in his lap despite the breeze.
Mila braided bits of grass together, humming under her breath.
Coren wandered in small circles, stopping whenever she saw something interesting, which was often.
I sat with my hands in the dirt, drawing lines I erased as soon as I made them.
"You know what I'd do if I were older?" Tomas said suddenly.
No one answered right away. That was how Tomas liked it.
"I'd join a knight order," he went on. "A real one. Not town guards. One that actually goes places."
He sat up and swung an imaginary sword, nearly knocking Coren's hat off.
"Watch it!" she laughed, snatching it back. "You'll kill an invisible enemy and still miss."
Tomas grinned. "That one was already dead."
"Knights aren't just about swinging," Lior said without looking up. "There's formations. Logistics. Training cycles. Most don't even see real battle."
"That's fine," Tomas said. "I don't care where I start."
Mila tilted her head. "Where would you go?"
"To the capital of South where i will serve the knight king" Tomas said immediately. "Or the North."
Lior finally looked up. "The Northern Arcanum Conclave is mage-only."
"I know that," Tomas said, a little defensive. "I don't mean the academy. I mean the North. Someone has to guard them. You think mages just walk around without protection?"
Coren laughed. "I think they turn people into frogs."
"That's a myth," Lior said. "Mostly."
Tomas shrugged. "Doesn't matter. The Ice Warden's there. If you're guarding mages in the North, you're guarding something important."
I noticed the way he said it.
Not famous.
Not powerful.
Important.
"The North doesn't take just anyone," Lior said more quietly. "Even guards. Even knights. They don't care how brave you are if you can't survive the cold, or the magic."
Tomas picked up a stone and tossed it into the grass. "Then I'll survive both."
Mila smiled. "I think I'd like something quieter. Maybe a healer. Or running a place people stop at. Somewhere warm."
Coren flopped down beside her. "I'll just see where I end up. Plans sound tiring."
They laughed.
I stayed quiet.
"What about you, Kai?" Mila asked. "You never say."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
"I don't know," I said finally. "I think I want to be useful."
"That's boring," Coren said cheerfully.
"Maybe," I said. "But it feels honest."
They accepted that easily. Children usually do.
A shadow fell across us.
Father stood a short distance away, arms folded loosely, watching the herd. I had not heard him approach. He must have been listening for a while.
"Dreams are fine," Master Hennick called from farther down the field, where he was checking the boundary stones. "Just remember, life doesn't always ask what you want."
Tomas scowled.
Mila looked thoughtful.
Lior stared back down at his book.
Father did not correct him.
He only glanced at me and said, "Whatever you choose, learn how to stand before you run."
That was all.
He walked on, as quietly as he had come.
The sun dipped lower, turning the grass gold. Someone started talking about what they would do tomorrow. Then next year. Then someday far enough away that it felt safe.
We laughed.
We planned.
We argued over things that had not happened yet.
None of us noticed how still Old Gray stood at the fence line, ears angled toward the road, as if listening for something the rest of us could not hear.
At the time, it felt like any other day.
Later, I would realize it was the last time the future felt like a choice.
The wind shifted.
Old Gray lifted his head first.
I noticed because Father did too.
A shadow passed over the grass, quick and deliberate. Coren shaded her eyes and pointed. "Is that?"
The hawk circled once, wide wings cutting clean arcs through the sky, then descended without hesitation.
It did not cry out.
It did not waver.
It landed on the fence post near Father as if it had always known where to go.
The bird was large.
Larger than any hunting hawk I had seen. Its feathers were dark along the wings, pale near the chest, eyes sharp and unsettlingly calm.
Father reached up without surprise.
The hawk stepped onto his arm, talons gripping leather that was not there, but Father did not flinch. He slipped something from the bird's leg with practiced ease.
A letter.
Folded tight.
Sealed.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to that scrap of paper.
I stood up before I realized I had.
Father glanced at me.
Just once.
Then he turned his body slightly, not blocking my view, only changing the angle. His fingers folded the letter inward, quick and smooth, the seal disappearing into his palm as if it had never existed.
The hawk launched again immediately, vanishing into the sky without a sound.
"What was that?" Tomas asked.
Father did not answer him.
He looked at me.
"It's about the horse," he said calmly. "The one ordered by the noble family in the capital."
I frowned. "The black colt?"
He nodded. "They want it sooner. Ten days. It's a gift for his son's coming of age."
That should have been the end of it.
It sounded ordinary.
Reasonable.
Important, even.
But something did not sit right.
The wind carried the scent to me before I could stop thinking about it.
The paper had not smelled like parchment.
It had smelled like flowers.
Not dried herbs or ink.
Fresh.
Clean.
Like morning dew clinging to petals just after sunrise.
I had smelled it before.
Once, when a caravan from the far south passed through, carrying silks and sealed letters meant for people who did not speak loudly in public.
There was something else too.
Just a glimpse.
Barely a corner before Father folded it.
A word at the end of a line.
King.
I swallowed.
"That's fast," I said carefully. "Ten days?"
Father met my eyes.
Not sharply.
Not defensively.
Just steadily.
"They're important people," he said. "Important people rarely wait."
I nodded.
So did the others.
No one questioned it.
Why would they?
A noble.
A gift.
A horse.
It all fit.
But Father had folded the letter too quickly.
He had not asked me to help read it.
He always let me read things.
I sat back down slowly.
The conversation drifted again.
Tomas talked about ceremonies.
Mila wondered what gifts mattered most.
Coren imagined herself stealing cake from a noble table.
I laughed when they did.
But my attention stayed with Father.
He stood apart now, staring out toward the road the hawk had vanished down. His hand rested near his belt, fingers flexing once before stilling.
He was not worried.
He was calculating.
The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the field. Father finally turned back to us, expression easy again, as if nothing had interrupted the day at all.
"Let's head back," he said. "Before it gets cold."
We obeyed.
As I walked, the smell lingered in my mind.
Flowers. Morning dew.
And a single word I was not supposed to see.
King.
For the first time that day, I wondered if the future we had talked about, knights, healers, wandering paths, had already shifted while we were not looking.
Not because of a dream.
But because of a letter that arrived without warning, and was folded away before I could read it.