## Chapter 498 Breakfast was simple: bread warmed near the stove, eggs, a little cheese, and the last of the pickled vegetables. Morning light came through the kitchen window strongly enough to show the fine scratches the table had acquired since they moved in. Lethira sat with one leg tucked back beneath her chair, already dressed for outdoors rather than lingering in sleep clothes, her hair tied loosely away from her face. She had eaten most of one egg before speaking. “I’ve decided I’m not spending today waiting to see whether the bathhouse builder comes back. If he has the amended drawing, he knows where to find us. If the civic office still has it, staring down the road won’t improve them.” She broke off a piece of bread and used it to gather a little yolk from her plate. “I want to go out and shoot for a while this morning. Properly, somewhere I can stretch the distance instead of pretending our unfinished backstop is useful. I haven’t decided what I’m doing after that.” “Do you think we could arrange a dinner party for some folk?” Ian asked. Lethira paused with the bread halfway to her mouth, considering it rather than answering immediately. “Yes. I’d like that. Not tonight if you mean more than throwing extra food at whoever happens to arrive. We have enough room now to do it properly, and I’d rather enjoy having people here than spend the whole evening discovering what we forgot.” She leaned back slightly, already treating the idea as practical rather than hypothetical. “Mirelen would be an easy invitation. After that, it depends what sort of evening you mean. Who were you thinking of?” “Aelira, Lifegiver and Waykeeper.” Lethira’s eyebrows rose. She finished the mouthful she was chewing before answering. “That is rather less ordinary than I thought you meant by *dinner party*.” She considered each name rather than treating them as a set. “Aelira, certainly. The Lifegiver... yes. We talked about that before, and I still mean what I said then: because we want her here, not because sitting at our table is another exercise in becoming better behaved. The Waykeeper I’m more comfortable with than I was when we first discussed it. I still don’t trust every judgement she makes, but I don’t need to trust someone completely to eat dinner with them.” Her expression sharpened slightly. “I would want Aelira to know exactly who else is coming before she accepts. And I don’t want the evening quietly turning into another examination of the gods because three of us know far too much about them. If we invite them here, I’d like us to actually feed them. Is that the evening you have in mind?” “Yes, I’d expect them to not start doing divine stuff as well and will make that very clear. But those are the people I know here, beyond casual acquaintance, so I’d like to spend time with them. I know there is a risk of inquisition, but, I dunno, maybe it’s a bad idea.” Ian’s voice trailed off. Lethira watched him for a moment, then shook her head. “I didn’t say it was a bad idea. I said it needs to be what we invite people to, rather than something they discover after they arrive. Aelira gets told there will be two gods at the table. The Lifegiver and Waykeeper get told there will be no divine business unless something genuinely requires it. Any of them can decide that sounds exhausting and refuse.” Her gaze shifted briefly towards the dining space. “But if this is meant to be people we actually know, I’d invite Mirelen as well. Six of us even matches the chairs we own. Why did you leave her out?” “You’d already said her name, sorry. Definitely her too.” Lethira nodded once. “Good. Then that’s the guest list.” She reached for the last piece of bread and glanced towards the kitchen shelves as if mentally counting what feeding six people would require. “We can manage that without turning the house upside down. I’d rather not make it elaborate just because two of the guests are gods.” She looked back at Ian. “Do you want to invite them yourself, or shall we split the list?” “I think there are two only I can invite, so two each seems a sensible distribution of labour. Should I send you to the Elven woods to do in person? Shall we say the day after tomorrow? I can provide transportation to make it less of a journey for them.” “The day after tomorrow works for me. Mirelen is in Merrowford, so I can find her after I shoot this morning.” Lethira considered Aelira separately. “Aelira I’d rather ask in person. If she’s at court, send me there tomorrow and bring me back afterwards. I’m not spending several days on the road for a dinner invitation. And when we offer transport for the dinner itself, it stays an offer. She may want to know exactly how she is getting here before she agrees to anything involving your shortcuts.” Her mouth curved faintly. “So: you invite the two gods only you can conveniently reach, I invite Mirelen and Aelira, and we tell all four exactly who else will be sitting at the table. That sounds workable.” “I thought we could make burgers again. I enjoyed doing that with you. And see if Caswick could sell us some puddings to cook or reheat? Pick up some wine and mead in town.” Lethira’s expression brightened at the burgers. “Yes. Those again. They’re easy to make for six, and nobody has to pretend the meal is formal.” She considered the rest. “Caswick may have something suitable, though I’d ask what she has rather than commission a banquet from her. Puddings we can finish here would be ideal. Wine for Aelira and Mirelen. Mead as well if you want it, but I’m not assuming the gods drink either until they tell us.” She gathered the empty plates together. “I can ask Caswick when I’m in town for Mirelen. If she has something that keeps until the day after tomorrow, that settles dessert.” Ian stood and helped her clear the breakfast things. “I’ll go ask the goddesses.” He kissed her. Lethira kissed him back, one hand briefly catching at his shirt before she let him go. “Good. Make sure they know who else is coming before they answer.” She carried the plates to the washbasin and set them down. “I’ll find Mirelen after I shoot. Aelira can wait until tomorrow, but if I’m asking her in person I’ll need you to send me to the Elven woods and bring me back afterwards.” Her attention shifted towards the bow waiting with her outdoor things. “For now, I’m keeping the morning I already claimed.” Ian squeezed her hand and disappeared to the Waykeeper, arriving on the retrospective road after the mountain-pass history she had most recently walked. The high grey stone was behind her now, along with the choice she had decided she would still make: holding an unstable slope long enough for mortals to reopen their own road, without choosing who should use it. Since then she had passed an ancient marker and continued beneath dark trees, following a stretch of pale road which had not yet resolved into another remembered fork. This time Ian did not arrive in the middle of a choice. The Waykeeper noticed him almost immediately. She stopped, staff settling against one shoulder, and the traveller’s crooked smile appeared with recognition rather than surprise. Several of the apples he had brought on his last visit still made small uneven shapes beneath her coat. “You found the interval between moral difficulties.” Her eyes travelled briefly along the empty road ahead before returning to him. “That is considerate.” Then her expression warmed. “Hello, Ian.” Ian gave her a hug. “Hello, how have you been?” The Waykeeper shifted her staff out of the way and returned the hug. There was still a moment of adjustment, but none of the startled rigidity of the first time; one arm settled around Ian while the apples remained safely trapped beneath her coat. “Walking. I found a mountain pass I once kept open. The slope above it was unstable, so I held the rock still for three days while mortals cleared the road. When I walked the branch where I had done nothing, they eventually built another route instead. Longer, safer in winter, with an inn that would never otherwise have existed.” She glanced back along the pale road, though the mountain was no longer visible. “I would still hold the slope. I would not choose who crossed it. Apparently this road is capable of showing me decisions I still agree with, which is inconveniently more useful than discovering I was simply wrong about everything.” Her attention returned to Ian. “I haven’t gone back to my siblings yet. I’m not finished here. How have you been?” “I’ve been good. Sorry I haven’t visited sooner.” The Waykeeper tilted her head. “Sooner would have been a different point on the road. I’m not sure it would have been a better one. I’ve had plenty to occupy me, and I chose to keep walking. You weren’t keeping me waiting.” Her eyes stayed on him for another moment. “I am glad you came now, though.” Ian smiled at her. “I’ve come with an invitation to dinner, if you can spare an evening away from the road.” The Waykeeper’s expression changed from amusement to interest. “Dinner.” She looked along the road ahead as though checking whether it objected to being abandoned for an evening, then rested both hands on the top of her staff. “I can spare one. The road will still be here when I return. Who else are you inviting?” “Me, Lethira, Mirelen, Aelira of the Wood Elves, your sister.” Ian paused. “My friends in this world.” The Waykeeper’s brows lifted slightly at the list. “Aelira I haven’t met.” At *your sister*, understanding came quickly enough. “The Lifegiver, then.” Her attention lingered on Ian after the last sentence. The word *friends* seemed to amuse her, though she did not immediately accept or reject it. “You have collected an unusual table.” Then the humour eased. “Does Lethira want me there too?” “Yes, I checked with my better half first, of course.” Ian smiled. The Waykeeper’s crooked smile returned. “Sensible. I have met Lethira often enough to know that arriving at her home on the strength of your invitation alone would be a poor interpretation of hospitality.” She shifted her staff against her shoulder. “Then yes, I’ll come. I’m curious about Aelira, and I would like to see my sister somewhere neither of us is pretending to have divine business to conduct. When?” “In my timeline, the day after tomorrow. I’m unsure how that relates to here.” Ian placed his hand on hers. “I’d love for you to come, but no divinity, please.” He smiled. The Waykeeper looked down briefly at his hand, then covered it with her own. “*No divinity* is broader than you mean. I can refrain from using it, but I cannot arrive as anything other than myself. I can come as a guest. No roads bent, no futures inspected, no divine business conducted over dinner. If the house catches fire, I reserve the right to become unreasonable about the wording.” Her thumb moved once across the back of his hand. “As for *day after tomorrow*, come for me when it is day after tomorrow for you. This road does not need to share your calendar for me to leave it at the right moment.” “Your definition of divinity is fine, sorry.” “Then we understand each other.” The Waykeeper gave his hand a final squeeze before letting it go. “I’ll come as myself and leave the road outside your house. Come and fetch me when your day arrives. I have no intention of guessing which part of this road corresponds to your dinner hour.” Ian hugged her. “See you later.” He held the embrace for a few moments longer and disappeared to the Lifegiver. The Lifegiver was near the work area with the basil from London in front of her, its crowded stems still gathered in the little shop pot beside a larger one and a shallow heap of fresh soil. She looked up at his arrival, and the pleasure on her face came quickly enough that she made no attempt to disguise it. “You again.” Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before she smiled. “That sounded less welcoming than I intended. Hello, Ian.” Ian approached her and embraced her. “How was London?” The Lifegiver returned the embrace readily, one arm settling around Ian while the other remained careful of the soil on her hand. When he asked about London, she drew back just enough to look at him. “Good. Better, I think, because you weren’t there.” Her mouth curved before he could mistake the wording. “Not because I didn’t want you there. Because I found St Dunstan myself, bought a proper street atlas when your little book proved inadequate, got lost even with the atlas, ate lamb in flatbread, and learned that paying by touching the card against the machine is dangerously easy.” She glanced towards the crowded basil. “I bought ingredients too. And that. Apparently shops sell far too many basil plants trapped in one pot and expect people not to object.” Her expression sobered a little. “There was a florist looking for a part-time assistant. I didn’t go in. I can’t, yet. But I wrote down where it was. The idea of an identity felt rather less theoretical after that.” “Oh, that’s good. I did some research on the types of paper and some background for an identity for when you’re ready.” Ian smiled at her. “But I’m here to invite you to dinner, if you’d like to come? The day after tomorrow, depending on how time works.” “Oh.” The Lifegiver’s attention sharpened at the mention of the identity work. “Good. Don’t make any of it real yet, but I would like to see what you found when I’m ready. Especially the parts where you had to decide what sort of past a person needs on paper.” She did not linger on it, though the interest remained visible. At the invitation, she smiled. “Yes, probably.” Then she caught herself and amended it before the answer could become automatic. “No. Tell me who else is coming first. I learned enough from London to know that *dinner* can conceal a surprising amount of context.” Ian let her know who. “I’d really like you to come.” He took her hand. The Lifegiver looked down at their joined hands before closing her fingers around his. The invitation plainly pleased her, but she did not answer immediately. “That is a stranger table than the restaurant in London. Your Wood Elf princess, your Warden, her friend, two gods, and you trying to feed all of us.” Her smile faded only slightly when she looked back at him. “I would like to come. But I want to know one thing before I say yes. Does Lethira know you invited me specifically, and does she actually want me there?” “Yes, I did check first.” Ian smiled. “So…?” “Yes.” The Lifegiver’s answer came cleanly this time. “I’ll come.” She squeezed his hand once, then gave him a more searching look. “What are the rules?” “No divine powers. Otherwise I guess normal etiquette applies.” The Lifegiver considered that, then nodded. “I can manage that. I won’t heal anyone, alter anything, inspect anybody more deeply than an ordinary guest could, or interfere with the house unless something has genuinely gone wrong.” Her mouth curved. “I make no promise not to notice that people are alive. That part is rather difficult to switch off.” She glanced towards the garden, then back to Ian. “Normal etiquette is less useful to me as an instruction. Am I supposed to bring something?” “Just yourself. And clothes.” The Lifegiver stared at him for half a second, then laughed. “I had intended to wear those.” She let go of his hand only to brush a little soil from her fingers against the side of her work apron. “All right. No gift, no divine assistance, and clothes. I think I can meet the standard.” Her expression softened. “Come for me when it’s time?” “Yes.” Ian embraced her. “See you later.” He held a bit longer than needed and returned home. The kitchen was empty. Breakfast had been cleared away, Lethira’s bow and field things were gone from their usual place, and the house had the settled quiet of somewhere left deliberately. She had kept the morning she had claimed. Ian waited for Lethira’s return. She came back in the middle of the afternoon with her bow over one shoulder and a paper-wrapped parcel tucked beneath the other arm. There was dust along the lower edge of her trousers and the faint, loose satisfaction she usually carried back from several hours spent outdoors without anyone requiring conversation from her. She set the parcel on the kitchen table before unstringing her bow. “Mirelen said yes. She wanted to know who else was coming before she answered, which appears to be a theme. We also settled a quiet place in Merrowford for you to collect her before dinner.” Lethira hung the bow away and began loosening the tie around the parcel. “Caswick can give us two of the apple-and-dark-berry puddings the morning of the dinner. She says they’ll reheat well enough provided we don’t try to improve them.” Inside the wrapping were two smaller pastries. Lethira took one and left the other where Ian could reach it. “Those are unrelated. I was hungry.” Only then did she look properly at him. “How did your invitations go?” “Good. They all also wanted to know who else was going.” Ian smiled. “I also got them to agree no godly funny stuff.” Lethira took a bite of her pastry and gave him a sidelong look. “That phrasing is going to survive until dinner, isn’t it?” She chewed, then nodded. “Fine.” Her gaze rested on him for a moment. “Did either of them hesitate for any reason I should know about?” “They both wanted to check if I’d checked with you first, which is a fair assessment of domestic hierarchy and my track record on thinking, asking, doing.” “They were checking whether you’d invited them into my home without asking me.” Lethira’s tone was dry rather than offended. “That is less *domestic hierarchy* and more basic survival.” She finished the rest of her pastry, then wiped her fingers clean. “Your track record is mixed. You do sometimes reach *ask* before *do*.” A small smile appeared. “Today you did.” Her expression settled again. “If that was the only hesitation, I’m content. Tomorrow I’ll speak to Aelira, then we can work out how much food six people actually need.” The rest of the day stayed small. They did not begin cooking for an evening still two days away. The pantry contained enough to make tomorrow’s shopping a short errand rather than provisioning. Lethira checked bread, roots, onions and the remaining cheese because those were things houses actually ran out of. The bathhouse footing remained unchanged behind the house. The unfinished range remained unfinished. Nothing became urgent because gods had accepted an invitation. At one point Lethira took one of the two spare chairs from the wall and sat in it simply because it was there. The joiner had made all six to the same pattern, but this one carried a darker line through the back rail and a shallow variation beneath the seat where the tool had shifted during shaping. “Comfortable,” she said. That was the full inspection. By supper the invitation had receded enough for them to eat what they already had rather than test a future menu. Afterward the light lasted over the western trees. Lethira took a drink outside and sat near the stream while evening insects began finding their places among the bank growth. Tomorrow she would go back to the settlement. Aelira had never seen the house despite knowing more than most people about how Ian and Lethira had come to own it. Mirelen had spent days there and knew the table, the stream and the awkwardness of an omnipotent man voluntarily walking into Merrowford for bread. Bringing both women back together for dinner felt less strange than the other half of the guest list. Lethira listened to the stream until the thought stopped needing attention. --- The Waykeeper did not prepare a gift. The possibility occurred to her while she walked a branch where an old merchant had once delayed a departure by one morning and thereby missed a storm which killed another vessel. For several minutes she considered whether arriving at a home empty-handed was discourteous. Then she noticed what she was doing. A gift selected from everything she could reach would never be merely a bottle, loaf or bunch of flowers. She would know too many possible consequences. Even choosing an apple because she happened to like apples risked becoming a statement about roads, symbols or what someone might do with the seeds. She could buy something ordinarily if the opportunity arose before dinner. She did not arrange one. The difference was narrow enough to annoy her. She walked on. --- The Lifegiver thought about food. That was worse. She knew things which could grow only under conditions mortal kitchens could not reproduce. She could offer fruit at the exact instant of ripeness, grain from extinct cultivars, herbs from places whose people had forgotten them, meat from no living creature because life itself supplied easier answers than slaughter. She could also bring nothing because Ian had asked for nothing. The Lifegiver knelt beside a bed and worked a root free by hand. The root tore. Her first impulse was to restore it. She did not. A few minutes later she realised she had stopped thinking about dinner. That seemed sufficient preparation. --- The following morning Ian sent Lethira to the Wood Elf settlement. She arrived at the familiar outer approach rather than inside anybody’s protected rooms. The settlement rose around her in layers of old wood, living platforms and paths whose curves belonged to memory more than navigation. For a few moments she simply stood there listening. Then she started towards Aelira’s rooms. People recognised her along the way. A Warden on a crossing lifted one hand. An older woman carrying folded cloth asked whether Lethira was staying and received the unhelpful answer that she had not decided yet. Nobody treated her arrival as a royal event. An attendant outside Aelira’s rooms looked towards the empty path behind her. “No Ian?” “No.” That appeared to improve the category of interruption. Aelira was working when Lethira entered. Several pages covered the larger table. A cup sat near one elbow and had plainly ceased being hot some time ago. Seeing no document wrap, emergency sheet or visible problem, she asked whether Lethira was there socially. Lethira confirmed it. “That is unusual enough to concern me,” Aelira said. Lethira took the familiar chair opposite her. “I came to invite you to dinner tomorrow evening.” Aelira’s attention sharpened. “At your house?” “Yes.” Lethira let Aelira absorb that before adding Mirelen’s name. Ian would be there too; the gathering was theirs rather than something hosted in a neutral room. That relaxed nothing. Lethira gave the remaining names together. “The Lifegiver and the Waykeeper are coming too.” Aelira put down the page in her hand. For a moment the settlement outside supplied the only sound in the room: leaves against the outer platform, someone speaking below, a short burst of laughter too distant to identify. “You have invited two builder-gods to dinner.” “Ian invited them. I agreed first.” Aelira gave her a look which suggested the distinction had been heard and assigned limited practical value, then leaned back. “The Lifegiver has been to a meal before, presumably.” “Over several aeons, I expect.” Lethira had not asked the same question of the Waykeeper, and said so when Aelira raised an eyebrow. Aelira had met the Lifegiver directly and knew what that goddess was capable of when care became entitlement. She knew the Waykeeper only through the source-separated account Lethira and Ian had later given her. Curiosity showed before trust did. “What are the conditions?” “No divine powers. They come as guests. No examining people, improving people, rearranging roads, healing dinner or deciding the house would be better if it grew another room.” Aelira’s mouth twitched at the third example and flattened again at the first two. “And they accepted that?” “Yes.” Lethira rested one forearm on the table. Mirelen knew who she was dining with but not the wider builder account; the goddesses knew the intended guest list. “My purpose in coming here is to discover whether the sixth chair belongs to you.” Aelira glanced from the papers to Lethira. “You waited until you had all six chairs.” “I am not letting divine hospitality destroy the furniture after that much trouble.” Aelira laughed once, quietly, then looked towards the window. She had helped make the house legally possible and had never seen it. “Yes,” she said. “I would like to come.” Lethira smiled, but Aelira lifted one finger. “As your friend.” “That was the invitation.” Aelira’s gaze returned to the papers. “I need to tell my father before you leave. He asked for notice where possible before another deliberate encounter with a builder.” Lethira rose and offered to come with her if she wanted. Aelira considered, then nodded. “It is your house.” --- The King’s private working room contained fewer papers than Aelira’s and more decisions. He was alone when they arrived. His attention went first to his daughter, then to Lethira. “I have been invited to dinner tomorrow evening at Lethira and Ian’s house,” Aelira said. The King waited. “Mirelen will be there. So will the Lifegiver and the Waykeeper.” The pause which followed was longer than the one Aelira had given Lethira. “How many builder-gods,” he asked eventually, “does a private supper require before I am permitted to call it unusual?” “Two appears sufficient,” Aelira said. Lethira looked down before her amusement became discourteous. The King turned his attention to her, asking whether she wanted this. She told him she did. When he asked why, she did not search for a grand answer. “I want them at our table when nobody is petitioning them, accusing them or asking them to solve anything. I want to see what that is like.” He considered her for a moment, then looked back to Aelira. “And you?” “Lethira invited me as her friend. That is why I accepted.” Her father studied her for a moment before asking what prevented the evening from becoming another divine encounter the moment one of the gods chose otherwise. “Nothing absolute,” Aelira said. “They have agreed not to use divine power. Ian is providing the occasion-specific access. Anyone can leave.” The King accepted the answer without pretending hospitality made the guests harmless. He asked whether Aelira expected to return that evening. She did. The route would be direct, and she could ask to leave whenever she chose. The King nodded. “You have given me the notice I asked for.” Aelira waited. “If the evening produces something which actually changes the strategic position, tell me. I do not require the rest.” She confirmed that this was already her intention. The King looked towards Lethira. “I do not need a report on the food.” “That is fortunate. I would rather eat it than write about it.” A faint smile appeared. Then his attention returned to his daughter. “Go as Lethira’s friend if that is the reason you are going.” Aelira’s expression softened by a degree. “It is.” They left him to his work. --- Back in Aelira’s rooms, they settled the part of tomorrow which belonged to her. Shortly before the local evening meal, Aelira would wait alone in the small private outer room beside her protected rooms. It lay outside the innermost protected space, so the agreed collection would not bypass the household’s most private area. Ian would take her directly to the western holding and return her to the same room whenever she chose to leave. One outer attendant would know only that Aelira was unavailable privately for the evening. Mirelen already had her own agreed collection point in Merrowford. There was no reason to make her travel to the settlement merely so all the guests could leave from one place. No court record or Warden report needed the guest list. Once those decisions were made, the afternoon was allowed to become an afternoon. Lethira stayed for food. She walked part of the upper settlement alone afterward, stopping once beside a repaired branch crossing where three planks were newer than she remembered. Someone had used darker wood for the handrail. The work was good enough that there was nothing for her to correct and old enough that nobody had waited for her approval. Below, younger Wardens crossed a practice route under an instructor’s supervision. One misjudged a landing, recovered safely and tried again before the instructor could say anything. Lethira moved on. By late afternoon she returned to Aelira’s rooms. Aelira had reduced the day’s papers to fewer piles. They repeated the collection point once. Tomorrow involved two gods, an impossible human, a house several days away and exactly six chairs; a small amount of boring precision felt deserved. Lethira embraced Aelira before she left. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Aelira said. “At my house.” Aelira smiled. “Yes.” --- At the agreed time, the outer room disappeared around Lethira and the western kitchen returned. The shift still contradicted every travelling instinct she possessed. Her body expected road dust, changing weather and several nights between the settlement and home. Instead evening light lay across the scarred table. The stream sounded through an open window. Her bow belonged in its usual place again. Ian was there. Lethira set down her bag. “Aelira said yes. She’ll wait in the outer room shortly before dinner. Mirelen’s collection point in Merrowford is unchanged.” She gave him the outer-room arrangement, the direct return and the King’s response. He had asked for no dinner transcript and claimed no permission over Aelira’s choice to attend. Lethira looked around the front room. Four chairs stood at the scarred table. Two waited against the wall. For once, none was spare.