Evening came, warm and golden. Polly returned from her rehearsal looking tired. Their father returned home from work and sat at the kitchen table reading the Lundun Gazette.

  “There’s been another murder in the slums,” Jack’s father said as he read the paper. “An upstanding Apprentice Mage this time. He was only twenty-four-years old and already an Apprentice Mage.” He shook his head. “Must’ve been a talented young man. What a loss to Mercia.”

  Jack’s eyes widened in horror. More like a junky hooked on Wraith’s Hunger. He took a deep breath. “What happened to the mage?”

  “The papers speculate it was an archer due to the accuracy of the wounds,” he replied. “They believe it’s related to the other killing in the area. They believe it’s a rogue adventure group robbing lone adventurers for their belongings.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “What’s this city coming to?”

  “That’s terrible,” Jack lied while shaking his head. Thank the Gods they are blaming others.

  “Less of this sort of talk,” Anna warned, gesturing towards Zia who was listening to the conversation with a worried look.

  “Sorry,” Jack said.

  Their father nodded and continued to read the paper.

  During dinner, Jack’s father again quizzed him on noble etiquette and like before, he answered all the questions adequately.

  “You’re well prepared,” his father said. “This could be a big opportunity for you, Son. If the Baron takes a liking to you. Perhaps we’ll be working together within a few years.” He smiled.

  Jack returned the smile, the thought of working at the Royal Library at the side of his father would be a dream come true. “I’ll try my best, Dad.”

  After dinner, Jack helped their mom put Richard to bed. He sang an old lullaby under his breath, the one their mother used to sing to Polly.

  Anna and Zia stood by the door, listening.

  “You remember that?” their mom asked as she ruffled Zia’s hair.

  “Every word,” Jack said. He’d read a book of lullabies in his past life, so with his Total Recall skill, he knew multiple versions of the lullaby.

  Later, Polly was knitting for the play, muttering about ‘stupid ruffled sleeves’. Zia curled up on the rug with a book, her head resting against Jack’s leg as he sat beside her with one of his own. It was a novel about a holy paladin who was whisked away to a fantasy world with flying ships that didn’t use magic, and though there were no monsters, there were many more wars than in the real world.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  They ate the meringues they’d made earlier. Zia said they tasted like sugar clouds. No one disagreed.

  Mom had her feet up and was drinking tea. Dad was doing the crossword puzzle in the Lundun Gazette.

  The house felt alive… it felt like home.

  ***

  That night, Jack stood at the window, watching the city lights flicker beyond the rooftops. Tomorrow would be horses, nobles, and pretence, but today had been his. He looked across at his riding outfit, hung on a peg, ready for the morning. Everything he needed for the hunt was there.

  “I can’t believe I’m going on a hunt with Baron Greaves,” he whispered, as he imagined shooting an arrow through the Baron’s dark heart. He shook his head. “No thoughts like that tonight…” he told himself. “We’ve had a good day. Don’t ruin it.”

  Despite the earlier incident with Zia’s father’s sword, it had been a good day. The discovery and restoration of the blade felt like a quiet kind of healing for the little orphan girl.

  That evening, after supper, Zia had stood for a long moment in Jack’s room, gazing up at the scabbarded sword hanging on the wall. Jack had lowered it so she could reach it. Her tiny hand, brushing the hilt and the frayed blue ribbon that adorned it, and she’d smiled to herself.

  Then, with a soft sigh, she turned, gave Jack a long hug and a kiss on the cheek. She padded down the hallway to bed, leaving the sword where it belonged: safe, watched over by Jack and PenDragon, a piece of her father that she could now carry with her in heart as well as memory.

  Jack climbed into bed, the warmth of the day still in his bones. When sleep came, it was peaceful with no nightmares. He dreamed of a picnic by the River Tamesa, beneath the dappled shade of willow trees. The sky was a perfect blue, with lazy clouds drifting above and the soft hiss of aether-steam boats passing by on the distant water.

  A chequered blanket was spread across the grass, weighed down with baskets of food: golden-crusted pasties, jars of spiced chutney, sugared apples, and a still-warm loaf of his mom’s honey-butter bread. Anna sat cross-legged, slicing cheese and humming a tune. His dad was nearby, sketching birds in his notebook. His bowler hat was tipped back, and his eyes were squinting in concentration.

  Polly had claimed a corner of the blanket for herself. She was putting on a dramatic performance with crusts and carrot sticks for an audience of one: baby Richard, who squealed with delight every time she flung her arms wide.

  Zia sat beside Jack, her legs tucked beneath her and her ribbon fluttering in the breeze. She fed bits of fruit to an imaginary donkey. She giggled whenever Jack added new titles to Sir Donkey Don’s name.

  “Sir Donkey Don, the Lordly High Chancellor of the Royal Carrot Brigade, of the King’s Barmy Army,” he said, and Zia almost choked on her apple. He patted her on the back before creating a new title. “Sir Donkey Don, the First Grand Magus of the Royal Peashooters, of the Academy of Silly Magics and Trifles.”

  They laughed, ate, and dozed under the trees. The world was gentle, and time didn’t matter. In the dream, he didn’t worry about tomorrow. Just the sound of laughter, and the breeze, and the feeling of being whole.

  It was just them, together. A perfect family.