“Ahhh,” Orval stalled. “I forgot about that. Wait, just give me a minute.”
Amari choked on a laugh as Roth rolled his eyes. Yfin’s face was screwed up, as if he was trying not to giggle. It wasn’t funny, it really wasn’t, but—
“Damn it, Orval,” Roth said. “Who is with you?”
“I’m with…er, well, friends isn’t the term I’d use. Or they’d use.” Orval said. “But they haven’t killed me yet and they did take the sack off my head.”
Amari covered her trembling mouth with her fingers. What had they done to him?
“That’s not reassuring.” Roth responded.
“It had something to do with pigeons, didn’t it?” Orval asked.
Amari stepped quickly to the main door. “Orval, if it’s safe, tell me a lie. What did you give me at the well?”
“Oh, well, a kiss, sort of,” there was such joy in his voice. “And a bracelet, leather braided with red jasper.”
Amari’s eye welled with joy. He was alive and talking and—
Roth was shaking his head in disbelief, eyes closed as if in pain.
“A walk to the well is tradition in Uyole, for babes three months old,” Orval said, clearly explaining things to his kidnappers. His voice trailed off; Amari could just imagine their faces. “Oh, I was supposed to lie, wasn’t I?” Orval said. “Well, I’m not very good at this. Let’s try again.”
“Enough,” a woman’s voice came through the door, loud enough that Amari took a step back and Roth raised his sword. “I am Bercie of Wareington of the Black Hills. I come in peace, offering no injury or insult to the house.”
“Bercie?” came the softest whisper. Amari turned to see Xydell’s face turned toward the door. “Bercie?”
Amari and Roth stared at one another, then turned again to see Xydell’s pale hands pulling at her bedding. “Bercie?” It was a soft, fragile whisper.
“I will come in alone,” the woman’s voice continued. Other voices, all male, were raised then, clearly in protest.
Roth looked at Amari, who nodded, and retreated to the inner doorway. Yfin, knives in his hands, he pressed himself to the wall, out of sight of the main door.
“I will open the door,” Roth called out, readying his sword. “But none but the Lord High Baron and the woman enter.”
“Leave the door open,” a male voice responded. “So that we can see within. Any treachery will be met with the same.”
Amari held her breath as Roth opened the door.
Cold air spilled in as Orval came inside, followed by a woman in leather armor. She was older, gray, wrinkled, with a no-nonsense, commanding look.
No matter, Amari forgot the woman as she took in the sight of Orval. Disheveled, sweaty, oh dearest Harmony, there was blood trickling down his neck. She must have made a sound, for he looked at her, and with a few brisk steps was at her side, taking her hand. His fingers were cold and clammy and she gripped them hard. He shook his head at her worry. “I’m fine.” he whispered.
He was, he was, he was standing beside her, safe. She put her head on his shoulder and felt the weight of fear come off her chest.
“My Lady?” The older woman, Bercie, stood in the middle of the room, staring at Xydell. Amari knew it must be an odd sight, a woman cushioned and wrapped in ceremonial robes, all crimson velvet and black fur. The wrong colors for an Airion as proud as Xydell, but all they had.
A rustle of cloth and Xydell roused, smiling, her eyes half-open and misty. “Bercie, is that you?” One frail hand reached out, shaking.
“Lady High Baroness.” Bercie took a step forward, staring as if she had seen a ghost. “They told us you were dead.”
“Am I home?” Xydell’s smile was wistful. “Did you have your baby, Bercie?”
Bercie hurried over to her. Both Roth and Yfin reacted, but Orval held them back with a raised hand.
Bercie took Xydell’s hand and slowly knelt at her side. “Oh, my Lady High Baroness, I did, I did, I had a son. We named him Jerrold after—” her voice choked off with tears.
“Oh, lovely,” Xydell’s face lit up. “Jerrold will be so pleased…” She blinked in confusion and her face crumpled. “But Jerrold’s dead, oh Bercie, he’s dead and I lost my babe the same day he died, and they wouldn’t let me return, they wouldn’t let me come home.”
