“Auntie, it’s fine, we will be fine,” Orval said.
Xydell pressed her lips together. “No surety of that, young man.”
“But surety of love,” Amari said. “Between us, and around us, and through us, and abiding at all times within this hearth.”
Xydell gave a nod, her gaze set on something distant. “My blessing to you both,” she said. “After I am gone, I want you to give me to the mountain, Orval. Here in the Black Hills.”
“We could send you to Edenrich,” Orval whispered. “To be interred with Uncle Jerrold in the Palace chapel. I am sure Satia and Xyrath would allow it.”
“Pfft, more like they would feed my corpse to the pigs. No, nephew, no need to go to that effort.” Xydell closed her eyes, and her smile was soft and peaceful. “My Jerrold will find me in the snows.”
There was a knock at the door. Orval helped Amari to her feet as Bercie came in, with her son, Jerrold. Bercie only had eyes for Xydell, but Jerrold glared at everyone.
He especially frowned at Roth. “You ever war here?” he asked gruffly.
“No,” Roth answered, looking him straight in the eye. “Never set foot on this land or shed blood in this place.”
“Peace, son,” Bercie chided.
“For now,” Jerrold grumbled.
“Wethe has told you?” Orval asked Bercie.
“Bercie, don’t waste time with him,” Xydell rasped. “Come talk to me.”
Bercie nodded and walked over, taking the stool Wethe had recently abandoned. Xydell smiled, reaching for her hand. “Oh, Bercie, let us tell each other tales of old times.”
“There were good ones,” Bercie said, taking the offered hand. “I’d hoped for more time with you,” she continued, her words sounding thick. “I despise what the Blood has done to you.”
“My heart was broken long before this,” Xydell whispered. “When Jerrold died and I lost the babe, I also lost my mind. I failed the Black Hills, should have fought harder to return, to champion the cause—”
“Hush,” Bercie said. “None of that.”
“I will not fail you now,” Xydell said. “I leave you Orval and his family. If you still think of me as your Lady High Baroness, then I name him my heir.”
For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. Then Jerrold said, sharply. “Here, now—”
Bercie held up her hand to silence him. “Lady High Baroness, I—”
Xydell nodded. “I know, Bercie, I know. So much pain and death and hate won’t make it easy for you or the Black Hills.” She closed her eyes and gave a weak chuckle. “The Wyverns thought they were sending us to our deaths.” Xydell opened her eyes with an air of determination. “It may be so for me. But let it not be so for them.
“He is a good man, even if he gets lost in his books now and then.”
Orval exchanged an eye roll with Amari, who added a hint of a smile, as if to say,She knows you well.
“I want to be interred in the mountain, Bercie. With the hidden ones.” Xydell looked at her. “It’s still there, yes?”
“Yes,” Bercie kissed Xydell’s hand as her eyes welled with tears. She glanced at Orval and looked as if she would have spoken, but Xydell kept talking.
“I am sorry to bring up old sorrows. Just wanted you to know my wishes. Now tell me of your family. Your son I know,” she nodded at Jerrold. “But daughters? Grandchildren? Share the joy of your life with me, Bercie.”
Bercie leaned in on the bed, and started to talk, her voice soft and quiet.
Amari excused herself, probably to check on the babes with Rosalind. Roth had settled into his guard position by the door. Jerrold leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, as if determined not to be budged. Orval drifted over.
“I was wondering,” Orval said quietly, not wanting to interrupt the two women. “Does anyone in town have the supplies for sending a message with a pigeon?”
“Maybe.” Jerrold looked at him with dark eyes. “Why?”
