“Years of war have taught us well.” His deep voice made it a pronouncement. “Seeing our wells filled with stones, our fields burned, our dead desecrated, we learned to hide our dead, among other things. Where is none of your concern.”
“Ah,” Orval shifted on the bench, glancing at the well. “We tried to shift the rocks out you know, but they are too deep and heavy for us.”
“I know,” Jerrold said. “We watched.”
“Yes, of course,” Orval glanced at the gatehouse.
“We will treat her with respect,” Jerrold said. “More respect than the Blood of Xy has ever shown us.”
Orval craned his neck to look up at the man, genuinely surprised. “I never doubted that. I am truly grateful.”
From behind them, in the depths of the Keep, came a triumphant shout from Yfin and the fluttering of wings.
Jerrold relaxed slightly. When Orval gave him a questioning look, he shrugged. “He sounds like my son,” Jerrold said gruffly.
Orval nodded his understanding, then nodded toward the gatehouse. “How long will that take, do you think?”
Jerrold shrugged, and sat on the other end of the bench, adjusting his scabbard. “About an hour, maybe a bit longer.”
Orval nodded.
After another moment, Jerrold spoke. “I have a question.”
Orval met his gaze with a raised eyebrow.
“What is it you really want, Lord High Baron?” The disdain in his voice was clear.
In his mind’s eye, Orval was back in their apartments, an ache of homesickness for crowded shelves, copper lanterns, the smell of pease cooking. Amari’s delightful laugh and the gurgle of babes in arms. Those precious days before all of this had crashed down on him. On them.
Orval drew a breath. “I want a place,” he said slowly. “Where I can build a life with my wife and children where we need not fear the knock at the door or want for our basic needs.”
“Not power?” Jerrold asked. “Not wealth, dominion, or glory?”
“No.” Orval said, dying to launch into all the historical, philosophical, and practical reasons behind his answer, but shut his mouth firmly.
Jerrold grunted, then went silent. Orval was more than willing to do the same, for fear of offending the man. They sat in the sun, listening to the occasional shouts from Yfin, of both success and failure. At one particularly loud string of curses, Orval couldn’t help but chuckle. He glanced over to see a half-smile on Jerrold’s face.
It was a start, maybe.
When the door finally opened, Mother Bercie emerged with Amari. Orval could hear, in the gatehouse, women’s voices raised in a chant.
Jerrold rose to greet the women. Stiff from sitting, Orval struggled to get up. Jerrold extended a hand to aid him and Orval took it with thanks.
“It’s done,” Mother Bercie said, coming to stand in front of them. Amari nodded to Orval to confirm.
“Thank you,” Orval said.
“Others who wish to honor her will be here shortly,” Bercie continued. “We will escort her and see her entombed.” She looked at Orval. “You cannot come.”
“I know,” Orval said. “The Blood of Xy—”
“No,” Mother Bercie stopped him with a raised hand. “The path up into the mountain is narrow and torturous. With your leg…”
“Oh,” Orval said.
“And Amari should not risk it.” Mother Bercie decreed.
Orval expected a protest, but Amari’s head was down, her gaze firmly on her shoes.
