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“This is Mordred,” I say. “He is a Cantor. That’s what he is, not a god. He’s been looking over Nivallia since the beginning. He knows all of you.” I squeeze his hand and step back a little. I tip my head toward them. “Go on.”

He doesn’t move at first. Then he steps forward, and when he speaks, his lips barely move behind the mask. His voice is low, but it still carries to the far edge of the crowd.

“Thank you,” he says. “For the offerings you’ve brought me over the years. For the food, the books, and the drawings your children made. I kept every one.” He turns his head toward me. “And thank you for my beautiful bride.”

No one speaks. They stand with their faces lifted toward him, and I watch them take in the word bride. I don’t correct it, because it’s true.

Callum drops to his knees in the snow. He doesn’t reach for either of us. He keeps his hands at his sides.

“Forgive me,” he says. He looks at me first, then up at the mask, then at me again. “Both of you. I never intended to harm Aveline. I swear that. I was desperate. The people were suffering, and I didn’t know how else to bring you back to us. I would’ve done anything for their healing.”

Mordred lets go of my hand and steps forward. He bends, takes Callum by the arm, and brings him up onto his feet.

“I understand,” he says. “I’m upset with you. I won’t pretend I’m not. But I know how much you care about this city. You’d do anything for these people, and you did.”

Callum looks at me.

“I forgive you,” I say.

Mordred pats Callum’s arm, and Callum stares as if something utterly holy has just happened.

“I want to go to the market,” I say. “That’s what we came for.”

Mordred returns to my side.

The crowd parts, and the mayor steps out of it.

“The Cantor and his bride may take whatever they want,” he says. “Whatever they need. No payment is required. Nivallia is yours.”

“That’s very kind,” Mordred says, “but we can’t accept...”

I rise on my toes and whisper in his ear.

“Do you have any money?”

He’s quiet.

“Any at all?”

“No.”

I turn to the mayor and smile at him.

“Thank you. That is most generous.”

I take Mordred’s hand and pull him toward the market. Behind us, the people of Nivallia stand in the snow with their mouths agape, watching their god get led away by the arm before they’ve finished understanding what just occurred.

***

Mordred

Ten Years Later

Aveline turned thirty today, and Nivallia held a feast for her. The whole city came into the square, and they ate and drank with her until dark. Since I still refuse to remove my mask in their presence, I let Aveline eat all the pastries and drink all the wine. Now I’m rowing her home across the black water.

We’ve had ten years together, and I can’t find one of them I’d change. I sing for Nivallia only when it’s needed, and I keep the songs short. For Aveline and for myself, I sing all the time. She joins me more often than not. I write the pieces, she learns them, and we sing them in the Silent Room with the door shut. Sometimes, she goes up alone, stands on the stage of the House of Voices, and sings for all of Nivallia while they fill every seat in the auditorium to hear her.

She’s happy tonight, and tired. She leans on my arm on the steps up from the dock and yawns against my sleeve.