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Was I honest with myself about how it had felt to see Étienne burn the bodies of his own people, to kill without thinking twice the woman I had been so jealous of? The woman who would have stolen my child?

He had burned them and taken the remains to throw far away from our lands, so their bodies didn’t pollute the soil or disturb the ancestors.

He had been gone every day this week, making sure these people’s bones didn’t lie anywhere near us.

“You killed your own people, too,” I said, feeling that warm, wicked-sweet heat deep inside me. “You killed when you needed, Étienne. You were strong and brutal when it mattered. I only regret you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth earlier so we could found a different way.”

His hands tightened on me and then he was kissing my overheated face passionately.

“My greatest, foulest mistake, and one I will atone for every day for the rest of my life. When I think that I dared to use you as a bargaining chip, I can’t believe my own stupidity.”

He pulled me on top of him again, and as our lips met, my body slotting down over his whispered wicked words, begging for my cunt over his, I knew he was bloody and he was brutal, but it had been needed to keep Ciel safe.

But what would be enough for me. . .

Since we did not know where Gran was buried, and Da and Réjean were dead, Étienne asked me where I wanted to build a memorial to my grandmother.

Did I want it on Pinoteaux land or here?

Here, I said decisively.

I did not want to remember her on the land where so many Pinoteaux had died, where they had killed her.

So Étienne and I worked day and night to build her a memorial. It was carved out of granite and stone, in the form of Pegasus, her favorite constellation, and because I remembered how much she loved to ride across the mountains on her trusty horse Nightwalker.

I sat on the front porch with Ciel as the leaves began to turn, to crunch under my feet as I looked out over the land, and watched the muscles in my husband’s back pulsate with power as he worked carefully at the curve of the Pegasus’ neck.

For such a brutal man, he could have such a tender, delicate touch when it came to creation.

As a break, I wandered in the woods, gathering the sweet paw-paw fruits, green outside and bright yellow custard inside, always with my husband’s protective presence behind me, picking the high fruits, brushing back stinging nettles, carrying Ciel when he grew too heavy in my wrap.

But there was something I still held back from him. It was almost like I was waiting for a sign.

What are you waiting for? he asked me one night as we lay together in a sticky tumble of limbs in the bed. You haven’t given me your whole heart yet.

I am waiting, I said.

For what?

I do not know. Maybe a sign from the ancestors.

When do you think they’ll give you a sign? Please, I’m begging.

I don’t know. Maybe next week. Maybe next year. Maybe never.

I will take it. I will take whatever you give me. Your hate or your love. I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

I never replied, never responded in kind, but he still said it.

I wanted Hugo to be back for the full memorial service, but I also needed to say a few words about Gran before the first snowfall, so I decided we would bring more pawpaw fruits to her grave at twilight the next day.

But when twilight arrived, Étienne still had not arrived back home.

Now where was he? He was always home by dinner. He had never missed an evening at home yet.