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“I doubt she’d mind,” Tyr said, watching his wife greet each of their guests with poise and kindness. “She likes to help.”
“I’d be more worried about Tyr as a steward,” Rikard said with a hard whistle. “We’re all fucked, you know that, right? Better add Arkhady Wynter to your nightly beseeching now, Mother, get ahead of the devastation.”
Tyr socked his arm amid good-natured laughter. “I wish I had a good retort for that, but I’m praying for his good health myself.”
“One thing at a time,” Fransiska declared. “Long before that day ever comes, we have a child to prepare for, don’t we, Tyreste?”
“Hello, Mother? I’m right here. Your daughter. Days from popping.” Agnes wiggled her fingers over her belly.
“As you were saying, Mother?” Rikard said with a wink at Agnes.
“Well, of course you are, dear. Who said you weren’t?” Fransiska’s head shook, her shoulders fluttering in annoyance. “But youhavea mother, don’t you? Our Anastazja...” She drifted off, searching the crowd.
Agnes followed their mother’s gaze. “She has us now.”
“Indeed.” Fransiska’s sadness turned to joy again. “And your daughter, Tyreste, will only be the first of many children, I’m sure.”
Rikard cupped his mouth and leaned close to Stojan. “That’s Mother’s polite way of saying she knows how much her son likes tofu—”
Olov hushed him with a hard look all the Penhallow children were acquainted with.
Tyreste glanced down with an eyeroll and a chuckle. The others joined in.
It didn’t quite feel real, as though there was something else they hadn’t yet considered, some foe they hadn’t yet vanquished.
In time, the feeling would fade, time he would be spending withher.
He was already planning their honeymoon to the Easterlands. It would be a couple of years before they could leave, but they wouldn’t want to leave until their daughter was old enough to make the trip. The timing would work out perfect for them to attend a wedding. Rhiain had written that her little brother Jesstin’s betrothal season would begin in a year, when he turned nineteen. Tyr discerned what she didn’t say—that something had caused them to move it up. It had to have been something serious enough for her to want to wed her brother off before he was ready to be a groom. No matter the reason, Tyr looked forward to sharing his wife with his old friends—to showing them what ahappyTyreste looked like.
He thought of the wedding gifts they’d sent. For Ana, Rhiain had chosen a beautiful gown in the style of Riverchapel. For Tyr, though, there’d been something unexpected in the crate. A stack of fresh paper and a box of charcoal. At the top of the stack was a drawing he’d made of Rhiain years ago, one she’d stolen before the tavern had burned.I’d love to know how you see us now that we’re all older, and wiser,her note had said.
Would he pick up the charcoal and watch his hands dance upon the vellum? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t have to decide today or even tomorrow. As Ana had said, it was time to live.
Tyr’s daze suddenly broke. “Where’s Addy?”
Faustina stepped forward and pointed at a table in the corner. Addy sat on one side, Grigor the other, as she slowly signed to him. His return attempt was pitiful, and she let him know it, turning her head up with an exasperated look.
Tyr wiped a fresh tear from his eye and breathed deep. “I should follow Ana’s lead and say hi to our guests.”
“Of course,” Olov said. He spread his arms wide. “But first...”
Rikard groaned. Agnes laughed. But they all moved in for one of their father’s famous Penhallow hugs, Faustina and Stojan included.
Olov kissed the tops of each head and stepped back. “Home is where we make it,” he said wistfully. “Family is who we choose.”
As everyone broke away to mix with the crowd, Tyr met his father’s eyes. He remembered all the times Olov had tried to steer him down another course.
Today, at least, he had his father’s approval.
He didn’t need it anymore.
But ah, he wanted it.
Thank you,Tyr mouthed. Olov nodded low, his eyes full of tears when he looked up.
Tyr went to join his wife.
“You look so beautiful today, Ana,” Nikolaj said. He shook his head, sighing, the sound of a man, not a boy. Ana had watched him slowly shed the persona Magda had shaped him into, and as it fell away, so did her recognition of him. The last time she’d reallyknownNikolaj had been over a decade ago, when they had still been kids, playing games. She would need to get to know her twin brother all over again, a daunting prospect, but it was not a burden but a gift. Only when standing before her brother, recovered from his long spell, did she understand how incomplete she’d been without him.
