Chapter Forty-Two
Orval felt the warmth of Amari at his back as they stood in the common room together and watched Wethe tend Xydell.
Bercie had made good on her promise. Xydell was on a bed now, still by the hearth in the main room, but with proper blankets and bedding. Rosalind had stored the ceremonial robes after folding them carefully. Bercie’s people had brought food and firewood and the gatehouse was warmer and brighter as a result. Xydell was more responsive, more aware of where she was and who was with her.
But Wethe’s face as she turned toward them let Orval know that the news wasn’t all good.
“I’m sorry,” Wethe said. “It’s her heart, you see. I have a few draughts that will make her comfortable, but she’s not going to get better.”
“You could talk to me, you know,” Xydell’s thin, wavering voice rose from the bed. “I’m right here. Not dead yet.”
“I already talked to you,” Wethe said patiently. “Now I am telling them.”
Orval grimaced, but he had to ask. “How long?”
Xydell snorted. “Not long enough to be a bother,” she said.
Wethe gave her patient an exasperated look and shrugged. “It’s hard to say,” she hedged. “Tonight? Next week? A few months? That is in the hands of those that watch over us.”
“Enough. I really don’t have time for this.” Xydell coughed, then waved her hand to regally dismiss the healer. “Ask Bercie to come to me.”
“Of course,” Wethe bowed to Xydell. “I will return later to check on you.”
“If I’m still here,” Xydell muttered.
Roth ushered her out, took a long look around the courtyard, and then closed the door.
“Our guards still out there?” Orval asked.
“Aye,” Roth threw the bolt. “Still not sure if they are here to protect us or kill us.”
“So much anger,” Xydell whispered. “So much hate.” She sighed, plucking at the blankets. “We’re finally alone?”
“Just us,” Orval pulled up a stool.
“Bercie was my dear lady’s maid,” Xydell smiled briefly. “But she has grown as bitter as I have. I fear for you all, after I am gone.” There was no joy on her face now.
“No, I am sure—” Orval started.
“Don’t pretend otherwise, you’re not stupid,” Xydell snapped, a little of her old fire burning in her eyes. “Listen to me. My Jerrold cached things around the Keep and its surrounding. A pouch of coin, a dagger, or a sword. A few trail rations.” She drew a slow, harsh breath. “He always said that you never know when you might need one or the other at hand.”
“You should rest,” Orval said. Her paleness worried him.
“Fool,” she rolled her eyes, “I’ve more than enough rest coming. Bercie knew of some hiding places but not all. My Jerrold was canny. He marked these caches.” She paused. “I wish I could remember, but—” she shook her head. “Tell that boy to go exploring. You might need whatever he finds.”
“I will, I promise,” Orval said.
“If he forgets, I will remember,” Roth added.
“Good, good,” Xydell sighed. “At least you have a few smart people around you, Orval.” She took another breath. “Amari—”
Orval stiffened. “Aunt Xydell, I won’t let you—”
“Hush,” Xydell frowned. “Amari,” she held out a hand toward his wife.
Amari moved forward and gently grasped the old woman’s hand. “Xydell.”
“I heard,” the former Lady Baroness said, then took a few quick breaths. “I think I heard…is it true? What you did for Kara?”
Orval exchanged a glance with Roth in consternation.
But Amari plunged ahead. “Yes. But it’s also true that I had a child with Eijer.”
“Dalan is Eijer’s boy?”
“Yes,” Amari confirmed.
“Ah,” Xydell said. “A good bloodline, but watch out for his mother.”
Orval raised his eyebrows. Was she wandering in her wits?
“I am sorry, lass.” Xydell’s fingers grasped Amari’s so hard they turned white. “I said awful things to you, and I regret them. Forgive me, child.” She gasped a bit, trying to catch her breath.
“All is forgiven,” Amari knelt down and wiped the tears from Xydell’s face. “Do not fret.”
“I regret so much,” Xydell whispered, still weeping.
“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?”
“At some point, after we come to an agreement—”
“If.”
Orval ignored the implication. “I want to send a message back to Edenrich,” He said. “Don’t worry, you can read it before I send it. I’ll need your help because I’ve never tied a message to a pigeon’s leg before.”
Jerrold snorted. “Clearly.” He glanced at the bed and the two old friends.
“Mother will have to approve.”
“Oh,” Orval smiled, “I don’t think that will be a problem.”