He looks at me strangely.
“I do not have clear visions as my mother did, but feelings . . .” I shrug. “Aye. Amma says some Garra are given that gift, and by knowing yourself, it can be honed. Maybe someday they will be more clear, but for now, ’tis just a feeling. And with you, there is somehow good to come of the death that surrounds you.”
“It is what I meant to say, Aedre. That I know death, and wanting never to rise again because of it. But you will. You must. For the living. For whatever purpose that makes each day worth living.”
For a moment, I think he means me, but I know his purpose is the king. And mine? It is what Amma trained me to do.
From the look in his eyes, Vanni thinks I mean to refuse him, but I know I cannot stay here any longer. I must say goodbye.
Moving away and sitting beside her once again, I take Amma’s hand and tell her, even though I do not believe the words, “All will be well. I love you, Amma.”
If she can somehow hear me, I want her to think her last words to me might hold some truth.
Vanni is there when I stand up again.
“You did not leave,” I repeat. Grateful.
“Of course not. I’ve been outside all day.”
I know he has an important mission, one that cannot wait. But I need to know . . .
“Will you stay until the morrow? When we send her off?”
He does not hesitate.
“Aye, Aedre, I will be there, by your side if you wish it.”
It’s foolish of me to ask. Delaying his departure is not the same as preventing it. Besides, I have Father and Kipp, both of whom have known Amma, and me, my whole life. But knowing that Vanni will be there too, I look back, one last time. And sigh.
I love you, Amma.
I’m ready to leave.
Chapter Twenty-Seven Vanni
“Will you talk to him again?”
Thomas seems uncomfortable with the jubilant atmosphere, a very different kind of ceremony than we’re accustomed to in the south. I’ll admit, it’s my first experience of a Voyager funeral, and I understand—if not share—his unease. We all stood and watched as Aedre’s grandmother drifted out to sea on a small boat stacked with her most prized possessions. The moment was strange yet moving, and in its wake the townspeople have gathered for a feast.
It’s nothing like the somber ceremonies we’re accustomed to in Meria.
I watch as Aedre makes her way through the crowd, smiling as the villagers vie for her attention. I know Aedre’s smile is not entirely genuine, but none of the others seem to notice. As she told me earlier, those who come to mourn take their cue from the family, and Lady Edrys wished for her life to be remembered with joy, not pain.
“I’d not planned on doing so. His answer was clear enough.”
Following Thomas’s gaze, I see Kipp lift a small child off the ground and swing her over his head. His gentleness and his playfulness is so at odds with the man I spoke with at the inn.
“No. I will not return with you,” he said. “Not now. Not ever. The man you serve is nothing to me. He is not my father, nor my king. Meria’s problems are not mine.”
Though I’d expected his refusal by then, his words shook me all the same. I tried again, of course, but my further efforts failed just as surely.
“We cannot go back without him,” Thomas says as a serving maid refills both of our mugs. The amount of ale that has flowed since sunset could rival any feast at court. Lady Edrys, beloved by all, is receiving a fine send-off indeed.
“He will not be swayed. We have no choice.”
This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. And it will likely not be the last.
Another song starts, this one led by a flute off in the distance, and seemingly every person in attendance begins to sing. Thomas and I exchange a look. The tune is upbeat and joyful, but the words speak of darkness and death. A curious combination.
“We leave on the morrow?” he asks over the singing around us.
I don’t answer.
How can I leave Aedre now?
How can I justify staying any longer when Hinton is even now gathering support for his claim? I’m needed in d’Almerita. We all are.
And Galfrid needs to know that Aldwine has rejected his offer. He will have to formulate a new plan, and quickly.
“Aye.” Knowing what I must do does not make the decision any easier.
Aedre looks at me. Her smile falters, and I see the deep pain behind it. The pain she only feels comfortable showing to me, for some reason. She needs me.
“Or perhaps the following day,” I say, striding toward her. I can feel Thomas’s eyes on my back, but we can make up time on our journey home. It is just one day.
“How do you fare?” I ask as I reach her. She gestures to indicate she can’t hear me above the singing, and we move to the edge of the crowd. There are easily over three hundred people here, gathered on the edge of the village, not far from our spot.
“How do you fare?” I ask again when we are separated from the others.
The words feel insufficient. I would prefer to hold her in my arms again, the way I did in her grandmother’s chamber. It felt as if she belonged there.
“’Twas a beautiful ceremony, was it not?” she says.
“Aye, it was.”
Aedre looks as if she wants to say something, but hesitates.
“Tell me,” I prompt her.
As the singing dies down, the soft lapping of the waves is once again evident. We’re far enough away that none seem to notice us here, and we stand side by side, watching the revelry from afar.
“When I came home the night of the feast, she
