Page 242 of Fallen Nocturne

“Of course,” Deirdre says, carefully transferring the baby to my arms. “You’re his godmother, after all.”

I am.

Siofra named me in a letter she left behind. In the same letter, she asked Lady Deirdre to raise her son if neither she nor Darstan returned from the war. She had prepared for the possibility.

I hold the baby close and look down at his perfect little face, at the life that came from love. He survived when his parents didn’t.

“Your father was very brave,” I tell him softly. “He loved your mother so much.”

The baby blinks up at me. Perhaps he is listening. Perhaps he is only fascinated by the movement of my lips.

“Your mother was incredible,” I continue, my voice thick with tears. “She taught me how to fight and never give up.”

I press a kiss to the baby’s forehead.

“They loved you,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry they’re not here to raise you, to watch you grow, to see the amazing person you’re going to become.”

Tears drip onto the baby’s blanket. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“But you’re not alone,” I tell him. “You have Deirdre, Aelfric, and Hrolf. And me. You have so many people who loved your parents and will love you too. You’re going to be all right, I promise. You’re going to be all right.”

I hand him back to Lady Deirdre. She takes him gently, understanding in her eyes.

“I’ll take good care of him,” she promises. “He’ll know his parents and understand their sacrifice.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Deirdre inclines her head while Hrolf places one protective hand against the baby’s back. We exchange our farewells.

Hrolf and Deirdre stand together among the graves with the baby safe between them. Siofra and Darstan should be the ones holding their son. Nothing can make their absence right, and no future happiness can replace everything the war took from us.

But their child is surrounded by people who will tell him their stories. Grief remains, but life continues beside it.

So does hope.

I push Aelfric’s chair back toward the healing house. Before the path curves out of sight, I glance back one last time at the graves, at everything we’ve lost.

“Thank you for protecting us,” I whisper.

Rest well, my friends.

I’m nervous.

More nervous than I’ve been in weeks. Because Prince Finnbheara is coming to visit.

Today. Now.

“Stop fidgeting,” Svenn says, taking my hand.

“I can’t help it,” I say, smoothing my dress for the hundredth time. “What if he changed his mind?”

“He’s not,” Svenn interrupts gently. “He’s coming to sign more peace treaties. That’s all. If he was coming for war, he wouldn’t have sent word ahead.”

I suppose that’s true. But it doesn’t stop the anxiety crawling up my spine.

The last time I saw Finnbheara, we were standing in a circle. I was broken and bleeding and desperate. He had all the power and all the advantage.

Yet he chose mercy.