The light flooded the green-draped corridors of Aingarth's castle, as it had since its construction, and as it would for centuries after.

My Lady, he is asking for you.

Then it was time.

Red heels touched over pale flagstones and emerald carpet. Burgundy brocade ghosted over dustless, smooth surfaces. A letter went into a silver tray atop a cherrywood table. Mahogany half-curls tumbled as pins were removed and placed along with it.

All were done for the last time.

Mereavus opened the door to the chamber in which her husband had lain for the last two weeks - the same beach facing room in which they had spent their first days in Sarmagh, the same room in which she'd given birth to her eldest son. An imperious gesture sent them out.

A breeze stirred outside.

I dreamt over and over...

He looked so pale. So unlike himself, dwarfed by the giant four poster with that same smile on his lips. The same green eyes.

Black met green, and some sort of silent acknowledgement passed between them. Ghosts stirred in the sunlight, twirling through bright beams that sprawled across the floor. Old friends whispered without sound.

Of you holding me tight, under the stars.

She went to his bedside, and gathered his hand into her glove. She bent to kiss it, and one cold finger brushed against her cheek.

"Do you remember, Eave, when we first came here?"

"I remember."

"We were set free."

"We were."

I made a promise...

"I love you."

"I know." She paused, tears touching to her eyelids, cheek still against his hand. "I love you."

I will love you forever.

She straightened and leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead gently. "Wait for me," she murmured, half leaned against his chest with one finger drifting over his cheek. "I won't be long behind you."

He smiled a small smile and touched her cheek in a mirror of her own gesture.

Time has passed.

"I will," he answered. "I would have waited even if it were years."

So much has changed.

Sunlight flooded through an autumn evening in a ruined chapel. Leaves stirred. A blind priest spoke. A woman in green and a man with eyes to match. Hands together. Lips together.

"We have done well," he assured her. "We lived."

"We lived," she agreed, though both said their words through tears. "But I can't help yearning for more."

"Don't follow me needlessly, Eave. If you yearn-"

"I yearn," she admitted, leaning in for a light kiss of his lower lip. "For us to live more. I follow you needfully."

But the field remains in my heart.

Rain and madness. A mirage. Back from the dead. Solidarity and pain and endurance. More rain. Wet leather, mingled tears, utter relief. A woman in black atop a tower - the mourning clothes she'd never wear again.

"You are as beautiful now," he murmured. "As you were when we danced thirty years ago."

She was about to answer.

His hand loosened in hers. The chest she was leaning on ceased moving. The last thump of Samuel Alexston's heart thudded against her elbow, and beat no longer.

Oh, where are you?

One of her hands covered his cheek, and she continued to hold his hand. Her eyes closed as the unbearable sensation of having him wrenched from her took root in her being, and the serenity of the room, of her life, became empty. The world turned to ghosts and fragility.

I need to tell you I still love you.

She stood up and put his arm down. She bent to kiss him, and wet his cheeks with dripped tears.

"I love you."

She had prepared for this. She turned to her writing desk and removed each of the perfectly penned letters to her children. Her will. Instructions for the funeral. All laid out neatly on the desk. And afterwards, the vial. The tiny green vial on a white doily on a silver plate between the locked doors of a small cabinet. She took it from its holding, and locked the cabinet doors.

So, I reach out for you.

She turned from it and left it sat on the desk as fabric rustled by her wardrobe. The burgundy brocade came off. The rubies. The gold. All of it. The mirror caught a bite mark on her shoulder he'd left not two nights ago.

Her hands touched the teal satin of her wedding dress, and she removed it.

When she returned to her vial, she was dressed precisely in her wedding attire.

You fly around me like a butterfly.

She turned to the bed, and laid down next to him as she had for three decades. She pressed her cheek to his chest, and found it unbeating. That soundlessness caused her such infinite agony that she didn't even notice when the vial was uncapped and tilted to her mouth. Her hand slunk across his ribs as fire burned into her veins, and she clung to his nightclothes.

Your voice still echoes in my heart.

Mereavus Vorserkeine-Alexston lay warm in the crook of her husband's unmoving arm for two hours before the servants returned. Her last breath had carried her husband's name, and as she'd promised him, she was not long after him. The glint of mahogany hair was now left to her daughter. The flash of black eyes to her son. The endearing love of a blueblood and her huntsman remained for paper and ink, their names to history and voices. The treason, the skinning, the survival and the flames were put to death with her. Their bodies lay intertwined in the sunlight of an autumn sunset not unlike the one that had graced the day of their marriage. The room was silent, with no breath to stir the laughter so commonly heard within it, and all was given to the ghosts.

Nharati's longest romance ended as it had begun; together.

You are my true love.

Garnett sat on the edge of her bed before an open trunk, a folded sleeping gown clasped in her hands. The packing was nearly done as were the reasons for delay, the coronation, Maeryn's wedding, and yet for all the difficulty the castle posed for her, she was finding it almost impossible to will herself away. Who would Maeryn turn to when she needed to advice on Tyltin? Where would Drysllthen go when he was uncertain for he could speak to no other on it? What of the babe now in Roselynne's belly? What of sweet motherless Saeryll? What of Isotep? A glance down showed her the aging snake nestled around her ankle, drowsily watching her pack.

"Should I take you with me?" she murmured, hand slipping down to stroke his head, a small smile creeping over her face as she accepted his nuzzle. "Or leave you with Maeryn?"

A sudden knock on the door interrupted her pondering of the matter, and Isotep slithered beneath her bed as she called out. "It's open."

Jade eyes lifted to see her eldest slump into the room, his freckled face pale and drawn as his blue eyes seemed to scour her. Whether it was fury or grief that gripped him, she couldn't say, the lad looking like nothing so much as the day when Lord Wenfrith had met his end in a hunting accident, perhaps worse.

"Drysllthen, what's wr-" Before the words were out her mouth, and with her barely to her feet, he swept over to embrace her fiercely, arms so tight she thought he might crack her ribs as he pinned her to his chest. Without a second thought, her arms wrapped around him tightly, soothing hands stroking over his back as she felt his kiss fall on her hair.

"Tell me you'll return from Leugeilean," he whispered into her with a rasping demand, his face still buried into her hair.

The unusual note of fear in his voice made her frown, Garnett even feeling a slight tremble in his sturdy frame. "Of course, I will, darling. I'm only going for a short time." Confusion laced her quiet voice as she gently pushed back from him to search his eyes, those great blue eyes that reminded her so of Uhtred. "What is this about?"

His fingers clenched the hand she brought to his cheek, his disbelieving eyes squeezing closed as he numbly let her lead him to sit by the fire. Twice his mouth opened as if to speak, but the words refused to pass, and he simply sunk to sit before the fire, a glance passing toward Garnett as she slid to her knees next to him. The motherly clasp of his hand drew a wan smile, and he turned it over to lace his fingers with hers.

For a long moment, he simply stared at the pale slender hand within his own, memories of soothed hurts and gentle advice that had accompanied it, the way she tried to hide that it shook when the world became to much, the astonishing sight of it wrapped around a sword's handle when he'd despaired learning as a child.

Finally, after a rough clearing of his throat, he found his voice. "I just received word that illness claimed Lord Alexston..."

Sadness crept over Garnett's face, worry striking a moment later. "Perhaps, I should go to Sarmagh instead, to comfort Mer-"

"She's gone too..." He interrupted, the words harsh. That fierce thing in his gaze turned on her again, trying to pierce into her skull. "She was found with him. In her wedding gown. All signs point to it being her own hand."

Garnett's face was simply expressionless as she stared back at Drysllthen, understanding finally dawning at what had him in such a state. Still, tears filled her eyes to hear of both deaths, her head falling to rest upon his knee as she shook it. She stilled as his calloused fingers stroked over her hair, scarcely able to absorb the weight of the news.

"Did you ever think of ending it after Father died?"

The soft-spoken question made her shudder, as if the boy had just delved into her most private thoughts, almost blocking out the soothing brush over her hair. Her throat felt so tight she couldn't speak, her head pressed to his knee for she knew the answer was in her eyes. The silence stretched on, Drysllthen apparently intent on waiting until she'd answered him, so she finally nodded, whispering through a clenched throat. "Often, but I stayed for you."

"To see me on the throne?"

She nodded. "I'd have settled for close," she muttered with a low, near-hysterical laugh.

"And now?" The question came out gruffer than he'd intended, the King softening it with an arm around her shoulders, his tone moderating. "I mean, you've fought so hard, Mother, to get here, and now .. even I feel the strangeness of reaching such a goal. I can't.."

With a sharp sniffle, she lifted her head, eyes glittering with tears and her freckled cheeks damp. Firmly, she swept away her tears with a small smile, her hand gripping his tightly. "And now, I can let it go. You've taken my burden, my love .. you and, somehow, Maeryn too, and Tyltin." Her tongue wet her dry lips, reading the worry in his face for the answer had done little to soothe what he was really asking.

"I'd considered it now, Drysllthen," she finally answered bluntly, watching what little colour had returned to his face drain away. "And then I told myself I would stay long enough to see you crowned and Maeryn wed." Her lips shook, the tears welling again as she stared into those beloved blue eyes. "And now I find it almost impossible to leave on my trip, let alone something so final." When her fingers grazed his cheek, he leaned into the touch like a child seeking comfort, her great huge son. "I want to see what I fought for, Drysllthen. I'm not ready to let go yet, no matter what I thought."

Relief tore over his face, that terrible tension that had risen over his neck and shoulders falling away as he pulled her tight against him, content to rest before the fire with her. The embrace and quiet conversation continued on in the solace of the room, Drysllthen breathing easier.