Didier nodded and took the small piece—little more than a crumb, really—popped it into his mouth and chewed. He closed his eyes, his gamine face enraptured. After he swallowed, his eyes opened. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome,” Jehan said, crouching down. “Now, tell me, how long—”
Didier silenced him with a hand over his lips and shook his head.
“Now?” Jehan whispered.
Didier nodded. He kissed the old man’s cheeks, and Jehan crushed his son to him.
“I love you, my boy. I always have and I always, always will. Kiss yourMamanfor me, eh?”
“I will.” Didier gave Jehan one last smile and then turned to Nicholas and Genevieve. “Farewell, lady,” he said politely. “You are very kind.”
“Farewell, Didier. You are very clever.” The dowager baroness summoned the brightest smile her deteriorated condition would allow.
Didier’s chest puffed out. He looked to Nick. “Thank you for letting me ride Majesty, my lord. I very much enjoyed it.”
Simone saw Nick’s thick, corded neck, already ringed with bruises, convulse. He cleared his throat. “I am sorry I did not believe in you, Didier.”
“’Tis alright, Baron.” The mischievous grin Simone knew so well lit his face and shone bright, brighter than the morning sun. “I did not believe in you either.”
Nick snorted and held out his hand, a show of respect from man to boy. In Nick’s palm was a dirty, crumpled, dingy-white feather.
Didier’s thin shoulders straightened, and he slapped his hand into Nick’s.
Nicholas pulled the boy into his arms, engulfing Didier in his embrace, and pressed his lips to the crown of the boy’s head.
“I am in your debt,” Nicholas whispered.
Didier pulled away. “Farewell, Baron.”
And then Didier turned to Simone once more, and she did not know if she could bear the crushing weight of love she felt, if her eyes could withstand the sight of him, so brilliant and pure. She felt heavy and light at the same time. Didier walked to her, tugged at her hand so she knelt before him again.
Simone sighed a quick breath. “Well, we’ve had quite an adventure, have we not?” she asked lightly.
Didier nodded, his eyes wide. “I should say so.”
Simone laughed and took his small hands in hers. “Didier, I wish that I would have been a better sister to you when—”
But he was shaking his head at her, giving her a silly frown. “Simone, you are my best friend. You always have been.” He threw his spindly arms about her neck, and Simone squeezed him like it was the last time.
Itwasthe last time.
“’Twas never your fault,” he whispered in her ear. “Love you.”
“Love you,” Simone whispered back. She released him slowly, smoothing her hands over his unruly hair, down his neck, over his arms, memorizing the feel of him. “Where do you go?” she asked.
Didier shrugged, smiled. Then he gestured toward the rear of the hall, where the sun sank over the horizon, casting the placid waters in shimmering washes of magenta and orange.
“Out there,” he said simply, a touch of awe in his voice, and Simone could see the anxious excitement to be away flashing in his eyes.
But she feared for him. “You…you won’t become…lost?”
“Oh,non,Sister,” he assured her, and held out one fist to her. Grasped between his fingers was his once-white feather. “I have this.”
Simone nodded, and tried to smile as she glanced at Nicholas. His jaw was set, his nostrils flared. Simone looked back to her brother, feeling as though her heart were being squeezed in a mighty hand. A hand the size of an eight-year-old boy’s.
Didier glanced at the missing section of wall and then back to Simone, almost shyly. He leaned forward, whispered, “May I go now, Simone?”
