Lyndal stood on the veranda of the new almshouse, trying very hard not to cry. She had promised herself that she would keep it together, but the fact that Queen Fayre had insisted on saying a few words was not helping.
‘I remember how impressed I was when I first met Lyndal,’ Fayre said, looking in her direction. ‘She had travelled to hell and back, yet was brimming with an optimism so contagious I just knew I had to get her in a room with everyone I know and hope they caught it.’ She looked behind her at the house. ‘This was her idea, her vision, her understanding of what this borough needed. A piece of her enormous heart.’
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
‘I am so pleased to see her vision brought to life and so happy for those who will benefit from it,’ the queen mother continued. ‘And I am very sorry that Prince Becket could not be here to witness what a wonderful job his people are doing of caring for one another in his absence.’
The merchants exchanged glances. It had been nearly a year since King Borin died. A year of waiting for their new king—yet no such king had arrived. But because Queen Fayre was doing such a superb job as queen regent, no one was complaining.
Lyndal’s eyes met Astin’s. He was wearing the proudest expression she had ever seen on him. He winked at her, which only made the sting in her eyes worsen. Beside him stood his smiling niece. Lyndal had been shocked to learn the truth about Presley and Rose, but she would take the secret to her grave so Rose would never have to know just how big a monster her father really was.
‘I am sure there are people Lyndal wishes to thank,’ Fayre said, ‘so I shall let her say a few words now.’ She stepped to the side.
Finding a smile, Lyndal clasped her hands in front of her and looked out at the crowd. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty. Not only for your kind words but for your personal contribution to the project.’
She went on to thank everyone who had been involved, from the merchants who gave their time, to the nobility who gave coin and materials, to the farmers who would be donating food.
‘And, of course, my husband,’ Lyndal said, finally losing the battle against her tears. She brushed a hand over her cheek. ‘He was here every day, helping in some way. I’ve no idea how I got so lucky, but I’m incredibly thankful I did.’
More tears fell, and she could not wipe them away quick enough.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but the enormity of this moment and everything it symbolises has clearly gotten to me.’ She laughed to expel some of the emotion building.
Astin stepped up onto the veranda of the almshouse and wrapped an arm around her. ‘My wife wanted to build a place for people with nowhere to go, a place to fall down, to not be alone. It’s a place where a mother can bring her children when the pot at home is empty. It’s a place where those with enough can come and help those who are struggling. All the love and warmth this woman holds has been poured into this house. I’ve watched in awe.’
That only made the crying worse.
She wiped her face. ‘If you, or anyone you know, is ever in need, this door behind me will open to you. And it’s not just for merchants. Let’s not let a few walls stop us from taking care of each other.’
The crowd applauded that last part.
‘Long live Farmer Lyndal,’ Presley shouted, grinning.
Laughter rolled over the crowd. Even Queen Fayre was smiling.
Lyndal walked to the door and pushed it open. Cheering ensued.
‘Here it is,’ she shouted above the noise. ‘Your almshouse is officially open.’
They ate outside that night. Astin built a fire near the new farmhouse, and they roasted a side of pork big enough to feed the large group. They ate perched atop logs, cups of ale at their feet.
Lyndal loved these nights, everyone together, the constant hum of conversation accompanied by bouts of laughter. She looked across the fire at Astin and smiled. He rose when he caught her eye, walking over and sitting beside her.
‘You’re happy,’ he said, kissing her forehead.
She nodded and put her plate on the ground, picking up her cup. ‘How lucky are we to have all these people here to celebrate with us?’
Astin looked around the group. ‘We could probably afford to cut a few loose, to be honest.’
Lyndal squeezed his knee. ‘Be thankful my uncle always declines our invitations. He’s above such gatherings.’
‘I was secretly hoping his daughter would be above such gatherings,’ Astin muttered.
‘Don’t. She’s planning on volunteering her time at the almshouse.’ Lyndal looked over at Kendra, who was carefully picking something out of her cup. ‘She’s earned her place at the fire and her cup of cheap ale with grass floating in it.’
Astin watched her a moment. ‘The sooner she learns to chew her drink the quicker she’ll fit in.’
Lyndal laughed into her cup, eyes going to Blake and Presley. It was not surprising the pair got along as well as they did. They were two peas in a pod.
