“Yes, uh, let us allow your mother and Old End to get reacquainted, shall we?” He slowly steps back into the hall.
Just before leaving, I hear Old Endolf speak for maybe the first time in my entire life, which brings me to a halt to listen. In a voice that’s surprisingly strong and deep despite his hunched stature and old age, he says, “Did you ever find a man worthy of you, dear Jinneth?”
My mother answers quaintly, a smile dancing on her lips. “No, Endolf . . . not a man.”
Understanding dawns on Endolf’s face, and I freeze, worried how he might react to the news.
Then his smile widens, brighter than before.
“Ah. Well that’s good.”
Antones hauls me out into the hallway, and we both take a deep breath. We take one look at each other . . .
And burst out laughing.
“I’ve never seen him so astounded! So proper!” Antones wails, wiping tears from his cheeks a minute later.
“I was so worried his sagging face would sink all the way to the ground when he heard my mother,” I answer in a clipped tone, trying to catch my breath.
I’m not sure what brought the joyous outburst, but it feels right. Perhaps it was the awkwardness of their meeting; the happiness they clearly once shared with each other.
It wasa moment.
As we make our way to the old rooms and study halls—the sparring room, which has been converted into a new, wider mess hall—I smile at Antones again. “Your beard’s gotten grayer,” I quip.
“Aye, and my limp’s gotten worse. Don’t remind me, Seph.”
I chuckle and put an arm around his neck, which he forces off him once we meet the first people in the newly revamped Firehold. It’s the three slavegirls from the Gilded Guild who greet me first—the nightladies we rescued from “Lord” Perevis, before I routinely ended the blubbering, despicable slumlord.
I hug them all, delighted to see them healthy and happy, no longer bony and distraught.
Next up are children I hardly recognize, because they have grown: former Diplomats corralled into the Firehold by Antones and the elder Grimsons. There’s Tajeri, Genth and Faidy—now young men—and many others.
Faidy yells, “Celebiddy!” even though he doesn’t have the speech impediment anymore, and I grin.
“Half these people are here because of you,” Antones tells me as he leads me to another chamber. He bumps my elbow, adding, “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you never did any good in the world, Seph.”
His words bring tears welling in my eyes. I bite back a sniffle and nod, not trusting myself to speak past the sudden lump in my throat.
“Our numbers have grown to nearly one hundred sixty strong. What were we at when you left, sixty?”
“That’s remarkable, Ant.”
As we pass rooms—which are no more glamorous than they’ve ever been but somehow more cozy feeling—he says, “We still call it the Firehold. Not everything can change. There’s no more fighting though, no more bouts or matches. Training and sparring is permitted, if requested. No one is forced to it.”
“Boys only?” I ask, quirking a brow.
He snorts and smirks. “Anyone is allowed. You made sure to break that mold, and it stuck.”
I can’t help but smile as I walk through this place. All the years come rolling back. Like when we pass a room where I recall Imis used to write about my bouts with the men and relay the tall tales to the other girls. They were so proud of me back then, sticking it to the surly guys—besting them, more often than not.
There are the rot-houses—the old prison cells where people would stay in solitary confinement for transgressions. “They’ve been repurposed as small study hovels where residents can find peace,” Ant tells me.
“Residents,” he says. Sounds fantastic.“Do wily youths still meet up to fuck in those hovels in the wee hours, Ant, with a certain somebody turning a blind eye?” I raise my brow devilishly as I poke fun at him.
“I surely have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mutters, blushing and trying to hide his smile.
In all, Antones has truly transformed the place.
