Opening my satchel, I pulled out the small gift I’d prepared: Two paper boats. Holding them up, I showed them to him.
Seth smiled. “Cute. What are those?”
“They’re for you.” I lowered them, glancing at the river. “In Serifos, we have a tradition for funerals. We set boats on the water and let them drift away. They’re following the source home, back to the Maiden.” Looking down, I shrugged. “These aren’t quite as nice, but I’m not much of a craftsman, and . . . this was all I had.”
Seth’s brows fell, and he took the little boats from me gently. He stared at them, lost in thought.
“Do you believe in an afterlife here?” I asked.
He nodded. “We think this land is a kind of . . . purgatory, I suppose. The divines wait in the beyond for the worthy, having left their blessed children to govern.” He blinked a few times, fighting away tears. “There was no funeral. There never is, for maidens.”
“Let’s hold one, then.”
Kneeling by the shore, he held up one boat, as if reluctant to set it loose.
“I think Ma’at would be proud of you,” I offered.
“She wouldn’t,” Seth said somberly. “I was a different man back then. She knew about her magic long before Father found out and trained me to inherit her seat. I disregarded her lessons. In myhead, she was immortal—she’d lived for centuries, and would live for centuries more.”
“And she was a psyche?”
“Mhm,” he chuckled. “We would talk behind Father’s back, behind the court’s back . . .” Sighing, he set the little boat on the waves. “I might not be a lord, but I can try to save the world for her.” He grinned. “And crush Father’s arrogance in the making.”
I took his hand as the little funeral boat made its way down the river, toward the beyond. “What was Cassandra like?”
“Simple,” he said, laughing. “Actually, kind of like Percy. She and her parents couldn’t read or write. I tried to teach her, but she insisted stories were best told by bards, and words were for stuffy record keepers.”
“Can Percy read, come to think of it?”
“Good question.” Seth smiled.
Curious, I leaned forward. “Are you allowed to court commoners here?”
“No. I didn’t get to see her much because of my duties. Ma’at kept our secret, though.” He set the boat down on the water. “I always wondered if she blamed me. How she felt when she realized I wasn’t coming for her.”
“If she loved you, she never would have blamed you. Never.”
His lids fell heavily over his eyes. “I hope you’re right.”
“Do you think I should blame myself for Ainwir’s death?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Of course not.”
“Then you should forgive yourself. You did everything you could.”
He sat quietly, eyes cast downward. “Ten years, wallowing in self-pity.” Laughing bitterly, he watched the boat. “She and Percy would have been the best of friends.”
“In another life,” I said.
“If there is one,” he agreed. Cassandra’s boat drifted away, joining Ma’at’s on their journey. “Thank you,” he said softly.
Squeezing his hand, I sat with him in silence. I could feel his thoughts hanging over me like a shroud. Raw, tearing grief. The pain of farewells.
But also the beginnings of calm that followed acceptance.
I remembered that feeling—one day, I’d awoken and finallyaccepted Ainwir’s betrayal. That he was gone.
One day, I’d accept his passing—when his ghost left me alone.
