“Those can stay here,” Orval ordered as he put the bag of nappies next to her. “Put it against the wall with the chairs in front. The rest can go up to the third floor.”
Other things were being brought in, things Amari didn’t recognize. She looked questioningly at Orval.
“They’re from the storage room,” he said softly. “My sister’s things.” There was a flash of pain on his face but he went out the door before she could say anything.
She looked down at Dalan, but his eyes were closed again, his tiny hands curled in pleasure. She rocked a bit on the stool, probably more for her own reassurance than his.
A rattle startled her as pebbles bounced out of the chimney. She stared at the small stones scattered on the kitchen floor.
The pounding of feet on stairs was followed by Yfin bursting into the room, his hair in his eyes, a grin on his face. “They came down?” He crowed when he saw the stones on the floor, then ran over to peer up into the fireplace.
Amari nodded.
“It’s clear, then,” he reported as he dodged the guards to pick up the stones, his words tumbling out breathlessly. “There’s privies on every floor,” Yfin blinked at her in wonder. “And outside there’s a dovecote, with lots of pigeons. My ma made a real good pigeon pie. And one of the barn cats let me pet its head.” He laughed. “It’s kinda an ugly cat.” He glanced at the hearth. “Cap’n said if the fireplace was clear, we could start a fire.”
Amari opened her mouth to protest; there were rituals and prayers for a first fire in a hearth. But Yfin had already darted off again, deeper into the building.
She hugged Dalan and sighed. Not what she had imagined for her first hearth. Sorrow rose in her chest and she fought it down. Given all that had happened, she should thank the Ancestors that she and hers weren’t dead in a ditch and beg forgiveness for her ingratitude. Still, the ceremonies were important. She could pray, silently, and sweep the hearth before they laid the fire. As to the water, she could—
“Here,” Yfin burst back in the room, all youthful, awkward eagerness. “I brought you this.”
There in his hand was a bucket, brimming with water, yet not a drop spilling.
As good an omen for a new hearth as any could ask.
“There’s a well below,” he grinned as he put the bucket beside her, on the hearthstone. “It’s got a good cover too, one with a latch.”
Amari smiled up at him as he stood bouncing on his toes. “We’ll need firewood,” she said. “To start our first fire.”
Yfin flew out the door, causing at least one guard to curse him as he plunged through them.
“A hearth heals in its own way,”one of her aunties used to say. Amari took a breath and breathed out a small prayer of thanks.
Roth stuck his head in the door. “They’re almost done,” he said. “Just a few more things. I’ll get Xydell.”
“Make sure we have those capes,” Amari said. “They’ll make fine bedding, if nothing else.”
Roth gave her a funny look, bowed his head, and disappeared back outside.
“No, take that back downstairs.” Rosalind’s voice floated down from above. A moment later, she entered the kitchen from the stairs, followed by two guardsman holding a large, wooden box. “It can’t be that heavy,” she scolded them as they put their burden on the table and fled outside.
“I found some dishware and some foodstuffs they must have grabbed off your shelves,” Rosalind continued. Rummaging in the box, she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with the symbol of the Harmony on it. “I have no idea what this is,” she said, studying it.
“I do,” Amari said reaching out, her heart lifting.
Orval watched asthe guardsmen struggled to get the last bits out of the wagon, rolls of carpet and a few more sacks of what looked like bedding.
Ussin came to stand next to him. “Got my orders, don’t ya know. Need to see to my men. Can’t miss that portal.”
Orval stayed silent.
More guards came to help with the heavy rugs while others were seeing to their horses and mounting up.
One of the guards heaved up a large sack that clanked. Ussin took a step forward and said, “Here, you, take this’n to Cap’n Roth.” The soldier nodded, a quick jerk of his head.
“Roth’s weapons,” Ussin said gruffly, avoiding Orval’s eye. “And the boy’s knives.”
Orval said nothing. If Ussin was uncomfortable, so be it.
