Kell hummed a bar of a grieving song that would set a tavern sobbing into their beers but stopped when he noticed he’d done it. He coughed. “It’s beautiful. And sad.”
“Did others leave before the Storranelds were married?” Saeldian asked.
“Oh dear. No. Few have come at all lately. We had thought no one would come before the winter. Besides the Storranelds, I think it was the crone’s moon the last time someone visited.”
“All of those people at the ceremony live here?”
“Yes. We’ve all come here for one reason or another and stayed.”
Saeldian glanced at Kell, but he was watching the leaves falling. “I still feel like we’re intruding.”
The barge thudded to a stop on the pebbled beach.
“You are not. If you are here, your hearts need this place. I hear your friends. I’m sorry to leave you, but I must sail to the heart.”
“The heart? Do you mean the island?” Kell asked. “Does your lady need you?”
“I need the peace of it,” Dylstra said. “You do as well. You should visit and see. Make sure no one else’s barge is there—unless all are called, one’s time at the heart should be private. It’s easier to talk there, if there’s anything you need to say.”
And with that, the lake carried the barge on a little swell and sailed away.
“One’s time at the heart should be private?” Kell said. “It’s like taking squash from a farmer. We can be out of this place by noon. We’ll invite the others back to the cottage after breakfast.”
“This doesn’t evenseem fair.”
Jubilee rocked in one of the bent willow chairs while she watched the island, where a barge sat waiting for Dylstra to be done with her contemplation. Saeldian and Kell had dressed and packed, then gone to the cottages Jubilee and Lorzok had been assigned so they could get the best view of the island.
“It’s weirdly convenient, I know,” Saeldian said. “I’m not questioning it. Their starless nights thing is happening tonight. This is it. I’m glad it’s going to be easier than we thought.”
“I’m glad the right gem’s going back in its place,” Jubilee said. “Did you hear about the story behind this place?”
“It’s a memorial.”
“Do you know what happened, though?”
Saeldian rocked their chair. “People always want to know the story behind the tragedy, like they deserve the whole experience.”
“Sheld—”
Saeldian ran right over Jubilee’s attempt. “Ilondrel’s mourning her lost love forever, this place is a refuge for people who want to defy a world that would tear them apart, blah blah—”
“Shut up,” Jubilee said, “and listen.”
Saeldian huffed, but they knew the careful, even tone that indicated a Waterdhavian who was about to lose their temper. “Fine.”
“It all goes back to that floating domain, Menoriath,” Jubilee said. “Ilondrel was there—we know that because of the story about the Brewmistress—and she was a knight. Paladin, actually, but that was their rank, knights. And Jadiris was also a knight, and they fought their feelings for each other, insisting that they were just friends and fellow knights. But Jadiris was in trouble. A member of one of the more decadent circles of nobles had—hold on, let me back up.”
Jubilee could never tell a story in a straight line. Saeldian rocked and tried to spot Dylstra among the slender birches and ash trees.
“This noble—no one ever names him. They call him Lord Azaelea. He had a wager with one of his friends, whom they call LadyNightshade. Well, she was upset at the object of her interests—Ilondrel, I mean—retiring from socializing and sport to take vows.”
Saeldian held up their hand to pause Jubilee. “Lady Nightshade had a crush on Ilondrel, who rejected her to become a paladin?”
“Yes.”
“Where does the wager come in?”
“Nightshade wanted her friend to seduce and ruin the lady and make her break her vows while blinded by infatuation for him. And if he did, Nightshade was going to give him her service for a month.”
