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“So when Councilor Soren was bidding on Sable and me at the flesh markets—”

“I didn’t want that for you girls. You deserved the chance to work your debt off and start new. I never got that chance.” Her voice breaks on a sob she tries to swallow. “And now Arlo.” Tears slide down her cheeks. “All he wanted was you, not outta spite. He was a good boy. I’m so sorry I kept him from you. I was so scared you’d get pregnant and stuck here.”

I can’t look at her when she’s talking about Arlo, not when his lifeless body is draped with a sheet, cradled in the arms of the vampire I chose instead of him. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “For trying to protect us.” That’s all I can manage, but it’s sincere.

Kylian studies her for a moment, then looks between me and Eagan. “The papers. Do you have them?” he asks Eagan.

Eagan nods, already reaching inside his coat.

Claudia stiffens. “What papers?”

Kylian’s gaze moves over the gathered workers, over the hollow peering faces that are stricken with grief.

“Debt release and stewardship transfer,” he says. “This farm, its labor contracts, and its remaining obligations are now under Sangremere protection, and you’ll hold stewardship unless Alessia decides otherwise.”

Claudia’s mouth parts as she looks at me, then everyone else. A murmur moves through the workers, uncertain at first, then disbelieving, then rising into something that sounds too frightened to be hope.

“No one from this farm returns to the flesh markets while I draw breath,” he says. “No debt collector from Purgatory, Sangremere, or any other kingdom will take your home without answering to me.”

Claudia blinks hard. For the first time since I have known her, she looks as though someone has taken the words straight from her mouth and left her empty-handed.

Then she bows her head. “I’ll see it done properly,” she says.

“Make sure you do,” Kylian answers. “I’ll ensure you have all the supplies you need to get it back up and running, just give a list to Eagan, and we’ll get it done.”

But I turn my gaze to the cabin, knowing I have to tell Marian. Her cabin sits at the edge of the workers’ row, the same place Arlo grew up, and I head toward it.

The door opens as I lift my hand to knock.

Marian looks older than I remember, aged rapidly by grief, exhaustion, and not enough to eat. Her expression is hollow already, but now this.

Her eyes move from my face to Kylian, who has passed Arlo to one of his men. Her gaze moves then to the man behind us carrying the sheeted body, and I see the moment she understands.

She grips the doorframe.

“No,” she says, but the word is long, thin, and already broken.

I step forward because no one else should say this.

“Marian,” I whisper.

Her eyes move to mine.

I have known this woman for nearly seven years. She was always soft, even though the world had given her nothing but grit. She was generous when she had so little to give, and selfless when faced with awful decisions that kept her babies alive. She never looked at her kids once with resentment, never let the ghosts of how she came to be their mother interfere with how fiercely she loved them.

“I brought him home,” I say, and my voice breaks so badly that Kylian shifts beside me. “I am so sorry.”

The cry that leaves her I feel in every part of me; it screams to my soul.

She steps toward the body and places both hands on the sheet, feeling the shape beneath it, following the line of shoulder, chest, arm, face, until she reaches the place where his hair spills out at the edge.

“My boy,” she whispers.

I cannot look away.

“He saved me,” I say, because she deserves to know, because I need her to know. “Our ship was hit, and I would have died if he had not caught me.”

Her hands still. For a moment, I worry she will hate me, and I would let her. I would stand there and let her place every piece of grief at my feet because some part of me already has.