Page 330 of The Priory of the Orange Tree

Outside, the snow had eased a little, but a frigid chill remained. As he walked back through the cemetery, tears icy on his cheeks, a woman came through its wrought-iron gates, wearing a cloak lined with sable. When she looked up, her lips parted, and Niclays froze.

He knew her well.

Aleidine Teldan utt Kantmarkt was standing in the cemetery.

“Niclays,” she whispered.

“Aleidine,” he replied in disbelief.

She was still a handsome woman in her august years. Her russet hair, as thick as ever, was streaked with white and gathered into a coiffure. The love-knot ring was still on her hand, though not on the forefinger, where it ought to be. No ring had replaced it.

They stared at each other. Aleidine recovered first. “You truly are back.” She let out a sound, almost a laugh. “I heard rumors, but I dared not believe them.”

“Yes, indeed. After some trials.” Niclays tried to compose himself, but his throat had shrunk. “I, er— do you live here now, then? In Brygstad, I mean. Not the cemetery.”

“No, no. Still in the Silk Hall, but Oscarde lives here now. I came to visit him. I thought I would visit Jannart, too.”

“Of course.”

There was silence between them for a moment.

“Sit with me, Niclays,” Aleidine said, with a brief smile. “Please.”

He considered the wisdom of following her, but did it anyway, to a stone bench by the cemetery wall. Aleidine dusted the snow from it before she sat. He remembered how she had insisted on doing things the servants would usually manage, like polishing the marquetry and dusting the portraits Jannart hung about the house.

For a long while, the silence continued, unbroken. Niclays watched the snowflakes falling. Years he had wondered what he would say if he ever saw Aleidine again. Now the words eluded him.

“Niclays, your arm.”

His cloak had fallen back, revealing the stump. “Ah, yes. Pirates, believe it or not,” he said, forcing a smile.

“I do believe it. People talk in this city. You already have a reputation as an adventurer.” She smiled a little in return. It deepened the fine wrinkles around her eyes. “Niclays, I know we … never spoke properly after Jannart died. You left for Inys so quickly—”

“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse. “I know you must have realized. All those years—”

“I don’t seek to reprimand you, Niclays.” Aleidine spoke gently. “I cared very deeply for Jannart, but I had no claim on his heart. Our families arranged our marriage, as you know. It was not his choice.” Snowflakes caught in her lashes. “He was an extraordinary man. All I wanted for him was happiness. You were that happiness, Niclays, and I bear no grudge against you. In fact, I thank you.”

“Jannart swore to give nobody else but you his favor. He swore it in a sanctuary, before witnesses,” Niclays said tautly. “You were always a pious woman, Ally.”

“I was, and am,” she conceded, “and that is why, though Jannart broke that vow to me, I refused to break mine to him. I swore, first and foremost, to love and defend him.” She laid a delicate hand over his. “He needed your love. The best way I could honor the promises I made him was to let him have it in peace. And to let him love you in return.”

She meant it. The sincerity of her belief was carved deep into her face. Niclays tried to speak, but the words, whatever they were, stuck in his throat. He turned his hand and held hers in return.

“Truyde,” he finally said. “Where was she laid to rest?”

The pain in her eyes was unbearable. “Queen Sabran had her remains sent to me,” she said. “She lies in our family plot at Zeedeur.”

Niclays tightened his grip on her hand.

“She missed you terribly, Niclays,” she said. “She was so very like Jannart. I saw him in her smile, her hair, her cleverness . . . I wish you could have seen her as a woman.”

Something was pushing in his chest, making it hard to breathe. His jaw quaked with the effort of keeping it inside.

“What will you do now, Niclays?”

He swallowed the taste of grief. “Our young princess wants to offer me a place at court,” he said, “but I should sooner take up a professorship. Not that anyone would give me one.”

“Ask her,” Aleidine said. “I am sure the University of Brygstad would welcome you.”

---