Elva was conscious, now, and seemed unharmed, so they left her to rest in her own room and went to Martine’s parlor.
Sigurd sat in her chair by the window, rocking back and forth, staring avidly at the wedding fire. Her hands were clenched tight, her mouth turned down and in, her eyes too bright. Arvid doubted that she would ever be sane again. Merroc sat in a chair by the empty hearth, watching her, looking like a man beset by too many troubles, who sees no way out; a worse grief than death, Arvid thought.
Martine stood next to him as he hesitated, trying to find the right words to say to Merroc. Perhaps it would be better if he sat down.
The hearth flared up in roaring flames.
Arvid sat down in surprise, and Martine went with him, ending up in his lap. Ridiculously, he felt a surge of desire.
Everywhere, in every room, people were calling out, Fire! Fire! But instead of an alarm call it was a paean of triumph.
Martine drew in a sharp breath.
“He is here, He is here!” she exclaimed. “Quick, bring her to the fire!”
She sprang from Arvid’s lap and went to Sigurd, drawing her to her feet and bringing her over to the flames.
“Come, my lady, come,” she said.
Dazed, not even recognizing Martine, Sigurd came to the hearth and stared uncomprehendingly at the fire.
Martine bowed to the hearth.
“My lord, my lord, be generous. You have stolen this woman’s son and her reason with him. My lord, heal her, we pray you!”
“What are you doing?” Merroc snarled, and Arvid, for a moment, wanted to drag Martine away from the hearth, to shake her and berate her and even smash her to the ground for turning to Him.
But then Sigurd’s eyes filled with tears and she reached out her hands to the flames.
“Osfrid!” she said. Astonished, Arvid saw Osfrid’s form in the flames. It was clear. Unmistakable. Not the ghost they would have vaguely sensed at a quickening, but the man himself, carved from golden light. Even more handsome than he had been in life.
“Mother,” he said.
“I knew you would come back.” Her face showed a kind of idolatry, Arvid thought, and wondered if he had ever looked at Ember that way. He hoped not.
“I love you. Do not grieve for me. I am happy.”
Sigurd was sobbing. “Osfrid, Osfrid,” but they were the clean tears of grief, untainted by madness.
“Goodbye until we meet again, Mother.”
He faded into red and vanished.
Sigurd turned to Merroc, her face alight with joy and grief.
“He came! I told you he would come!”
“Yes, Sigi,” Merroc said gently. “He came.”
“I’m very tired,” Sigurd said in surprise. Her eyes were clear, with no sign of madness.
One of her women came up and took her by the arm.
“Come, my lady, come and rest.” She went with them willingly, Merroc staring after her in wonder. He turned to Martine.
“Was that my son?” he demanded.
She hesitated. “In truth, I do not know. Perhaps Fire has the power to draw a spirit back from the darkness beyond death. Perhaps not. Does it matter?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed.
She bent her head and studied the floor. Arvid thought she was choosing her words very carefully.
“My lord, I asked Fire to heal her. He did so. He understands need, and how to answer it. Perhaps we should accept the end and not question the means.”
Merroc searched her face, which showed only its usual public calm.
“It was generous of you,” he said slowly, “to—to do what you did.”
Her expression changed and she became the Martine Arvid knew behind closed doors, compassionate and wise and bearing many wounds from a difficult life.
“My lord, I weep with her, and with you,” was all she said, but Merroc’s face crumpled and his eyes filled with tears. He turned aside to hide them, and stood for a moment, pretending to cough, harrumphing them away. When he turned back, he looked at Arvid.
“That promise I made,” he said. “I think I may not keep it.” Running a hand through his graying red hair, he sighed. “I’m tired, too. I may sleep a little, now.”
“We’ll call you if anything else happens,” Arvid promised. His heart was light with relief. He would have gone to war with Merroc over Martine’s life if he had to, but to have that threat lifted was almost enough to make him happy. If only they knew that Ember was safe.
After he had gone into the guest chamber and they were alone, Martine asked him, “What promise?”
“To kill you, if I didn’t,” he said, looking out the window. “The wedding fire,” he added in surprise. “It’s gone out.”