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Ovny looked at him a long time and then turned his eyes to Lucas again.

“Family is deserving of that much courtesy,” Lucas told him.

The man fidgeted a bit, seeming unsure what to think of the Dorn showing up with a representative of the Church.

“Mikal! Bring the Loble jewel!”

“But Father—”

“Quickly, now,” Ovny insisted. He smiled at Lucas. “You didn’t tell me whether the church had an opinion of what happened today.”

“It is written, ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy,’” Lucas told him with a solemn expression.

“You could have forgiven the deed.”

“Outright theft?”

“Caused by a poor daughter’s longing.”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“You’re right,” Tahn put in. “She should not have done it.” He leaned his hand against the door frame. “Did you know your mother, Mr. Ovny?”

“Yes.”

“And you have respect for her?”

“Of course.”

“My sister and I lost our mother. You know. We have no pleasant memories to share. We seek a piece of her to hold in our hearts. And . . . we need your help. We need you to respect her as surely she deserves, by respecting our need.”

Tahn took a deep breath, willing himself strength for the sake of his plea. “Tiarra did not have what you did, sir. No mother’s hand, not even the fleeting memory I have. It must be an open sore in her heart, for her to violate your home. I’m sorry for that. But I beg you . . . to consider allowing me to purchase what belonged to Karra Loble. I will pay you whatever you ask. A gift of healing for my sister is worth that to me. Surely you understand.”

“But she will have won!” Ovny protested. “Just to have it handed to her now—”

“Blessed are the merciful,” Lucas said again.

Mikal brought a box to the door and looked at his father with a frown. “Mary loves this piece, Father.”

Ovny looked at him sternly and then opened the box. It held a beautiful golden necklace set with rows of tiny white gems and one large spectacular green stone. Tahn felt weak at the sight of it. It was almost exactly like one Netta Trilett wore and cherished, which had been her grandmother’s. Who was this Karra Loble, kin to Naysius Trent? Had she known the Triletts too?

The necklace was a locket. He knew that because of Netta’s. But it did not appear to be one. It opened directly behind the large stone, and the setting carefully hid the tiny crack. Netta’s locket held a tiny bit of lace from her christening gown, which her mother had placed there when Netta was an infant. Might there be some sentimental treasure in Karra Loble’s hidden locket too?

“It’s not for sale,” Ovny was saying.

“I’ll give you three hundred porthets.”

Three hundred? Ovny gazed at the man in surprise. He didn’t look like he could be possessed of such a sum. He didn’t act like it either. Was it true, then, that he was backed by Trilett wealth and power? Here he stood with a churchman, offering this fantastic amount. And he was strangely calm and accepting of what was done to him. Would he stay that way if his offer was refused? Ovny shook his head. He’d never seen anyone carry himself so steadily so soon after a flogging. What more could he be up to?

“We won’t sell this!” Mikal exclaimed and tried to shut the box. “You’ve seen it, same as Tiarra did. Now, please go about your lives! We regret the loss of your mother, but it’s not our fault.”

Jothniel Ovny looked into Tahn’s eyes and shuddered at his son’s words. Not their fault? What if this young man with the strength to stand before him should find out how he’d rallied men at the baron’s request, ready to hang his father and yet do nothing to protect the mother who was bound to die? They didn’t warn her, or shelter her. Nothing. Because it was the baron’s bidding. He told them what would happen. And that was just the way it had to be. This very house was the gain for that horrible obedience.

What Mikal doesn’t know!
Jothniel Ovny had pushed and pulled the other men, gathered them, stirred them, for the baron’s sake, for the money’s sake. And he had even more influence now because of it. It was not hard to lord it over Tiarra. She could do nothing. But this man, with powerful friends, might be a different story. Jothniel had thought to chase him from town with that flogging. But here the man stood unfazed. “Three hundred, you say?” he spoke nervously. “That’s a fair price for a piece of jewelry.”

“Father!”

“Mikal, you could buy your love five fine necklaces for that price, and have a plenty left for a pleasant meal.”

“You promised Mother.”

“That would be my business.”

The young man stormed away, and Mr. Ovny made his agreement quickly. “Three hundred porthets and our peace,” he said. “No bitter feelings for what has taken place between us.”

When they were away from the Ovny house, Tahn leaned against a gate and looked the necklace over carefully. It was so much like Netta’s. He turned over the great stone and pried at the tiny crack behind it. Almost to his surprise, it opened. Inside there was only a curled lock of hair, long and fine and black as coal. “Tiarra’s, surely,” he told Lucas. “It would be like a mother to save a lock from her baby.”

But Lucas shook his head. “She wasn’t old enough for it to be that long. It would be more like a mother to save a lock from the first cut of her firstborn son.”

Tahn touched the soft hairs, and a lump rose in his throat. Could she have treasured him so? Almost he could feel that tender touch again, and it broke his heart. “I wish I’d known her better . . . I wish she’d had more time with us.”

Lucas put his arm around his friend, and Tahn suddenly looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” Tahn told him. “You had no mother yourself.”

“Mine died in childbirth,” Lucas said. “My father moved on, not wanting a little one to slow him down. I can’t fault you any, your feelings. Your history deserves a second look. Your mother must have known wealth, to have such jewels, but they say she lived poor and had poor friends.” He shook his head. “You’ve been uncommon since I first saw you. And your mother was uncommon. She must have had reasons.”

They went together back to Martica’s house with the necklace secure in its box. Marc Toddin was sitting outside. He was surprised to see their approach and rose quickly to his feet. Tahn looked terribly pale.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he said immediately.

But Tahn pressed himself toward the door.

“She’s dead, sir,” Marc told him. “She was gone when we arrived.”

Tahn shut his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Tiarra should have had her good-bye. “My sister—she is inside?”

“Yes.”

He took another faltering step but collapsed into the outside wall. Both of his friends rushed to his side.

“You’ve got to rest, Tahn,” Lucas urged.

He nodded but was clearly trying to pull himself up again. “First I need to see my sister.” He took hold of the little box Lucas had carried and rose to his feet with a groan.

Marc started to take his arm, but Tahn waved him back. “Let me be,” he told his friend emphatically. They watched him struggle through the doorway.

“Why is he being so stubborn?” Marc asked. “He’ll drive himself into the dirt.”

Lucas had no words to answer him.

Tahn found Tiarra sitting against the wall in Martica’s room, the corpse at her feet. He knelt down painfully and sat beside her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” she cried, her face damp with tears. “For what are you sorry?”

“I wanted you to see her again. You shouldn’t have come with me to the church—”

“But it was my fault! How could I not?” She looked up at him and saw his weakness. He was such a mystery. “How did you get back here? Why did you come now?”

He didn’t try to explain. He only handed her the little box.

She recognized it immediately and was almost breathless, but she shook her head. “Mother’s necklace.”

“Yes.”

Seeing it made her afraid, and all the things Martica had said raced through her mind. “What did you do?” she asked in a hushed voice, not knowing what to expect from him.

“I bought it. For you.”

Tears filled her eyes again. “I—I can’t take it.”

He looked confused. He opened the box for her. “Why not? I want you to have it.”

It made her tremble. That he would buy it legitimately. For her. If this were true, he was more than generous, more than fair. “You paid for it, sir. A terrible price for my sake. It’s rightly yours now.”

But he touched her hand. “I have a little sister. I want her to know that her peace matters to me. You should have . . . what was your mother’s. She would have wanted that.”

He leaned back against the wall wearily.

“You’re not well,” she said.

“I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re in pain.”

“As you are.” He looked over at Martica’s body. “Was she good to you?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Always?”

Tiarra looked at him in question. For so long, she hadn’t believed that he could really care. Now she knew he must.

But she didn’t want to tell him how hard the woman had been. “It doesn’t matter, now that she’s dead. I should have been here.” She leaned over and kissed Martica’s forehead. “I couldn’t bear to cover her. But I suppose I must.”

“Would you like me to?”

“No. Don’t move, please. You look terrible.” She reached and pulled a tattered blanket over the body. “She worried about me,” Tiarra said sadly. “I worried about her. Now all that’s over.”

“Will you stay here?” he asked her.

“I have nothing else.”

He nodded solemnly. “I’m hard to accept. I know that. But I’ll be a brother to you.”

At first she didn’t know how to answer, but then the words came in a rush. “How can you be this way? You let them whip you—and you’ve been hurt before, God knows! What do you want?”

He opened his arms to her, and she stared at him, trembling. She’d taken his arm on the way to St. Thomas’s. But could she embrace him now?

“I want to be your family,” he said, his voice low and sad.

She knew he saw her hesitation. He lowered his arms.
He thinks I still hate him,
she thought.
Even now. He thinks I don’t want a brother, or his embrace. After what he’s done! Why am I still afraid?

Slowly he sunk to the hard floor and lay on his side. “My friends will help you with the burying. Just tell them what you need.”

It made her ache to see him like this. He had seemed so strong that he was frightening. But now he looked beaten down, painfully weak. “Can I bring you water?”

He’d closed his eyes. “Please.”

Soon he was asleep. And Lucas began to help her wrap Martica’s body.

It was hard for her to think straight, hard to concentrate on what she was doing with her brother lying so close. He looked younger now, and so vulnerable. It was the flogging that had done it, she knew, and she wondered at herself. What now? Could she trust him, despite Martica’s caution? But how could she not?

He rolled in his sleep, lifting his arms to protect his head. And it made her hurt inside. Before the Trilett peace, what kind of life must he have had?

“Lucas, sir,” she whispered, motioning to her brother. “What does he fear?”

He glanced at Tahn and nodded kindly. “He dreams, surely. He’ll be all right.”

“But what sort of dream? What threat? Tell me! You know him!”

Lucas couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, sister. This dream is mild. He doesn’t even cry out. The dreams used to tear him, possess him almost. It was horrible to see.”

She remembered what the bandits had said. “He would scream?” With a chill she thought of Lorne’s words again, and the scars.

Lucas sighed. “As though it were real, good lady. He dreamed of burning again, of being condemned by God and cast aside to flames. I think now that what happened here—to be punished and not know why—I think it was twisted in his mind.” He bowed his head with emotion. But then quickly he lifted his eyes to look at her again. “It would be Samis to make him cover his head, though. He was very hard.”

“But Martica told me my brother was a killer,” she countered. “Willingly. Not a captive as you and Lorne tell it.”
The scars tell it!
her mind screamed. But she couldn’t voice those words.

“People call him a killer,” Lucas answered patiently. “But he was bound, drowning in that evil. God spared him, and it was the greatest miracle I could imagine. He has a tender heart now, to care for the hurting. I hope you will let yourself know him.”

Tiarra stared at Lucas for a moment, still struggling over Martica’s words. How could she ask further when she thought she already knew what Lucas would say? How could she be so stubborn? But she had to know for sure. “Was he only four when he was here, Reverend sir?”

“As best we can figure. No one knows the time of his birth.”

“And from then he was with Samis? For how long?”

“Sixteen years, lady. And he’s been free but one.”

He can’t be lying,
Tiarra thought. Not the someday-priest. But why would Martica lie to her? She was still trying to sort it out in her mind, to find a way that Martica might only have been mistaken. But she couldn’t see it. “Has he been back here? Since Samis took him away?”

“Not till now. He wouldn’t enter this town. Even when others of us did, he refused.”

“He is only twenty-one?”

Lucas nodded. “He’ll never lie to you. And he’ll never hurt you. I have all confidence in that.”

“I hurt him,” she said in a quiet voice. “What if he can’t fight?”

“God will help us.”

“Why would Martica teach me to hate him?”

“I don’t know. She must have been afraid somehow.”

Tahn moaned softly and rolled again. So many thoughts swirled in Tiarra’s mind. She looked down at Martica’s body with an aching heart. “She lied.”

“Let us lay her to rest prayerfully,” Lucas admonished. “She must have had a care for you.”

Tiarra could say nothing. She felt empty.

“Would the neighbors gather for her in a procession to the church?”

She nodded. “Some would. They’ve known her a long while.”

Tahn did not stir as the preparations were made. Lucas returned to the church to ask Father Bray for a wagon, and Tiarra hung a long black cloth beside the front door. She cast dust upon her head and sat tensely, wondering what sort of words Lucas or the good priest could find for the burying of a person like Martica. Sharp of tongue and long to avoid the church’s shadow. God have mercy on her soul.