There’s no longer any doubt of that.” Fynn glanced down at the figure on the bed as the Hirzg took another long, shuddering breath. The young man’s gaze was affectionate and sad, and yet somehow appraising at the same time, as if he were gauging how long it might be before he could slip the signet ring from the folded hands and put it on his own finger; how soon he could place the golden crown-band of the Hirzg on the curls of his own head. “There’s nothing you or I can do, Sister,” he said, “other than pray that Cenzi receives Vatarh’s soul kindly. Beyond that…” He shrugged. “How is my nephew Jan?” he asked.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Allesandra told him. “He’s on his way to Brezno behind me and should arrive tomorrow.”

“And your husband? The dear Pauli?”

Allesandra sniffed. “If you’re trying to goad me, Fynn, it won’t work. I’ve suggested to Pauli that he remain in Malacki and attend to state business. What of yourself? Have you found someone to marry yet, or do you still prefer the company of soldiers and horses?”

The smile was slow in coming and uncertain when it appeared. “Now who goads whom?” he asked. “Vatarh and I had made no decisions on that yet, and now it seems that the decision will be mine alone-though I’ll certainly listen to any suggestions you might have.” He opened his arms, and she reluctantly allowed him to embrace her. Neither one of them tightened their arms but only encircled the other as if hugging a thornbush, and the gesture ended after a single breath. “Allesandra, I know there’s always been a distance between us, but I hope that we can work as one when…” He hesitated, and she watched his chest rise with a long inhalation. “… when I am the Hirzg. I will need your counsel, Sister.”

“And I will give it to you,” she told him. She leaned forward and kissed the air a careful finger’s width from his scarred cheek. “Little brother.”