Lord Alfric was on his way home from the battlefront in a box.

I’d spent the day inside my bedchamber with a bay window open wide to let in a weak summer breeze. Fear uncoiled in the pit of my stomach like a viper and I trembled. Waiting was a special kind of curse.

“Bring me the black veil, please, Bella,” I said. “The one with the lace.”

I’d received news of my husband’s demise three days before. After reading those wretched words, I hid the letter from my father-in-law in a desk drawer. That way, it was easier to pretend Alfie wasn’t dead.

My life as Lady of High House Seakirk, well-fed and powerful inside mighty Castle Konurgur, was crumbling away beneath my feet. Alfie and I had been married seven years, but, as far as I knew, I’d never conceived. His family blamed me. I’d endured their sympathetic glances and unsolicited advice for years, but now that my husband was dead, I feared they’d cast me out like I was nothing.

My own father had died years before, a distant cousin now sitting in his ancestral seat. And what family would choose a poor, barren widow for their son?

The uncertainty of my future often became too bleak to bear, and I admit that I let myself slip away to a realm of my own fantasy as I wasted away in my bed; a fantasy where Alfric had survived the battle with the Necromancer and we had managed to produce healthy heirs.

But reality was on its way home along with my husband’s remains, dreadful and impossible to ignore in a black carriage. I had to face it. Making myself sick and hiding in my chamber would only make my situation worse. If I wanted to stay Lady of High House Seakirk and avoid homelessness, I had to prove my worth to my husband’s father, Lord Ullor.

“Are you sure you want something so heavy, my Lady?” Bella, my handmaiden, hurried into the room, brow furrowed as she held up a floor-length veil of dark lace. She wore a light linen dress of pale brown and an apron around her waist.

Her eyes darted to the messy piles of books and parchment littering the floor by my bed, but she quickly looked away. It hadn’t been made since I’d learned of my husband’s death, but that’s only because I hadn’t been out of it much. I switched to ancient histories and poetry collections when drafting letters to relatives I’d never met became too humiliating. Needless to say, I’d been reading more than writing.

I began to sweat beneath my matronly gown of black silk and I scratched at the lace irritating my wrists. “I don’t want them to see me weep. Lord Ullor wouldn’t like it.”

Alfie’s family was very stoic. They had no tolerance for excessive displays of emotion, even if it was a private moment between grieving relatives. I couldn’t be sure how I would react to seeing poor Alfie, so I opted for the veil.

Bella placed the delicate fabric against my hair and slid a pin into place, her voice soft. “Oh.”

Tears pooled in my eyes when she began to sniffle, but I blinked them away. My time for weeping had passed. As Lady of a High House, I had to see my husband home to his family crypt with all due decency and respect.

“May I offer a word of encouragement, Lady Elsie?” Bella’s gentle touch had become a comfort to me over the years. Especially when I was lonely.

“Of course.”

She pulled a string of crystal prayer beads from her apron as she moved beside me, celestite and chrysocolla clicking against each other as she wrapped it around her fingers. Her voice was choked with emotion. “Lord Alfric was a man of the world. Had his cards. Drinking friends. Oh, and the races.”

I held my breath, not wanting to break down out of fear my cries would turn to bitter laughter.

“But he Heard the Voice’s Call,” said Bella. “And I believe with my whole heart that he Answered. As much as a man like him could. Used to see him at the Penance Box.”

Her voice trailed off and I cursed the summer heat as sweat beaded down the back of my neck. I offered up a silent prayer, begging the Voice to give Bella the words she needed so the awkwardness could end.

“Lord Alfric had his vices, but so do we all. He wasn’t perfect. He did love you, though, my Lady. I believe that, too,” she babbled. “He was always kind to me. Even when he was drunk or sick from excess. Made me laugh.”

I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. Alfie was my husband, but he had never loved me the way a man is called to love his wife. But in all fairness, that didn’t bother me. I’d never thought of him as anything more than a dear friend.

Bella sighed, flustered. “I just don’t want you to worry, Lady Elsie. Lord Alfric was the kind of man the Voice calls to the Heavens. Your husband isn’t suffering somewhere down in the Hells for his sins. He had a good heart. The Cantors say that counts for something. And they say he killed the Necromancer himself. I believe he went to a happy place. If for no other reason than evil itself wouldn’t want to spend eternity with the man who cast it down. The demons would chuck him right out of all the Hells, my Lady.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Two tears leaked from my eyes as I turned my face toward her, the genuine kindness in her words making me smile. Her black hair had been braided into two pleats with a severe part down the center. Big, wide-set dark eyes and jowly cheeks made her seem like a wise old toad.

I took Bella’s hand and spiritual energy flowed through me, drawn by the crystals on her wrist. Soft blue light filled the room as the beads began to glow and tremble. Warm buzzing filled my head and I strained my ears, listening for the Voice’s call.

Bella gasped and fell against my shoulder, her weight jarring me out of focus. “The Voice sensed peace in your laughter and has called you blessed. Take heart, Lady Elsie. Lord Alfric looks down from the Highest Heaven.”

The buzzing faded and the light flashed out. The Voice hadn’t told me anything. Never did.

Bella fanned her face with her hand, eyes bulging. “They told me you could Sing a little. When I took this position all those years ago. I never believed it, but there’s no denying what just happened when you touched my hand. You’re blessed, my Lady. A Singer.”

I stood with a shrug, desperate to get away from such a pious woman. I would’ve traded any ability I had and more if it meant I could stay Lady of High House Seakirk.

“I’ve only ever been able to make the crystals glow a little. I can’t hear the Voice or invoke any blessings,” I said.

She shook her head. “That’s only because you were never taught. They don’t let little girls learn-”

“Bella, please draw me a cool bath for when I return. It’s a long, hot walk to the chapel and I’ll want to get cleaned up before dinner.” I strode toward the door, exhausted even though it was barely noon.

She stood up straight and nodded her head in a polite bow, remembering all the social courtesies that existed between us. “Yes, my Lady. Shall I add rose petals to the water?”

I murmured my agreement as I pulled open a heavy oak door, the rest of my life waiting on the other side.

My chest ached as I hurried down a stone staircase, the castle foyer bustling with activity. Servants traded out colorful summer tapestries with Alfie’s family history woven into the fabric for plain black. I caught a few weary glances as I made my way down the rest of the stairs, but they were tactful enough not to stare.

A young boy hurried over to the front door and yanked it open. Brilliant sunshine and warmth spilled into the dreary room. The boy was clean in a plain brown tunic and breeches, dark eyes respectfully downcast as I approached. Freckles dusted his nose and cheeks, hair black as charcoal. He nodded his head. There was something familiar about him that I couldn’t put my finger on. I stopped and the boy’s face flushed scarlet.

“Are you new to Castle Konurgur? Tell me your name,” I said.

“Robert. Been here a week, miss.” He paused, eyes wide as he glanced up at me. “I mean, ‘my Lady’.”

I smiled. “It’s good to have you with us, Robert.”

He bowed and I turned away, stepping out into the sunshine. I pulled a handkerchief from my sleeve to dab the tears from my eyes. My time as Lady of a High House was drawing to a close, but that didn’t mean I didn’t owe Robert the same welcome I gave all the other servants. I was happy to return the same quiet respect I’d received from the household staff over the years. It pained me to admit how much I would miss it.

More steps descended into a courtyard, cobblestones just as neat and tidy as the lush green hedges that grew around the perimeter. Thick walls surrounded the castle grounds, but it was difficult to feel safe with the gate wide open, Lord Ullor’s household ready to receive its favorite son.

Steward Yoran Ellis waited for me at the bottom of the stairs, Vurden Hurst, Captain-of-the-Guard, at his side. Both wore black tabards over their tunics. Neither looked up, eyes focused on the open gate. Waiting.

It was selfish of me to think of myself moments before my husband’s corpse arrived, but I’d never been so alone. I’d grown up far from the city, my friends and family left behind when I became Lady Seakirk. The dainty, well-bred ladies of my husband’s House had been loath to welcome a jumped-up country girl, her father poor in gold, but rich in horses and wheat, into their inner circles. Especially after she never produced any heirs.

My mouth ran dry as fluffy white clouds drifted overhead. It seemed like some kind of cruel jape for the Voice to have called the day to be so beautiful. Gardens of purple irises were in full bloom. Warm wind rustled my veil as I descended the stairs and the midday sun kept the mosquitoes and biting flies away. Alfie loved the summer. It was right that the castle grounds should be so lovely and the sky so blue the day he was brought home to enter his eternal rest.

My heart had never beat for Alfric, but I missed him so much. He’d always treated me with kindness, even after my womb never quickened.

Steward Ellis, a small man with a thick black beard, turned as I approached, deathly pale as he offered me his hand. His grip was cold, but a gentle squeeze strengthened my resolve. Having an old friend by my side was no small comfort. Captain Hurst bowed, eyes downcast. I didn’t know him, but Alfie always spoke highly of the grizzly old man.

“His Lordship approaches,” called a guard from atop the wall.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a horn sounded and the stomping of horses and boots on the cobblestones carried through the gate. I held my breath for a long moment. Alfie was a hero. The Necromancer was dead and decapitated, his army of shamblers and screamers drowned in the bay. Our fair city by the sea was saved.

My husband’s war had ended, but mine had just begun.

“I’m here, my lady,” murmured Ellis, releasing my hand. “Your grief is unique to you, but please know that you do not grieve alone.”

Captain Hurst coughed and adjusted his tabard, pointing at the gate. “They’re coming.”

Lord Ullor rode through first, slumped in his saddle. He wore no finery, only a plain black tabard over his armor. I had lost a husband, but His Lordship had lost a beloved son and heir. My grief may have been unique, but I imagined Lord Ullor ached in ways I would never understand.

Dark horses drew the hearse through the gate and my heart seized in my chest. Alfie’s closet knights and a few noble relatives flanked the carriage. They at least had the decency to look glum. I knew they would push my father-in-law to name a new heir as soon as Alfie was left to moulder.

My skin flushed hot and I shielded my eyes from the sun with my hand, suddenly dizzy. Selfish fear made me weak as a coachman steered the hearse along the road to the family’s private chapel and graveyard, but I couldn’t go to pieces. I had to show Lord Ullor how useful I could be if I didn’t want to be cast aside.

Rows of foot soldiers followed the hearse into the courtyard, marching in silence. The cadence of their footfalls rumbled across the cobblestones. Haggard faces and hollow eyes made me afraid to know what my husband’s last moments were like. Alfie must’ve seen some horrible things before he died.

The bleat of a horn made me jerk with alarm, the quartermaster riding along the side of the procession on a warhorse. “Conscripts follow me around to the barracks. We’ll get you paid and fed.”

A crowd of servants huddled together at the edge of the courtyard to my right, all drab in dark clothing. Lord Alfric was kind without being condescending and funny without being cruel. He was just as popular with the servants as he was with his father’s advisors.

Young Hortense stood among them, straight-backed with her hands clasped behind her as she watched me. Understanding somehow passed between us when I nodded, and she hurried over, strides long and awkward.

Hortense was a very pretty girl trying to be plain with a bad haircut and dowdy clothing. She barely spoke and was said to be sullen, but, whatever her oddities, she was an excellent servant. The Voice had blessed her with a clever decisiveness and a natural honesty. I offered to train her as a handmaiden, but she politely refused, saying she didn’t have the temperament needed to sit still all day.

I pulled away from Ellis. “Please excuse me.”

Hortense stopped and bent her knees in a low curtsey. I could tell she’d been practicing and I smiled.

“Quickly, Hortense,” I said.

She stood up straight, ready and focused.

“Run and tell the quartermaster to have the barracks made up for any of the conscripts who need a place to rest for the night. I can’t promise His Lordship will feed them again in the morning, but I won’t rush them out. If the quartermaster needs your help, do whatever you can.” My voice trailed off as the hearse rounded a bend.

Ellis glanced over his shoulder, the sympathetic gleam in his black eyes enough to make me sick. Captain Hurst flushed scarlet and turned away.

I never knew which was worse in situations like mine. Overzealous compassion could be just as frustrating as uncomfortable silence.

I took a deep breath. “That will be all, Hortense. Thank you.”

Her eyes drifted to the bend in the road, but she didn’t say anything, simply offering a stiff curtsey before rushing off.

I adjusted my sleeves, nodding at Ellis and the Captain. “Walk with me.”

The Voice called torment into my life as we walked toward the chapel along the tree-lined road. Sweaty underclothes clung to my skin in the most uncomfortable places. The veil was a major contributor to my suffering, but I refused to remove it lest the blazing sun scorch me.