A little later, Kenneth retrieved his son and took him up on the roofwalks of the house, well-bundled against the cold, where they could see for miles. There they inspected the roof slates and lead gutters, chatting of commonplace things while Alaric stooped from time to time to prod at the remains of a pigeon’s nest or occasionally retrieve a feather or bit of speckled shell. The boy seemed oblivious to what had occurred only hours before, and studiously avoided mentioning his mother.
They supped together and paid a visit to the infant Bronwyn before Kenneth tucked his son into bed for the night and retired to write more letters, the ones he had been avoiding. The one to Zoë was the most difficult: his beloved Zoë, soon to give birth to her own second child, who would be devastated to learn of the passing of her heart-sister. The one to Mother Judiana, at Arc-en-Ciel, was little easier — and he had no idea where to write to Sé Trelawney, though perhaps Jovett would know. Jovett, at least, would be at the coming coronation, and might even be in Rhemuth already.
Later that evening, in the castle’s tiny oratory, Kenneth kept a solitary vigil beside his wife’s body, recalling her grace and strength and the lives she had touched. Nearby lay the volume of Delphine’s poetry that she had penned for him for Christmas. His sisters and Vera had paid their respects and retired.
He had debated whether to bring Alaric down to see her, but decided it was better that the boy remember his mother the way she had been, alive and vital and loving. Time enough, tomorrow, to endure the reality of her absence; for now, Kenneth could still pretend, for a little while, that she only slept, and would soon awaken. He had not yet decided whether a four-year-old should be expected to attend a funeral. Before leaving the nursery he left instructions with Xander that, when Llion returned, he was to be sent to the oratory immediately.
It was toward midnight when Llion at last made an appearance. Kenneth was sitting on a straight-backed chair beside his wife’s open coffin, wrapped in furs against the cold and trying not to fall asleep. Vera and Melissa had braided her golden hair like a coronet across the crown of her head and dressed her in a clean white shift, laying her in a mantle of Corwyn green that lined the coffin and spilled over its edges.
It had been Xander’s idea to drape the banners of Corwyn and Lendour across the lower half of the coffin, covering her from waist to toes. Earlier, Kenneth had folded back the veil of fine white linen covering her face, so that he could sear her image into his memory before they closed the coffin in the morning. This soon after her death, and by the flickering light of the watch candles set at the corners of the bier, he could, indeed, imagine that she only slept, that soon the rosy lips would part and the eyes would open to gaze lovingly into his, like a window into heaven.
«My lord?» Llion’s voice intruded softly on his grief, and Kenneth looked up with a start to see not only Llion but his wide-eyed son, one small hand closed in the young knight’s larger one, the other hand dangling an unidentifiable stuffed animal by its tail.
«I hadn’t thought to bring him down here, my lord», Llion apologized, «but he insisted on seeing his mother. Xander said you’d asked for me».
Sitting up straighter, Kenneth held out his arms to his son, who ran to embrace him like a limpet, burying his face in his sire’s shoulder. The boy was shaking as Kenneth held him tight and stroked the white-gold hair, and the face the boy finally lifted to his father was tear-stained, the lower lip aquiver.
«Here, now, what’s this?» Kenneth whispered, wiping away some of the tears with his thumb and gazing into the boy’s eyes. «Where is my brave knight?»
For answer, Alaric took a quick glance over his shoulder at his mother in her coffin, then hid his face against the stuffed toy in his arms, smothering a sniffle. With curious detachment, Kenneth thought the animal might be a cat. It had droopy lengths of black wool trailing from the end opposite the tail, where whiskers might be.
For a long moment he merely continued to caress the boy, holding him close for comfort, until finally he glanced back to where Llion waited anxiously, and nodded dismissal. After a few more minutes, he gently kissed his son’s cheek and again drew back far enough to look him in the eyes.
«You must be very, very sad», he said quietly. «I know I’m sad».
Alaric sniffled, scrubbing at his eyes with one balled fist, then sniffled again and gathered his toy animal to his chest, not looking up.
«Papa», he said tremulously, after a moment, «why did Mama have to go away?»
«I don’t know, son. She got very sick — too sick for anyone to help her. But she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave us. She loved us very, very much».
The boy turned to look over his shoulder at his mother again, then squirmed to be put down on the floor beside the coffin, resting one hand tentatively on the green silk spilling from inside. After a few seconds, Kenneth slipped to one knee beside him, embracing him in the circle of one arm.
«I loved her so much», the boy said tremulously, gazing at the still form. «Can I kiss her good-bye?»
«You already did that, son», Kenneth said gently. «Maybe you don’t need to do it again».
«But I want to!» the boy replied, lifting his chin defiantly.
«All right, then», Kenneth agreed. «We’ll both kiss her good-bye. All right?»
Nodding, Alaric said, «You first».
«Very well».
Shifting closer toward the head of the coffin, Kenneth half-rose to lean over it and press a kiss to her forehead, then crouched back down and glanced down at his son. Alaric had edged closer, but then he thrust his stuffed toy into his father’s hands with a whispered, «Hold this», and began digging in the little pouch at his waist.
Wisely saying nothing, Kenneth watched as the boy produced what appeared to be two pigeon feathers from the depths of the pouch, each about as long as one of Kenneth’s fingers. Inspecting them gravely, Alaric smoothed one where it had gotten rumpled in the pouch, glanced at the coffin, then tipped his face up toward his father.
«Can you lift me up, Papa?» he said.
«Better yet, suppose I make a step for you?» Kenneth replied, setting aside the toy and shifting onto one knee, so that the other made a step on which the boy could climb up.
Looking intent, Alaric clambered up the step thus offered, braced by his father’s arm around his waist, and set both hands on the sides of the coffin, a feather in each hand, gazing at the occupant for a long moment.
Then he leaned down carefully to kiss the cold forehead, wrinkling his nose at the faint odor of death. But before straightening, he reached into the coffin to slip a feather behind each of his mother’s shoulders. He was nodding slightly as he leaned back into his father’s embrace, obviously satisfied with what he had done, though Kenneth had no idea why he had done it.
«Alaric», he said softly, after a few heartbeats, «why did you do that?»
Calmly, the boy stuck out his arm to retrieve his stuffed toy from his father, and hugged it to his chest.
«Father Swithun said she’s with the angels now, Papa», he said with utter conviction. «So she’ll need wings».
«Oh», Kenneth breathed. «Yes, she will».