“It would be my honor, Mistress Lhal.”
“You may go. My time is short, and I have a pressing engagement.”
“Of course,” the child said as she bowed again, the top of her head showing the roots beneath her resplendent headdress.
“I have one last question,” Myrmeen said. “Why do you dye your hair?”
Lynelle blushed. “To look more like my mother. It seems I inherited the hair of my grandmother on my father’s side, who died giving birth to my father. It’s vanity, I know.”
“Not at all,” Myrmeen said. “You’re very lovely.”
With a wide, embarrassed smile, Lynelle half bowed and left the room with a lightness of step that she had not displayed when she had entered. Two figures, Krystin and Ord, stood in the doorway as Lynelle departed.
As Krystin entered the hall, Ord drew back and shut the door, leaving them alone together.
“Was she everything you had dreamt she would be?” Krystin asked.
Myrmeen swallowed hard. “No,” she said, trying to hold back the tears welling up inside her, “but you are.”
Krystin was shaken. She had no idea how to respond. She surprised them both by throwing her arms around Myrmeen and holding the woman as tightly as she could. The tears came, and Myrmeen clutched Krystin’s back tightly. Krystin responded with strength matching that of the older woman.
There was a dawn somewhere in this bleak, terrible world, and Myrmeen knew she would no longer have to search for it alone.