A figure in black mourning clothes.

He opens the door, and Cerni stands before him. Her big brown eyes look sadly at him, red and puffy, tear streaks running down her cheeks. She wears the black garb of mourning – veil flung back over her broad silk hat, a plain dark gown, black gloves. “Cerni? I? Uh, come in,” he says, flooded with concern, moving aside. “What’s happened, what’s wrong?”

“It’s um, it’s about Yulda, Domic,” she mumbles sadly, walking into their small entryway as he shuts the door. “I wish to pay my respects to her,” she mumbles, looking down at the floorboards.

“Yulda? Well, um, not to be rude, but why are you here?”

“I…I need an escort for the temple, Domic – could you do that for me?”

“Oh…uh, of course – let me go get changed – come, uh, come please sit in the living room,” he says, directing her to their couch. She manages to smile graciously as he goes upstairs and tosses through his chests for appropriate garb. “She thinks she’s responsible for Yulda’s ****,” he thinks, putting on a clean white undertunic, dark breeches with socks, and a black doublet. “Where’s that hat?” he thinks, rummaging at the bottom, before pulling out a veiled round hat, much like Cerni’s, but only linen. He puts it on and heads downstairs to find her looking through one of the books from their shelves.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be snooping,” she says.

“It’s alright, it’s just a book, they’re meant to be read,” he says, looking at the title as she closes it – some history book, 'Conquests of Emperor Jaarlon, vol.III'. “Cerni, listen,” he offers his hand to help her up. She takes it, but he continues to clasp it tight and lays his other hand over hers. He looks reassuringly into her sad eyes. “You think you’re responsible for Yulda’s ****, don’t you? Because you asked Torjo to have her watch me?”

“Y-yes, I-I,” she trembles, tears staring to form in her eyes.

“Cerni, Cerni, it wasn’t your fault, alright? Your father had already ordered Yulda to watch me, do you understand? And even if he didn’t, it’s still not your fault,” he says, as he moves to hug her. They silently embrace for a long time, then release. “It’s not your fault,” he says, at a loss for words. "She cried a long time last night, didn't she? Wasn't someone there for her? I wish I could've been," he thinks.

Cerni nods her head feebly. “Thank you, Domic,” she mumbles.

“Come on now, I’ll take you to the temple,” he says, pulling on a pair of gloves. Cerni nods again and wraps her arm around his, as they walk out the door. “Um…where is it?” he thinks, opening his mouth, but she’s already leading him down the street, evidently knowing the way. The morning is chilly, and they walk slowly, as other townsfolk weave politely round them, going about their business. Finally, they reach Yulda’s temple – a smaller one, but still with a high bell tower and tall windows set in its limestone walls.

They pull the veils over their faces as a priestess directs them through a set of tall doors, richly carved with the faces of each god and goddess. Inside the temple it is slightly warmer, and the scent of incense hangs in the air. Colored light filters through the stained glass windows, dazzling on the inner whitewashed walls. Walking down a side aisle of the chapel, they reach another set of doors, banded robustly with iron and painted thickly from top to bottom with warding runes. Domic and Cerni both knock three times. A priest-sentinel, face hidden behind a wooden mask in the shape of a snarling wolf, opens the door a crack. They quickly slip through before he slams it shut, returning to a guard posture with his spear. Inside the windowless room, beeswax candles cast the only light. A priest and priestess, both in undyed robes, kneel on either end of a bier, praying silently. On the bier lies Yulda, peaceful in a white gown, her head on a pillow. A figure sitting in a front-row pew gets up and walks over to them.

“Cerni…and Domic?” Torjo says, face obscured by a veil, which does not prevent the smell of strong drink from reaching Domic’s nose.

“We’ve come to pay our respects, Sergeant,” Cerni mumbles.

“Please,” Torjo says, moving out of their way. They walk over to a small table that is covered with unfired clay figurines of log piles and oil jars in neat rows. Cerni starts mumbling a prayer as she replaces five jars with five shiny silver coins and walks over to Yulda’s body. The priests say there is no shame, give what you are able, but Domic can’t help but feel a tinge of envy as he sets down one coin for a pile of logs.

He walks over to Yulda’s body, runes drawn on her face in black ink, murmurs a short prayer for her, deposits his figurine into a small jar and returns to Torjo. “Thank you both, very much,” Torjo says slowly, carefully, as he holds onto a pew. “Yulda’s, um family is with the gods…so it means a lot for you to come. And…especially since you didn’t get…get the chance to really know Yulda, to befriend her like me and Izabel.”

“Izabel? My sister?” Domic thinks. “Of course, Sergeant. We are honored to have known her,” he says. Cerni nods, and gives Torjo a quick hug before he can react.

“Peace to you both,” Torjo says as they leave the vault, the priest-sentinel closing the door the second they are through.

“I think he and Yulda were more than friends,” Cerni says to him as they leave the temple, walking slowly out into the street.

“I think you’re right,” he says. “And what about my sister? Were they as good friends as Torjo said? Why didn’t she ever say anything? She didn’t even react when I mentioned I saw she was dead after the ambush,” he thinks as they walk along, flipping up their veils. He turns to Cerni. “So, um, where to next? Do you want me to take you home?” he asks.

“No, it’s alright, thank you though,” she says, giving him a little smile. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time, especially since I just dropped in on you.”

“You can stop by anytime you want to," he says. "For whatever reason."

Her smile widens a bit. “Well, um, maybe I’ll stop by tonight then. Late tonight,” she adds. He nods, smiling, and watches her walk away, until she disappears around a corner.