The island had buried them badly.
That was Xavier's first thought when he saw the graves.
Not because the earth had opened or the stones had fallen. The opposite.
Everything looked too ordinary.
Two weathered markers stood beneath a crooked cedar above the cliffs, one for Marduk and one for the woman Raymond had pulled from the wreck years ago. Moss had crawled halfway across Marduk's stone. His name was still visible if one bothered to kneel.
The other grave had no name.
Only a shallow carving of three stars.
Xavier stopped halfway up the path.
Elisabeth kept walking.
Slowly.
Her cane sank into the wet soil with each step.
She refused the chair that morning.
Thirty-seven steps had become forty-three, then fifty. Raymond had called that "acceptable progress," which in Raymond's language was apparently equivalent to applause, fireworks, and a national holiday.
This climb was farther than anything she had attempted.
Xavier had offered his arm twice.
Both times she ignored him.
Mira walked beside her instead, blue tail flicking through the ferns.
"You can stop," Xavier said.
Elisabeth planted the cane again.
"So can you."
"That isn't what I meant."
"I know."
Another step.
Her poisoned right hand remained hidden inside the treated leather glove Raymond had rebuilt the previous evening. The silver lines beneath her forearm had faded, but they had not disappeared.
Probably never would.
Xavier had learned not to stare at them.
Mostly.
They reached the cedar.
Elisabeth stood in front of the unmarked grave.
She did not cry.
That somehow hurt more.
Xavier remained several paces away.
The sea lay below them, gray and enormous. Waves struck the cliffs in slow white bursts. Somewhere beyond the headland, the Sierra waited in her cradle with her cargo secured and every repaired pipe tested twice.
Tomorrow, they would leave.
Elisabeth touched the three carved stars.
Their mother's last words had been about stars.
Raymond had told them years later, reluctantly and only because Xavier had cornered him after drinking half a bottle of something Marduk definitely should not have allowed children near.
Tell them I'm the stars.
Xavier had hated the sentence.
Still did.
Their mother was not the stars.
She was dead.
Stars did not hold a feverish child through a winter night. Stars did not argue with royal tutors. Stars did not smell of lavender oil and salt.
Death did not become beautiful because adults used prettier vocabulary.
Elisabeth lowered herself carefully onto the damp grass.
Xavier moved forward.
She lifted one finger.
He stopped.
"I'm not helping."
"Good."
"That looked painful."
"It was."
"Excellent."
She sat beside the stone.
For a while, she said nothing.
Mira sniffed the edge of the grave, then curled beside her left leg.
Xavier turned toward Marduk's marker instead.
He had intended to say something.
A prince ought to know how.
He had been taught funeral etiquette before he could properly hold a sword. Arcachon had seventeen formal phrases for mourning noble blood and another nine for soldiers.
None belonged here.
He crouched and pulled moss from Marduk's name.
"Your handwriting was better," he muttered.
Elisabeth looked over.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Marduk's grave offered no reply.
Typical.
The old man had spent most of Xavier's youth giving answers to questions nobody asked, and now that Xavier possessed several important ones, he had chosen death as an excuse to become quiet.
Coward.
Xavier brushed dirt from the stone.
"You could've told him."
Elisabeth knew who he meant.
"Marduk?"
"Raymond."
"About what?"
"Anything."
She gave him a look.
"Very precise."
"About his parents. That journal. Abraham Dubois. Whatever happened before he found us."
"Marduk enjoyed secrets."
"He trained Raymond to hate not knowing things while hiding half his life from him."
"Yes."
"That's cruel."
Elisabeth looked at Marduk's grave.
"Raymond does the same thing."
Xavier stopped.
Then sighed.
"Unfortunately."
A gull screamed over the cliffs.
Elisabeth turned back toward their mother.
Her fingers touched the carved stars.
"You said you'd protect us," she whispered.
Xavier looked away.
This was not for him.
"You failed."
That made him look back.
Elisabeth's voice remained steady.
"You died."
No accusation in it.
No childish anger either.
Just the fact.
"You died, and he kept the promise instead."
Xavier knew who he was.
Raymond.
Elisabeth rubbed her thumb across the lowest star.
"I hated him for a while."
Xavier almost smiled.
"For a while?"
"Quiet."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Her mouth twitched.
Then the expression disappeared.
"I thought if he hadn't found us, maybe none of this would have happened."
Xavier said nothing.
"I know that makes no sense."
"Most grief doesn't."
She glanced at him.
"That sounded almost intelligent."
"I've been spending less time with Raymond."
"Clearly."
Her breathing had grown shallow from the climb.
Xavier noticed.
Did not comment.
Another lesson learned.
Elisabeth looked toward the sea.
"I don't remember her voice anymore."
Xavier's throat tightened.
"I do."
She turned sharply.
"You do?"
"Some of it."
"What did she sound like?"
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
He could remember instructions.
Scenes.
Her telling him to stop climbing palace walls.
Her arguing with someone behind a closed door.
Her screaming his name during the wreck.
But the actual sound—
He chased it.
Found nothing solid.
"I thought I did."
Elisabeth looked back at the grave.
"Then don't invent it."
"I wasn't going to."
"You were considering it."
"Maybe."
She nodded.
"Raymond would."
"Raymond would invent a story so convincing we'd both start remembering it."
"That's why he isn't here."
Xavier looked down the empty path.
The village had arranged a farewell for later that afternoon.
Djerma wanted food.
Mara had insisted the names of the dead be spoken before the Sierra left.
La Vieille had apparently threatened to break Raymond's remaining good ribs if he vanished before receiving a final examination.
Raymond had responded by vanishing.
His exact words had been:
"I have packing to do."
His bags had been packed since sunrise.
Xavier had checked.
"He should be here," Xavier said.
Elisabeth shrugged.
"He will be."
"He said he wouldn't."
"Exactly."
Xavier looked at his sister.
"When did you start understanding him?"
"I don't."
"Good."
"I merely understand when he lies badly."
---
Delo arrived before noon carrying a ring of keys.
La Vieille followed him.
Or, more accurately, Delo carried three sacks while La Vieille walked behind him issuing enough criticism to move all four through pure irritation.
Raymond stood outside the old refuge with Rex beside him.
The cabin had already been emptied of everything he intended to take.
Almost everything.
Marduk's workbench remained.
So did the shelves.
The old bedframe.
Two kettles.
A cabinet containing common medicinal herbs.
And one chair that had survived so many repairs it probably possessed a stronger claim to immortality than any of them.
Delo dropped the sacks.
"You're serious."
Raymond looked at him.
"A regrettably common condition."
"You're giving her the cabin?"
"No."
La Vieille smacked Raymond's cane with her own walking stick.
"I'm standing here."
Raymond adjusted his grip.
"I noticed."
"Then speak to me."
He did.
"The refuge is yours."
La Vieille squinted at him.
"No."
Delo blinked.
Raymond's face remained neutral.
"No?"
"No."
"That was not the response anticipated."
"Good."
She walked past him, opened the door, inspected the ceiling, then came out again.
"The western roof leaks."
"I repaired it."
"You failed."
"The chimney draws."
"Poorly."
"The foundation is stable."
"You built one corner on a tree root."
"It was a very persuasive tree root."
La Vieille pointed her stick at his chest.
"If I take this place, it is mine."
"That was the general concept behind—"
"Mine."
Raymond stopped speaking.
Delo smiled.
La Vieille continued.
"You don't come back in ten years and tell me I moved your bottles."
"I hope deeply that you move my bottles."
"You don't send letters ordering me to preserve your room."
"I don't have a room."
"You don't decide who sleeps here."
Raymond looked at Delo.
Delo's smile vanished.
"Ah."
La Vieille followed his gaze.
"He stays."
Delo frowned.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I have a house."
"You have half a roof and a sister who will throw you out once she can walk without you hovering."
"Saraounia needs—"
"Saraounia needs you to stop breathing over her soup."
Delo glanced at Raymond for help.
Raymond studied the sea.
"This appears domestic."
"Coward."
"Absolutely."
La Vieille took the keys from Delo.
"The cabin is mine. Delo can live here if he repairs the roof, keeps the medicine dry, and doesn't bring idiots inside."
Delo crossed his arms.
"How do I know who qualifies?"
She stared at Raymond.
Delo nodded.
"Understood."
Raymond smiled.
"Charming."
La Vieille held out her hand.
He looked at it.
"What?"
"The other key."
Raymond's expression changed.
Only slightly.
His fingers moved toward the inner pocket of his coat.
The old brass key to Marduk's desk room rested there.
He had carried it for years.
Pointlessly.
The lock had been replaced twice.
He took it out.
La Vieille waited.
Raymond placed it in her palm.
Her fingers closed.
That was all.
No speech.
No gratitude.
Better.
Delo picked up the sacks.
"What's in these?"
"Things he forgot to throw away," La Vieille said.
Raymond frowned.
"I forgot nothing."
She opened one sack.
Inside were three shirts, a cracked compass, an old blanket, two wooden practice knives, and the cooking pot Marduk had once thrown at Raymond after an alchemical experiment exploded over dinner.
Xavier laughed from the path.
He and Elisabeth had returned from the graves.
Raymond looked at the pot.
"That is historical evidence."
"Of what?" Elisabeth asked.
"Attempted murder."
La Vieille shoved the sack toward Delo.
"Storage."
Delo carried it inside.
Rex watched him cross the threshold.
For a moment the manticore looked confused.
This had been Raymond's place.
His den.
Then Rex sniffed the doorway, walked around La Vieille once, and sat.
Acceptance, apparently.
Raymond hated how easily animals understood property law.
---
The village farewell began at sunset.
Raymond did not attend.
This surprised nobody except Djerma, who had somehow continued believing Raymond might become cooperative if exposed to enough social expectation.
The villagers gathered around nine small oil lamps near the rebuilt central path.
One for each person lost during the Abomination's attack.
Mara lit Veys's herself.
Xavier stood among them.
Elisabeth beside him, leaning on her cane.
Saraounia stood with Delo.
Not for long.
But she stood.
Djerma spoke no grand prayer.
He simply read the names.
Bato.
Nema.
Sira.
Kelan.
Kero.
Amma.
Toru.
Veys.
Maro.
After each name, someone answered.
"Remembered."
Xavier hated the simplicity of it.
Because it worked.
There was nowhere to hide inside that word.
No heroic death.
No better place.
No stars.
Just—
Remembered.
When Djerma finished, he looked at Xavier.
"You're leaving tomorrow."
"Yes."
"You'll come back?"
Xavier looked toward the ridge where the Sierra's mast rose above the trees.
"I don't know."
Djerma laughed softly.
"You've spent too much time with him."
"I was about to promise."
"Exactly."
Xavier glanced at the lamps.
"I want to."
"That is enough."
Xavier looked at Veys's mother.
Mara had not spoken to him since Chapter 30's confrontation.
Now she held out something.
A strip of cloth.
Veys's old wrist binding.
Xavier shook his head.
"No."
"It isn't for you."
She pointed toward the Sierra.
"You put part of his spear into the ship."
"Yes."
"Tie this beside it."
Xavier took the cloth.
"I will."
Mara nodded.
No thanks.
No forgiveness.
Better.
Elisabeth was speaking quietly with Saraounia.
"You're keeping the glove?" Saraounia asked.
"For now."
"Does it still hurt?"
"Yes."
"You lie better than that."
Elisabeth looked at her.
"Occasionally."
Saraounia touched Elisabeth's left wrist.
"Come back with both hands."
Elisabeth glanced at the poisoned one.
"I'll make no unreasonable promises."
Saraounia laughed.
Delo did not.
He looked toward Xavier.
"You keep her alive."
Elisabeth turned.
"Excuse me?"
Delo immediately realized his mistake.
"I meant—"
"She keeps herself alive," Xavier said.
Delo nodded quickly.
"Yes."
Elisabeth smiled.
"Good recovery."
Xavier stepped toward Delo.
They did not embrace.
Neither seemed built for it.
Instead Delo held out his forearm.
Xavier clasped it.
"Don't let Raymond get you killed."
"I've tried."
"Try harder."
"You keep Saraounia from getting eaten."
Delo looked offended.
"That happened once."
"Almost."
"Still once."
Their hands separated.
The lamps burned until the first stars appeared.
Raymond never came.
---
Near midnight, Rex woke.
The manticore lifted his head from beside Raymond's bed aboard the Sierra.
Raymond was already standing.
Coat on.
Boots tied.
Cane in hand.
Rex rose.
"No."
Rex followed him to the door.
"I said no."
The manticore's ears flattened.
Raymond touched his head once.
A brief pressure between the ears.
"Stay."
This time Rex obeyed.
Raymond left alone.
The island was quieter at night.
No hammering from the shipyard.
No training.
No arguments over poison glands, broken regulators, political debts, or whether soup counted as medicine.
He walked slowly.
His ribs still objected to hills.
The cane sank into damp earth.
He reached the graves long after everyone else had left.
Nine village lamps glowed far below.
Two older stones waited beneath the cedar.
Marduk.
And the woman from the wreck.
Raymond stood between them.
"No ceremony," he said.
The dead remained impressively respectful.
He looked at the nameless grave first.
"I kept them alive."
A pause.
"Mostly."
He hated speaking to graves.
They were impossible conversationalists.
"Your daughter is difficult. Your son has become worse."
Nothing.
"Congratulations."
He turned toward Marduk.
Moss still clung to the edge of the stone where Xavier had missed it.
Raymond scraped it away with his thumb.
"You."
That was enough accusation to begin.
"You left me a letter I can't open, coordinates that don't coordinate, a journal I can't find, and a warning not to trust the man you want me to visit."
Wind moved through the cedar.
Raymond looked up.
"I suppose you think this is funny."
He could almost hear the bastard.
That annoyed him most.
Raymond reached into his coat.
Not the sealed letter.
Not the map.
A small iron key.
The replacement key to the cabin.
La Vieille had the originals.
This one was unnecessary now.
Raymond placed it on Marduk's stone.
"I gave the house away."
That sentence felt stranger than expected.
"To someone competent."
He thought about Delo.
"Mostly competent."
The wind grew colder.
Raymond rested both hands on the cane.
For once, Chessmaster remained silent.
No pieces.
No trajectories.
No calculation concerning Abraham Dubois or Catington.
Just two graves.
An island.
A ship waiting beyond the trees.
And the uncomfortable knowledge that tomorrow he would leave the only place in this world that had ever become familiar before he noticed it happening.
He looked at Marduk's name.
"I'm not coming back because you told me to."
A lie.
Small.
Almost respectable.
Raymond smiled.
"Maybe."
Then he turned away.
At the edge of the path, he stopped once.
Did not look back.
"Try not to become sentimental while I'm gone."
The dead offered no promise.
Raymond preferred it that way.
Through the trees, the mast of the Sierra cut across the stars.
Tomorrow there would be no repairs.
No rehabilitation.
No training exercise.
No convenient reason to remain.
Only open sky.
And Catington beyond it.