“You’ll be fine, miss,” said Steven, the driver, with a tip of his cap. “Good mazel to you.”
Annalise had ridden in the carriage, but Certainty went to the front gate. She opened it. Stepped through. The gravel crunched beneath her toes as she walked, and it seemed quite important she recall every sound, each scent, every sight before her for this first time.
They’d all blend together after a while, she thought as she stood in front of the red-painted door. But this first one, she would have to cherish forever.
She knocked.
He answered.
“If you were given the choice of serving a hundred patrons, providing each with absolute solace yet knowing the Holy Quiver would remain unfilled, or you could have but one patron to serve for the rest of your life but know his would be the final Arrow . . . which would you choose?” Cassian’s voice hadn’t changed, but he had. No longer clad in the high-necked jacket, he wore a loose-fitting white shirt, a dusting of flour on one cheek and his hair in disarray. From inside the house, Certainty heard the laughter of a child. The boy.
“My answer, sir, is that I would be first grateful to have been given a choice at all.”
He drew in a slow breath, his smile hesitant and endearing. “And the second answer?
“I would choose the single patron,” she said, stepping up to him. “So long as it was you.”
He put his arms around her, and he kissed her. She needed no tinkling bells or flutter of wings to feel in his kiss what his words next shared. “I love you, Annalise.”
She didn’t correct him. There’d be time much later for the rest of all this—the small acts and gestures that would soothe him and bring him solace. Or not. Somehow, the idea of her task taking the rest of her life was not daunting, but delicious.
“I like you when you love me, Cassian.”
He kissed her again, kicking the half-open door all the way open and sweeping her into his arms so that he might carry her into the house. “Then you shall be well-pleased with me for a long time, for I don’t intend to stop.”
She wound her arms around his neck, holding tight. “I have a question for you, first, before you take me inside.”
He paused to look into her eyes. “Anything.”
“What would you have done had I not been the one assigned to you?”
Cassion smiled. “I didn’t send for a Handmaiden, love.”
This answer surprised her. “But you . . . the question you asked when you opened the door . . .”
“Sometimes,” Cassian said, “just as the priests speak for those unable to speak for themselves, the Invisible Mother answers the prayers of those unable to pray.”
“Sometimes, it would seem the Mothers-in-Service do the same,” she said wryly.
“Much to my joy.”
She looked at him seriously. “Is it your intent to allow me to try and make you happy?”
He kissed her. “Aye, and yes. It is.”
“And what of solace, Cassian? Is it your intent I should try to grant you that, as well?”
Another kiss, softer this time. “Yes.”
“Even if it takes a lifetime?”
“In truth, sweetheart,” he said as he took her through the door and closed it behind them with a thud, “I intend for it to take just that long.”
Which was all she could really ask, and everything she could give.