Matthias gave him an approving nod, and went off to find the queen mother, being a comfort for her. Rain flung itself against sturdy walls and thick glass, companionably. Wind carried stories across the Marches, gossiping to water and land and sky.
“I’m sorry about that.” Gareth squeezed his hand. “I’d’ve stepped in, given another second. I know you don’t like the Church.”
“He’s not terrible. I’ve met worse.” They passed a curved window, framed by long thick curtains in the sage green of the family plaid. Lorre, drawn by raindrops and energy and a crack of lightning, drifted toward it. His forearms prickled. “I imagine he’s helpful. For your family.”
Gareth lifted their joined hands, put his other one around Lorre’s fingers, rubbed gently: summoning heat. “He’s been kind. Everyone loved
