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The Master was working in his study.
Lazarus and the Mistress were doing the mending together, because he couldn’t get her to stop. She was sitting upright in her sickbed, darning her husband’s socks, because it was something she could do for him. It was always very clear how much she wanted to do for him.
They were doing the mending, and she made it — Lazarus allowed himself to think the word just this once — regal.
She should have been a queen. Lazarus’s Master deserved to have such a queen.
The Mistress broke the silence. “… Do you know what I think the drawback is to The Law, Lazarus?”
“…I have my guesses, Ma’am.”
“It lets Stefan put even more on his own shoulders, on his own heart. With every horrible report of the atrocities… not only can he believe he hasn’t done enough, he can believe he hasn’t Thought enough.”
Lazarus said nothing. The Mistress had a point.
She smiled. “He’s one mind, rippling out across an ocean of other people’s wild thoughts. But one can’t help but dream of his turning the tide.”
He couldn’t help the trace of a smile that answered — which vanished at her next cough. The coughing went on long enough to wake the Young Master in his cradle, and Lazarus fetched him to put in her arms to soothe.
“Do you know what I think the benefit is to Samavian Orthodox rites, Lazarus?”
“Couldn’t say, Ma’am.”
“The wedding sacrament has none of that nonsense some have about ‘forsaking all others.’ Can you imagine our Stefan being forced to to forsake people?”
“Never, Ma’am.” ‘Our Stefan.’ It wasn’t correct, but it was right.
She continued. “I would appreciate it if, while I feed Marco, you would go into the study, thinking of all the unspeakable things you would like to do for my husband, and do whichever one he agrees to, with the kind of attention to detail you give the silver and the laundry.”
Lazarus did not fluster, bluster, blush, or stammer. He bowed and followed instructions. Thoroughly.
**
She kept getting worse. It was hard not to see it.
“I don’t have much knack for the Law in me, as you know.” She gestured at herself on the bed.
“Ma’am, the Master would never want to —“
“Make me feel terrible for feeling terrible? Of course not. But if I’m going to be on my deathbed, I’m at least going to use the focus for something that might be a little practical. I’m going to extract some promises from Stefan soon, Lazarus, but first, I’m going to do some wishing. Some Thinking. And I need you to listen.”
“Always, Ma’am.” It took a lifetime of military discipline to keep his voice steady enough to say it.
She took his hands, clear that she would take no objections. “May you see our son grow. May you see our Stefan see our son grow. And — because I know it matters to you — may you see him in a crown.”