Baroness Peigi Aleese and High Priest Aubin were the last people to see Jocelynn off, though neither intended to keep her long.
"Remember," Peigi said gently. "Youâre not alone. The women of the court may not have unified behind you just yet, but the five of us will be here to help you through the days to come. Whether you need advice from an old woman whoâs been there before, or a friendly shoulder to cry on thatâs closer in age," she said with a slight nod toward Charlotte and Adala.
"You donât have to struggle alone," Peigi promised. "And Iâm certain that others will come to you in time as well," she said, her brows furrowing in worry as she thought about the absent Mairwen Dunn. "Now, go take your rest. There will be time enough to talk more when all the ceremonies are over, and youâll need to be well rested by the day of your wedding."
"I know Iâm not alone," Jocelynn said, frowning at the baroness. "Even when I plan to be alone, people conspire to keep me company," she said before clapping her hands over her mouth. Sheâd meant to make a joke of Peigiâs small scheme to keep her company this morning, but when the words slipped past her lips, they came out much sharper than she intended.
"I didnât mean, well, I did, but not like that, I, um...." Jocelynn stammered before firmly reigning in her rambling tongue. "That is, thank you, Baroness Peigi. For everything," she managed, pulling together a semblance of her usual refined elegance.
"Youâre welcome, my lady," Peigi said, offering a brief, formal curtsy before she turned and walked to the Aleese carriage, and the courtyard was empty except for Jocelynn, High Priest Aubin, the rain, and the clay urn she held against her chest.
"Iâm glad you accepted their company today, Lady Jocelynn," the old man said as he stepped forward to say his farewells. "No matter how dark this moment feels, your brightest days are still ahead of you," he said, placing a thin, bony hand on her shoulder. "But lonely stars rarely shine the brightest."
"I know," Jocelynn said, biting her lower lip as she looked into the old manâs kind eyes. "Today was for Ash," she said, hugging the urn tightly to her chest. "But Iâll burn brightly soon. Brighter than anyone thinks," she promised before clamping her mouth shut lest she say more than she should.
"Thank you, Aubin," she said instead as a fresh tear rolled down her soft cheek. The next time sheâd see Aubin would be at Borsâ funeral, followed by her own wedding. Those would be the last times she would ever see the kind old man who had done so much for her since she emerged from the dungeon, and she suddenly realized that she had no way to repay his kindness.
"Thank you," she repeated. "For everything you did for Eleanor and for Ashlynn, for me and for all of it. And... and Iâm sorry," she said in a soft, small voice that felt incredibly fragile in the cold winter air.
"Donât apologize," Aubin said as he used the hand on her shoulder to turn her in the direction of the waiting Blackwell carriage. "Just remember to be kind to yourself, if not for your own sake, then for theirs. Neither of them wants to see you suffering, child."
"I know," Jocelynn said, giving a slight nod. She wished she could say that she would see them soon, but no matter what happened in the days to come, she knew that she wouldnât reach the Heavenly Shores at the end of this life. Her reunion with Ash and Eleanor would have to wait a bit longer, while she sailed the long way around to reach them.
But at the very least, she would make sure that the man who was responsible for both their deaths couldnât hurt anyone else the way heâd hurt them. She could offer up that much at least... or at least, she hoped she could.
Captain Devlin was waiting by the Blackwell carriage, his oilskin coat dark with rain. He took one look at Jocelynnâs flushed cheeks and unsteady footing and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he opened the carriage door and offered his hand to help her inside.
"I can manage," Jocelynn said, then promptly stumbled on the step. Devlin caught her elbow without comment and guided her onto the bench, where she settled with the urn in her lap and the warm, swimmy feeling of too much wine making the edges of the world pleasantly soft.
"Captain," Aubin said softly once Jocelynn had settled into her seat. "There will always be shelter for her here in the temple," he promised. "If you think she has need of it, even if she doesnât believe she does, bring her here. We will protect her... Even if we must protect her from the person she should be able to trust the most," he said, pushing the limits of what could be spoken aloud.
"Safe harbor in a storm is always welcome, your Worship," Devlin said, bowing his head to the High Priest. "If she needs to find a place to weather the shifting winds, weâll keep your temple in mind," he promised.
"Good, good," Aubin said as he pulled his white fur cloak tighter around his shoulders. "Then I leave her in your care, Captain," he said before making his way back to the warmth of the Chapel of the Rising Sun.
Aubin didnât know what lay in Jocelynnâs future, and he didnât dare to attempt to chart the shape of her path through the stars above. Nothing about the young ladyâs fate was certain. The Holy Lord of Light clearly had plans for the young lady from Blackwell, but the Heavens didnât promise a long or happy life to the stars that burned the brightest.
There was more pain and struggle to come in Jocelynnâs future, of that, Aubin was certain. But the tides around her were turning. He had glimpsed the shape of a great wave of change approaching, and it was clear to him that Jocelynn was a part of that coming change. The only question was whether the wave would lift her to greater heights...
Or crush her on the stones of the Lothian hills.