The last few days in the servants' infirmary had been a tense vigil, a series of choices I had helped make, leading to this morning. My life learning palace etiquette, law, and political economy had not taught me how to deal with situations like this. I was figuring it out on my own. Now I knew how the final pieces of the plan would be set in place.
Lady Hamil carried the shovel. It looked unnatural in her delicate hands. We found the barn's owner tossing feed to his livestock. He straightened as we approached.
"The girl, Dalia," Lady Hamil began, her voice steady. "She worked for me. I took her in when the fever came on, after her brother was taken." She paused, letting the story settle. "I cared for her as best I could."
The man grunted, wiping his hands on his trousers. He waited.
"It's a tragedy," Lady Hamil said, her voice flat. "But her suffering is behind her."
The barn owner's boots creaked as his gaze slowly dropped to the pouch in my hand.
"We need a place to bury her," Lady Hamil continued, gesturing toward the fallow, weed-choked ground behind the barn.
This was the real transaction. I poured my brother Akram's coins into the man's calloused palm. The clink of metal was the only sound. He gave a curt nod, turned his back on us, and walked into the barn. The deal was done.
We went to the forgotten patch of ground. My hands felt clumsy and brutal with the shovel as we took turns digging. The hard-packed earth gave way reluctantly, but we carved a shallow space in the ground. When we could do no more, we gathered stones from the edge of the field and laid them carefully, outlining the mound of fresh earth in a neat rectangle.
When the work was done, we walked away. At a turn in the path, Lady Hamil stopped and looked at the few coins she had kept for herself.
"My husband and I lost everything when we left the capital," she said, her voice low and rough with fatigue. "This isn't enough to get that life back. But the inn is thriving and after selling it, it will be enough to leave this place for good."
We parted. Lady Hamil vanished toward the inn to collect her husband, and I circled back toward the barn to finish the task.
I knelt by the stone-lined mound. From a fold in my robe, I drew the small wooden bird. I had taken it from Dalia's hand while she slept in the infirmary, her fingers finally slack after her ordeal. The memory felt both recent and distant.
"She is free from this place," I answered, thinking about Dalia and Lady Hamil simultaneously.
I pressed the bird into the dirt at the head of the grave. It sat there, and I stood, leaving the bird to its lonely vigil, and walked away without looking back.