It is time you remembered that you are part of your mother's family as well." "It will be too much trouble to transport them." Navarr had lain back against the pillows, his face thin and drawn, his body weak, but his mind, as always, working working working. That had caused Zoe to look up in surprise. "He will probably choose my desk or fountain."
"Doman must have anything he wants from the house, of course," her father had said late that night. Navarr had been awake and lucid as recently as two days ago, continuing to dictate to Zoe how he wanted her to distribute his few items of any worth.
He had even sent to Chialto for surprisingly effective medicines that would soothe pain and keep the mind clear. Doman was the unofficial leader of this little village he made himself responsible for the well-being of every soul in the small cluster of houses, and he had been tireless in his efforts to ease Navarr's passage out of this life. Zoe wondered if he thought to catch her when she fainted or to yank her back if she attempted to throw herself into the fire. Doman hovered close, his hand always half-outstretched. She was so cold that not even the leaping flames could chase away her chill the weak winter sunlight offered no warmth at all. How could there be a world in which Navarr Ardelay did not exist? Even as he had wasted away for this past quintile, growing thinner, more frail, uncharacteristically querulous with pain, she hadn't really believed he would die. Zoe stood numbly within the circle of mourners, unable to speak, as she watched her father burn away to ashes. Navarr Ardelay's body was laid to rest in a blazing pyre, as befit a sweela man who owed his allegiance to flame.
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