them as they clattered down the stone steps to the wide entry below. They were not the only ones who had heard the bells and witnessed Dagmar’s joyous shouting. From the west staircase, a stream of keepers began to pour, voices raised in welcome, hands clasped in excitement at Bayr’s return.
Master Ivo was waiting in the foyer, watching the reunion through the wide doors. Bayr strode forward and enveloped the Highest Keeper in an embrace that should have reduced him to dust, but Ivo curled his winged arms around the big chieftain and uttered not even a peep of protest.
“We’ve been waiting, Bayr of Saylok,” he murmured as Bayr released him and turned to greet the others hurrying toward him. Ghost reached him first and held out a hand in greeting, her smile as careful and quiet as it had always been. Bayr bowed above it, kissing her pale white knuckles. Her joy was as clear as her gossamer skin.
“You are s-still beautiful, Ghost,” Bayr said softly. “Thank you for l-looking after him.” He cast a brief glance at Dagmar so there would be no question to whom he referred.
“Your uncle looks after all of us,” she replied, and pink suffused her pale cheeks.
“You are all . . . w-women,” Bayr stammered, raising his eyes from Ghost to Ghisla and the other daughters, who had stopped a few paces behind her. He gripped his braid as though he greeted the king, his reverence and fealty bringing to mind the day so long ago when they’d been brought to the temple as scared little girls.
“You are all beautiful women, g-grown,” he marveled.
In response, Juliah grasped the heavy coil that circled her head.
“Mine is not a warrior’s braid, but a warrior’s crown,” she said, a smirk twisting her soft lips.
“The Warrior Queen?” Bayr asked, and Juliah’s smile widened.
“There has been no coronation, but I accept your title,” she said, lifting her chin like royalty, but her eyes caught on Alba, who stood framed in the light of the gray afternoon beyond him. The heavy temple doors had been pushed wide upon Bayr’s entry and never closed, and no one had even seen her enter in their eagerness to greet their returning friend.
“Bayr?” Alba called.
Bayr froze, as though he knew exactly who spoke. He seemed to brace himself before turning, but the shudder that wracked him was visible to all who observed.
“Alba?”
She was tall for a woman, taller than many of the keepers, and straight and strong in her carriage and character. She wore her hair loose around her shoulders, the pale waves like moonbeams against her deep-blue gown. The light at her back shadowed her features, but her eyes, dark as the soil of Saylok, were fixed on Bayr’s face.
A heartbeat later, she was hurtling through the entrance hall, her skirts clutched in her hands to free her flying feet, her hair streaming behind her. Then she was in Bayr’s arms, caught up against him, her feet no longer touching the floor, as though she’d leaped past the last few steps.
All was silent around them, as the stunned observers watched a reunion that was as wrenching as it was wonderful. Bayr and Alba did not speak at all, but stood, locked in a desperate embrace, clinging to each other in quiet commiseration. Ghisla could not see Bayr’s face, but Alba had begun to weep, her shoulders quaking, her face buried in Bayr’s neck. Bayr simply turned, still clutching her to his chest, her feet still dangling, and strode across the wide foyer and into the sanctum. He closed the double doors behind him with a shove of his boot.
They sat in the sanctum all afternoon, their voices and Alba’s laughter trickling out and echoing over the stone walls. The keepers moved in hushed happiness, keeping their ears attuned to the glad sound, and the Highest Keeper instructed those on kitchen duty to prepare a feast for the return of the favorite son.
No one seemed to know what to do—decorum dictated that a man and woman not be alone together behind a closed door, yet no one wanted to deny or diminish the joyous reunion, and so Master Ivo left it ajar. Ghost hovered near the sanctum door, shamelessly eavesdropping, and Dagmar kept finding reasons to join her, though the front entrance hall contained nothing but stone, space, and staircases.
At sundown, Ghisla joined the daughters and the keepers in songs of worship and took Ghost’s hand as they sang the final praise.