“And where,” asked Vissa, his chin up, “do you stand, on the matter of the bodies of the dead?”

Haughty—but not as haughty as he might have been, I realized. I knew some nose-in-the-clouds feel-my-pedigree Truebloods who would have asked what the opinions of humankind had to do with the funeral customs of real people. “I’m not sure,” I told him, rummaging in the cupboard for the new tin of Earl Grey. “This is—” my voice cracked; I took a deep breath and backed up. “This is the first time I’ve had to think about it, really. But my first impulse is to respect her wishes.”

He made a harsh noise which wasn’t quite a snort, and said, “And have you some way to ask her what they are? I have none.”

“No. But I—she was my best friend for four years. And from that, I’d say that if you want her at home, you should leave her here. Because that’s what she thought of Bordertown as.”

He shook his head, a quick impatient gesture that was a little like one of hers. I couldn’t call back the picture of her doing it, though. Such a short time, and already she was sneaking away. This was proving to be one of the few sensitive discussions I’d ever had that I would have preferred to be able to conduct on the telephone.

“I will believe that this was her home, as any place may be that shows the exile a kind face, that offers food, shelter, work to do, and a circle of friends. But the place of one’s birth and raising may show one whatever face it may and still be at the center of the heart. Its loss leaves a hollow place, like a nutshell without the meat. She would not have spoken of it, for one does not speak of what one thinks cannot be mended. But I cannot believe she did not feel the loss.”

I thought about the place of my birth and raising. Maybe it was an attachment that only occurred in the landed gentry. “Are you sure you’re not judging the way she felt by the way you do? I’m sorry to keep on about this, but I was here, and I can’t remember her ever suffering from anything that looked like homesickness.”

I had the impression that he thought I was just being dense, that I was missing his point. He turned his hands palm up and spread them wide, as if opening a box, as he said, “Her spirit should be sent forth from the home of her kin. How else can it be? Generations of our family have been sung to their rest there. We held that land as ours before any human nation that still stands was formed.”

“Yes,” I said, “but she left.”