“There was also a letter from Kerameikos.” The hesitation in Anton’s voice was palpable.

The words hit Jude like a blast of cold air. He had written to Penrose over a month ago, to find out what had happened in the aftermath of Pallas’s attack. And to tell them what had happened to Yarik.

“They’re deciding what to do,” Anton went on. “Whether the Order will disband or carry on. It seems some number of the Paladin have already left, including Annuka. She returned to the steppe, to join up with the Wandering City. Penrose said your input would be welcome.”

Jude gripped Anton’s hand tighter, looking off toward the peaceful flow of the river. With Anton’s patient help, he’d slowly begun working through the tangled knot of feelings he had about the Order—his guilt, his anger, his grief. Some part of his heart would always live within the crumbled walls of the fort, but he didn’t know if he was ready to go back there. If he ever would be.

“It should be up to them,” Jude said at last. “I made my choice. Now they get to make theirs.”

Anton drew their clasped hands to his lips, kissing Jude’s knuckles. A benediction, a promise. That in this, he would follow Jude’s lead.

They passed beneath the bent fig tree at the edge of the garden. The nest of mourning doves that Jude had spotted earlier that week were awake, cooing away to the sun. The sound filled Jude’s chest with light, and he came to a stop, tugging Anton to a halt beside him just to enjoy the moment a little longer.

“This is what I would have wanted,” he said.

Anton looked at him questioningly.

“A long time ago, Hector asked me what I would have wanted to do if the Prophets hadn’t made me Keeper of the Word,” Jude explained. The memory was a tender ache, as all his memories of Hector were now. “This is it. A house. A garden. Crickets to lull us to sleep, and birds to sing us awake. A home. And you.”

“Well, you have me,” Anton said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Now and always.”

His gaze moved past Jude and his face suddenly lit up. Before Jude knew what was happening, Anton was pulling him into the garden.

“Look!” he said, dropping down into the dirt and leaving Jude with little choice but to follow. “The carrots I planted last week, Jude, look!”

Jude shifted to his knees, bending toward Anton as they both peered down at the dirt. There, between Anton’s carefully cupped hands, two tiny green leaves had sprouted.

“It must have been all the rain,” Anton said, awe creeping into his voice.

“I’m surprised they survived the freeze last night,” Jude said. “They’re so small.”