“You’re thinking of your sister.” Dan turned to Elsa. “Thinking of her sister sends exactly the right message.”

“I agree with Dad, Vee,” said Elsa, her voice tight with control. “It might be a good idea if you changed.”

Dan put a protective arm across Vee’s shoulder. “Family line is you’re looking forward to welcoming Licia home. Hence the dress.”

I stood very close to Elsa. “Dan’s good on this stuff,” I said, as quietly as I could. “And Vee clearly needs this. Let’s deal with the rest when we get home.”

“All right,” said Elsa, quiet as breath. “We mustn’t fracture. I see that.”

“I thank everybody who was on Garden Island for the courage they showed on that terrible day.” The prime minister was looking out across the cathedral at the survivors, at the families of the dead, with his buzz-cut hair and his Boateng suit. “Whether you faced down these two very disturbed men, as our tactical weapons unit did, or whether you simply survived to tell your story, as so many of you that I see before me, you have proven once again that courage is the defining Norwegian virtue.”

I felt eyes on me. I turned to the left. On the pew beside me was a small boy in a perfectly fitted black suit. I tried to smile, but the boy would only stare. So much stress in his sinewy, bony frame.

A hand reached out for the boy’s. His mother, an older woman, elegant in gray silk. I recognized her too now. She ruffled her son’s hair, then leaned across him to whisper to me. “I wanted to say thank you. On Arno’s behalf.”

“That means a lot,” I whispered.

Arno. Of course. The last of the children. Rescued from the water after Licia helped him escape. In the days since Garden Island his face had changed. His features were drawn, the flesh below his eyes puffy.

“Courage,” the prime minister was saying. “Courage is the . . . great . . . Norwegian . . . virtue.”

Arno’s mother squeezed my hand. “We are all very much hoping you will have news of your daughter soon. Without her . . .” So she knew, then.

Arno turned his blank stare on me again. “How are you, Arno?” I said.

“He hasn’t spoken,” said his mother. “Not once.”

“Give him time.”

She nodded, and I nodded, then we turned to face the front.

The prime minister was not done discoursing on courage. “Courage defined our forefathers when they faced down the Nazi threat during the war. Courage defines the young people who faced unspeakable dangers on Garden Island. Courage is the virtue shared by every man, woman, and child in this great Norwegian cathedral of ours.”