“Nobody contests that,” he continued. “Nor do we contest which one awaits us. Heroes such as we,” he spread his arms wide toward his little brother, “already have our stations reserved.”

“That’s not the point.” Bolt got up, some embarrassment overtaking him.

“The point is what constitutes heaven.” Reginold raised a finger. “Heaven is supposedly an unending paradise, beyond this world, in which you are reunited with all your loved ones. Therein lies a difficult question. What if your loved ones don’t love you back? Would they be forced to spend their heaven with you?”

Arable shook her head and smiled. “I’m sure I don’t know.” She placed a bundle of wrapped sausage in his hands.

A quick sniff apparently marked his approval. “Let me ask it another way. What if your idea of heaven is to spend all your time with someone you’ve long … admired?” He flashed a knowing smile over to Bolt, who busied himself obviously with his belongings. “The old sheriff, for instance, Murdac. Let’s say Bolt wanted nothing else but to spend his eternal days chatting with Murdac, because he admires him so much. But Murdac, quite famously, found Bolt to be insufferable. So whose heaven wins?”

“Just to be clear…” Arable offered a package for Bolt, but he averted his glance. She tucked it into one of his saddle bags, patting it so he’d know where it was. “In this scenario, both Bolt and Murdac are dead, and you want to know which of them suffers more?” They both laughed for that. “Sorry, I’ve never been dead, so I can’t really help you with your quandary.”

“Oh, that’s not the quandary.” Reginold hastened next to her, petting the neck of Bolt’s horse. “We both decided the question was ridiculous. The quandary is whether or not Bolt is actually insufferable, what say you?”

Bolt turned skittish and moved away. “Knock it off.”

Boys were boys, but at least they were predictable. “Oh, I don’t know,” Arable replied, keeping her tone playful. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Since the war,” Reginold calculated. “Fifteen years? Ever since I watched him jump off that curtain wall, right there,” he pointed. “Just a child, scared out of his wits, trapped on the wrong side of an invading army. Last time he jumped anywhere.”

He snickered, but the words an invading army stuck in her. Arable’s father had died in that army.

“Well fifteen years is a long time,” she smiled, without missing a beat, “and you’ve suffered every one of them. Therefore, he must be sufferable.”

“Thank you,” Bolt said from across the room.

“I’m not convinced that was a compliment,” Reginold called back, giving a friendly wink. But Bolt was gone, swinging his lame leg proudly as he left. Arable laughed it off, while giving a nonchalant check to see if there were any other eavesdroppers nearby.