Then—then Hæra would survive. Somehow. Jonathan would want her to, and her mother wouldn’t, and she’d be just as happy to honor one and spite the other. It’d be heart-wrenchingly difficult, that was all.

They sat down to dinner. As usual, Madeleine briefly prayed. When she finished, Hæra said, “Do you pray to the Great Mare now?” When Madeleine looked startled, she clarified, “You’ve seen her, but you’ve never seen your God. I assume you pray to the one you know is real.”

Madeleine huffed out a soft laugh and snapped her napkin into her lap. “That’d be logical, wouldn’t it? But no. I still ask God to bless my food. I don’t know if I could eat otherwise. It’s too ingrained.”

Hæra frowned. “That makes it sound like a bad habit, not a good one.”

“I wouldn’t say so. It makes me pay attention to my food and reminds me to be grateful that I have some. Even if I’m questioning a lot of things, I don’t believe in throwing the baby out with the bathwater.”

Hæra had never heard that phrase. The resulting mental image was so arresting she couldn’t reply.

“Anyway, never mind that.” Madeleine began to slice her meat. “I went to the Sunrise Café today, to thank Arjun and Jeremy for sending us that food.”

“I was going to send a note,” Hæra protested. “It just takes me a while to write them. I told you I wanted to do that myself.”

“I know,” Madeleine said quickly. “You still can. I went because—well, I wanted to talk to them. The food was just an excuse.”

“Why would you need an excuse to talk to them?” Hæra asked in bewilderment. “They run a business, and they talk to people all the time.”

“I meant an excuse for myself, I guess. Not for them.” Madeleine sighed. “I haven’t been around gay people much. Although Jonathan…” Her voice trailed off.

This conversation was getting harder and harder to follow. “What about Jonathan?”

Madeleine shook her head. “Never mind.” Then she popped a piece of lamb into her mouth.

Maybe Madeleine didn’t want to talk about it, but it wasn’t hard to pursue her train of thought. On the night he’d died, Jonathan had shed tears when Hæra had asked him if he’d ever consummated his bond with Asgall. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might prefer males in general. He’d certainly never told her.

Her throat grew thick. Thanks to Madeleine, she knew how such preferences could make humans feel lonely and ashamed. If Jonathan had felt like that for so long, and lived with it in silence, never sharing it with anyone—even her⁠—