Page 325 of Black Reign

She pushes the old gate open.

It squeaks.

Her eyes close.

“Still does that.”

The garden has gone wild, though my people trimmed enough to make it safe.

Lavender.

Rosemary.

Grass.

The pear tree.

Near the house, an old stone basin remains beneath a rusted outdoor tap.

Sabine touches it.

“My papa used to wash dirt off my feet here before he let me inside.”

Her voice is small.

I stand beside her.

“He said I was feral.”

“You were.”

She looks up.

“You didn't know me.”

“I know you now.”

Her eyes hold mine.

Something moves between us.

Then she looks past my shoulder.

And freezes.

I follow her gaze.

Beyond the cottage, across the field, white flowers move in the breeze.

Wooden chairs.

Simple.

Nothing elaborate.

An aisle through the grass.

At the far end, beneath two old trees, linen and wildflowers frame a small ceremony space.