The stoneware urn held a shovelful of clay. That was all of Joseph anyone had been able to recover.
As the priestess spoke about death and rebirth, summer and spring, crops and trees, Gaby placed a loaf of bread in the urn. Doc, leaning on the cane he'd be using for a few weeks, added a leather pouch of salt.
Alastair contemplated a glass flask of fine uisge before placing it down in the clay. Noriko followed suit with a cup and a plate of fine copper, a fork and a knife of silver. Ixyail added the pouch packed with clothes and coin.
Last in the ceremony, Harris placed the tiny jeweled axe, symbol of warriors and warrior-kings, into the urn. He stepped away and linked arms with Gaby.
The six of them drew away from the graveside. Workers of the cemetery capped the urn, then carefully lifted it and lowered it into the grave.
Harris looked out over the people attending the graveside ceremony. Associates of the Sidhe Foundation. Sturdy construction workers, Joseph's fellow workers, uncomfortable in dress clothes. A detachment of Novimagos Guard in full uniform, ready to fire the salute for a man who had briefly been, by association with Doc, a guardsman. An interesting gathering.
"Harris," Gaby said.
He smiled at her. She was resplendent in a shimmering gown of red. He admired the funerary garb of the fair world. He felt foolish in his matching dress suit, but she'd said he was gorgeous and he didn't mind her lie. "What?"
"This is an interment, not a stakeout."
"Oh, that's right."
"So stop giving everybody the eye."
The priestess carefully poured a handful of grain into the grave. She withdrew. The guardsmen fired their volley. The men and women in attendance rose, freed from the obligation of ritual, and began talking to one another. Workmen shoveled dirt into the grave.
Harris drank in the details. Ladislas and Welthy, too hurt to attend, even after being tended by Alastair, would want to know everything. And Fergus, who was not so badly hurt but who felt unwanted around the associates—and, for the most part, was correct. "Doc."
"Yes?"
"What are you going to do about Fergus?"
"Just what I promised him. He did very well during Duncan's assault . . . but I cannot forget that he betrayed us."
"Oh, well." He didn't press Doc. The man had buried his son earlier today. He looked so glum, so inconsolable, it seemed unlikely that a smile would ever cross his face again.
Ixyail asked what Harris never would have dared to. "Doc, how did it happen?" Her voice was soft, full of sympathy; even her Castilian accent was fainter than usual.
Doc didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I'm not sure. I've never been sure. It might have been inheritance. I was pureblood, and pureblood Daoine Sidhe and their children are often tainted with madness. One of the prices we pay for being long-lived." He shook his head, a sorrowful gesture. "Dierdriu wasn't touched, just melancholy, a sadness I always thought I could end. But when Duncan began to make his name, she killed herself from grief. From shame.
"Duncan always said it was my fault he became what he was. Restrictions he abhorred. Rules he could not abide. His hatred of guidance became hatred of any restriction, any limit. Understanding his mother's sadness taught him to manipulate others through their weaknesses."
Ish asked, "Are you ever going to try again?"
He didn't answer.
Gaby said, "You didn't kill him, you know."
He managed a bare smile. "You went to some considerable effort to make sure of that. I appreciate your intent. Have you two thought about my offer?"
"To stay on as associates?" Harris looked speculatively at Gaby. She smiled back. "We want to," he said. "But we don't know if we'll have time. There are a lot of things we want to do."
"Study my Gift," Gaby said.
"Invent martial arts movies for the fair world."
"Learn to fly."
"Teach tae kwon do."
"Get married."
"Have kids, God help us."
"Go back to the grim world every so often."
"Think we can do all that and still be Foundation associates?" Harris asked.
Doc blinked owlishly at them. "Please try. And if you succeed—" he turned his gaze on Ish "—tell me how you do it. I might need to know."
Both women turned their smiles on him. "It's a deal," they said.