The composure she’d fought so hard to hold on to when Isis had hugged her nearly failed her again with Fatima’s comforting words. She managed a nod of thanks to Isis’ servant, dampness shimmering in her eyes. But as soon as the woman turned away, Sigyn lifted her hand, fingers stretched wide, the tip of her middle finger and the pad of her thumb pressing against the corners of her eyelids in an attempt to keep the tears in.
It took several moments, filled with long, deep, shuddering breaths, before she lowered her hand again. And if a few tears escaped in the process, Sigyn chose to ignore them. The moment she opened her eyes again, she was assaulted by what had been left behind once Isis’ servants had removed the survivors.
Beloved faces that would never be mobile again, burned, bloodied and torn. It made Sigyn fear what fate had taken Hedy from her. How much pain had her dearest friend had to bear? Her imagination, which had a vast memory of the horrors she’d already seen in her life to draw upon, kept creating the worst images to flash through her mind. It was horrifying to every sense. And if she simply stood around, it was going to overwhelm her.
“That’s a start,” she said finally. “The most important thing taken care of, getting them safe and well. The living are being cared for. This, I’m afraid is what is left for us.”
She sighed deeply, then turned a pained gaze on the Egyptian queen. “I know I’ve asked for your help. But you’ve already taken care of what was most important to me. If you do not wish… I’m sorry, that’s a ridiculous statement. Who would wish to deal with the final disposition of those who have been lost? What I mean to say, Isis, is if you would prefer to do something else, perhaps see how far the fire damage extends, while I begin what needs to be done here… I would still be more than grateful for your help, and I would understand.”
The idea of what she would have to do to begin preparing these bodies for burial was daunting. But she couldn’t ask her friend to do that. It was too much. Far, far too much. It was too much for Sigyn, but it was her task and her responsibility, not Isis’. She had to do it, not only for Hedylogos, who would want her to care for his people, but for the servants themselves. They had been welcoming and helpful from the moment Hedy had brought her home, dripping and bedraggled. In some ways, they were as much family as Hedy himself.