Normally such growth as St. Kolbe's had evidently seen would mean prosperity. But here the solemn note simply could not be avoided, and one of the unseen costs of the Revolution, and more so now of Gilram's insurrection, was laid bare before their eyes. One of the many prices of war, made manifest. It chilled Kristen, for it brought to the fore the severe conflict between her duty now as a Dreadlord and her desire to start a family; what would come of the good she could do for her country, if grave misfortune struck and she left her children forever in tears?
"Let us go inside, then, and aid in our search by inquiring of one of the matrons."
Kristen dismounted and led her horse to one of the fences and so tethered it there. And with
Zinnia she went through the front doors.
Inside the small foyer there was a quiet not quite pristine. From elsewhere in the main building came the muffled sounds of many children, some younger in their voices, some older, and they came as groups of them playing, groups of them talking about this subject or that. One could close one's eyes, put out the knowledge of St. Kolbe's purpose, and imagine the very walls and doors of the foyer holding beyond them a schoolmaster overlooking his young pupils at play, or the collected youth of a small town gathered in their childish delight at some festival. For all the somber nature of the orphanage, this, at least, imparted to Kristen a heartening quality.
A matron from the upstairs rooms, coming down the single staircase with a basket full of clothes in her arms, saw the two arrivals and spoke as she descended: "Oh, just one moment, I will be happy to receive y—"
And then, two steps from the bottom, she got a good look at one of them. She dropped the basket, and clothes tumbled down the stairs and to the floor below.
"...by Anirius," she said breathlessly. "Zinnia? Is...is that you?"
Zinnia