Chapter 175 The Lady’s Arrival
Morning mist clung low to the river docks of the Hollow, drifting between the pilings and half-finished platforms that marked the settlement’s steady growth. The river moved quietly beneath it, broad and dark, carrying trade from the north toward the widening works of Avalon’s southern expansion.
A barge approached through the fog.
Its sail bore the blue and black device of Avalon.
Dockhands slowed down, eyeing the barge as it drifted in. A few guards straightened up, watching the crew work the ropes—quick, no wasted motion. Whoever was in charge didn’t put up with dawdling; that much was clear.
As soon as the gangplank hit the dock, the reason for all this became obvious.
A woman appeared—she didn’t hurry, but you could tell she expected the world to step aside for her. Dark hair pulled back tight, streaked with just enough silver to make her look sharper, not softer. Her clothes spoke of quiet wealth: southern wool, cut to fit, cuffs stitched with fine embroidery, and a traveling cloak fastened with a bit of silver that didn’t shout for attention.
She was known simply as Lady Ventresca.
Within the halls of Avalon, her title required no explanation.
She had served Lady Seraphine for decades. She managed the household’s private affairs, oversaw every manor under Avalonian authority, and possessed a reputation for discipline that had terrified stewards, cooks, guards, and minor nobles alike.
In short, she was the last person anyone expected to see arriving unannounced at a frontier worksite.
And she already looked displeased.
Her eyes moved once across the docks—the mud, the lumber stacks, the clutter of half-built structures—before she fixed her gaze on the nearest men.
“Where is Caelen?”
Before anyone could answer, two men were already approaching.
Pit and Ser Dathren had been inspecting a shipment of stone upriver. Someone had clearly warned them that an Avalonian barge had arrived.
Pit saw her first.
He stopped dead.
Then he immediately bowed—deep and formal.
“Lady Ventresca,” he said respectfully. “Mistress.”
Dathren slowed beside him, confused.
He glanced between Pit and the woman.
“Do you know—?”
Pit spoke quickly under his breath.
“That,” he said quietly, “is Lady Seraphine’s, first lady.”
Dathren blinked.
Pit continued, voice lower still.
“She oversees the household of Avalon. All of the manors.”
Dathren’s posture straightened instantly.
Lady Ventresca’s eyes moved back to Pit.
“You seem to be doing better,” she said calmly.
He swallowed.
“Ma’am?”
“No longer guarding a manor gate,” she continued, studying him, “but guarding the house itself.”
Pit bowed his head again.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Her attention shifted to both men.
“Now,” she said briskly, “where is Caelen?”
Dathren cleared his throat.
“He’s… resting, m’lady.”
“Recovering,” Pit added.
Lady Ventresca lifted one eyebrow.
“Recovering?” she repeated. “Do you mean lounging around?”
Dathren stepped forward.
“No, m’lady. Apparently, he nearly exhausted himself teaching half the magi in the south… and frightening the rest.”
She regarded him for a moment with a slightly crossed, skeptical glance.
Then she stepped forward.
“Take me to him.”
And began walking.
The two men scrambled to follow.
Dathren hurried a step ahead, clearing his throat.
“Lady Ventresca— the young lord is under strict instruction to rest.”
She stopped.
Slowly turned.
Raised eyebrow.
Dathren stiffened.
“Ser Dathren, m’lady,” he said quickly.
Her expression softened only slightly.
“Ser Dathren,” she said evenly, “I have known that boy since he was small enough to hide behind the library chairs at Avalon.”
She stepped closer.
“If he is breathing, he can speak to me.”
Her voice sharpened.
“He is far too old to be coddled.”
Then she gestured ahead.
“Now take me to him.”
They did not head toward the main encampment.
They headed up by the terraces, aiming for the southern ridge. Lady Ventresca moved fast, her eyes scanning everything—stone foundations, survey stakes, crews dragging heavy blocks, makeshift shelters that would turn into real buildings someday. She muttered under her breath, “My God…” When they got to the doorway carved into the ridge, she stopped. Just stared for a long moment, looking up at the mountain.
Looked at the door again.
“My God,” she said more clearly.
“He’s in a cave.”
Before either man could respond, she stepped forward.
Knocked once.
Then immediately opened the door and walked inside.
Dathren and Pit stared at each other in horror.
“Should we—” Pit began.
Inside, voices rose almost instantly.
A woman’s voice.
Then Caelen’s.
Then another voice—Brother Renn.
Moments later, Renn rushed out of the cave entrance, nearly colliding with them.
“Do you know who that is?” he whispered sharply.
“Yes,” Pit said. And he quickly explained while voices continued in Caelen’s home.
“That,” Renn replied grimly, “is exactly why you should have stopped her.”
Inside, the conversation continued.
Loudly.
Fifteen minutes passed.
Then the door opened again.
Lady Ventresca stepped out first.
Behind her stood Caelen, still in his bedclothes.
He looked pale, but calm.
His eyes moved across the three men.
“Please escort Lady Ventresca to the command tent,” he said quietly.
“I will join you shortly.”
Then he closed the door again.
Lady Ventresca had already begun walking before the others reacted.
They hurried to catch up.
As they walked toward the camp, she spoke briskly.
“Brother Renn has been instructed on how to oversee his recovery.”
Pit blinked.
“You… instructed him?”
“Yes.”
She glanced back toward the ridge.
“And that cave,” she added sharply, “is unacceptable.”
Dathren sighed.
“He insisted—”
“I do not care what he insisted,” she interrupted.
“If the boy wishes to live in a hole in the mountain, that is his business.”
Her hand swept toward the rising terraces of the Hollow.
“But you are building a city around him.”
Her voice hardened.
“Make it worthy of him.”
Dathren and Pit both understood immediately.
Light.
Space.
Air.
Proper chambers.
She continued walking.
“That place is dark, cramped, and unsuitable.”
Then she muttered under her breath,
“This entire settlement needs a civilized woman’s touch.”
She paused.
Then added calmly—
“And I can only imagine how much work will be required before Lady Seraphine and Lady Lisette arrive.”
All three men froze.
“Lady Seraphine…” Pit said slowly.
“And Lady Lisette?” Dathren added.
Lady Ventresca did not slow.
“You did not think the family would ignore an invitation to visit the Hollow, did you?”
The panic that followed them up the hill was immediate and profound.
By the time they reached the command tent, Magus Calvred and several mages were already inside reviewing maps and ledgers.
When Lady Ventresca entered, conversation stopped immediately.
Calvred inclined his head.
“Lady Ventresca.”
“Magus.”
She took the central seat without hesitation.
A bit later, the tent flap opened again.
Caelen entered.
Still pale.
Still quiet.
But fully attentive.
He sat across from her.
For a moment, they regarded one another in silence.
Then Lady Ventresca folded her hands.
“Your letter reached Lady Seraphine,” she said.
Caelen nodded.
“I hoped it would.”
“It did,” she replied.
“And she accepted. And order it.”
Dathren blinked.
“Accepted… what?”
Lady Ventresca looked at him with mild surprise.
“My arrival.”
She gestured calmly to the surrounding camp.
The room grew quiet.
Caelen spoke gently.
“I asked my mother to send someone capable of establishing the household.”
Her lips curved faintly.
“And she sent the only person she trusts to do it correctly.”
“The house you are building will require proper furnishing, household organization, staff management, supply logistics, and residential planning.”
Her gaze moved around the tent.
“You have built a frontier.”
Then she looked back at Caelen.
“Now we will make it a home worthy of Avalon.”
…
The morning sun had burned the mist away by the time Caelen returned to the rising manor grounds, where the sound of chisels and mallets echoed from the stonework. The structure that climbed above the terraces had already become the most prominent feature of the Hollow’s southern ridge.
Its octagonal tower rose first—tall, pale, and geometric against the sky. From it rose a southern wing, a four-story manor house that stretched outward in careful proportion, its architecture already showing the logic of a design that felt deliberate rather than improvised.
Waiting beside a row of cut stone stood Master Baern Korrikson, the dwarf architect.
Baern’s beard was braided with short copper rings, his heavy leather apron powdered white with limestone dust. He regarded the rising structure with the quiet satisfaction of a craftsman whose work had reached the stage where others could finally begin to understand it.
Lady Ventresca joined them with measured steps, her gaze lifting slowly toward the tower.
For several moments, she said nothing.
Then she exhaled softly.
“This,” she said at last, “is… extraordinary.”
The dwarf gave a polite nod.
“Stone behaves well when spoken to properly, my lady.”
She walked forward slowly, studying the structure. Unlike the long halls common to most noble houses, the manor opened outward. Balconies and windows faced the valley. The tower itself was not sealed like a fortress keep but framed by wide archways that welcomed light and wind.
“It is not defensive,” she observed.
Baern’s eyes flicked toward Caelen.
“No, my lady.”
She turned in a slow circle, studying the views.
From the terraces, the entire southern valley opened below them—the river bending silver through the land, the distant scaffolds of the aqueduct rising like ribs against the hills, and beyond that the widening roads that already linked Avalon’s south to its northern heart.
“It invites the world in,” she murmured.
“Yes,” Baern said. “And that was the boy’s idea.”
She stopped.
“The boy’s?”
The dwarf gestured toward Caelen with a thick thumb.
“My crew builds it,” Baern said simply. “But the design is mostly his.”
Lady Ventresca blinked.
For a moment, the professional composure she wore so easily slipped.
Her gaze moved slowly from the tower back to Caelen.
Inside her mind, an entirely different memory surfaced—one she had not expected to revisit.
A younger Caelen.
No more than eight years old.
Restless, wandering the corridors of Avalon when he should have been studying.
She had once found him hiding behind the library chairs, having dismantled a brass thing simply to see how the workings moved.
She had confiscated it and lectured him for nearly an hour.
He had listened politely.
Then asked if he could keep some springs.
That troublesome boy, she thought.
And now this.
She cleared her throat and resumed walking.
“Well,” she said briskly, “let us see the rest of this miracle.”
They entered through the manor’s ground level.
Even in its unfinished state, the interior revealed the structure’s intentions.
The first surprise came quickly.
She paused beside a carved stone basin where a thin stream of water flowed steadily from a bronze mouth.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Running water?”
Baern nodded.
“From the aqueduct system.”
She examined the pipes emerging from the wall.
“It reaches… most of the house?”
“Every level but the upper two,” Baern said. “Third and fourth floors rely on stored cisterns.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“And sanitation?”
“Pumped waste shafts,” the dwarf replied calmly. “Hidden within the walls. No servant will carry waste pots in this place.”
Lady Ventresca turned slowly.
“Running water in a manor,” she said quietly. “Your Mother will faint.”
She soon discovered the marvel that appeared within the heating of chambers.
Instead of massive open hearths dominating each room, tiled stone structures ran along interior walls.
Baern explained with patient pride.
“The heat from the fire passes through internal channels in the masonry. It warms the walls before escaping.”
She studied the polished tiles.
“So the warmth spreads… evenly.”
“Yes.”
“And the wood required?”
“Half what a normal hearth would burn.”
She touched the stone thoughtfully.
“Lady Seraphine will approve of that.”
“Yes, she has already expressed her desire for them,” Caelen added.
Her third revelation came when they moved deeper into the house.
Lady Ventresca stopped abruptly.
“Wait.”
She turned slowly.
“Where is the long hall?”
Caelen gestured calmly.
“There.”
She frowned.
“That is not a hall.”
“It is,” he said.
Only then did she realize the innovation.
The rooms were not connected in a single open line.
Instead, passageways ran quietly through the interior structure, allowing movement between chambers without crossing every living space.
She walked the passage once.
Then again.
Servants could move unseen.
Guests could circulate without intruding.
Household life could flow without chaos.
She stopped.
“Oh, my Lady of Avalon,” she said quietly, “you will not believe this.”
They climbed the tower last.
From the upper balcony, the entire valley spread outward beneath them.
Lady Ventresca rested both hands on the stone rail and looked out across the land.
“This place is beautiful,” she said.
Then she glanced back toward the unfinished wings.
“But it is massive.”
She calculated silently.
“Outfitting this will cost more than any Avalonian manor before it and maybe more than all combined.”
Her voice was calm but firm.
“At least thirty thousand silver.”
Caelen regarded her evenly.
“Your budget is fifty!”
She turned sharply.
“Fifty?”
“The coin already exists in the Hollow,” he said.
“You may work with Lady Alessa and the merchants of Avalon to acquire what you require.”
He spoke as if discussing ordinary supplies.
“You will also need staff. Bring those from Avalon who wish to come. Additional servants can be hired in Litus Solis.”
Lady Ventresca stared at him.
Fifty thousand silver.
Avalon had never spent coin carelessly.
She opened her mouth to protest—
Then paused.
Below them, two masons stood beside an arched window.
One raised his hand.
Light flickered.
Stone softened briefly under controlled magic as delicate patterns were carved directly into the frame.
Decorative flourishes unfolded across the stone like growing vines.
Lady Ventresca watched silently.
“Magic builds this place!” she thought. This, she realized slowly, might become the most opulent building Avalon had ever constructed.
For the first time since arriving, uncertainty crept into her thoughts.
Am I capable of doing this justice?
And worse—
Lady Seraphine would arrive too soon.
Her pulse quickened.
Caelen noticed.
“We do not need to furnish the entire manor immediately,” he said gently.
“Only the areas needed for the family’s visits.”
He gestured toward the wings below.
“A house like this grows over time,” he said, and she realized he was using her own words against her.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Yes,” she admitted quietly. “That is sensible.”
Master Baern Korrikson cleared his throat.
“If the lady requires anything further,” he said, bowing slightly, “my crew remains at her disposal.”
Lady Ventresca nodded.
“Thank you, Master Baern.”
The dwarf inclined his head once more and departed down the stairs.
She requested Caelen to accompany her. Silence settled between her and Caelen as they began walking the grounds.
The terraces stretched wide around the manor, their stone borders only partly laid.
She studied the open land.
“The views,” she said slowly. “You chose the location for the views.”
“Yes.”
She looked across the valley again.
“Gardens here.”
He nodded.
“Orchards along the southern slope.”
She walked farther, imagining the arrangement.
“And fountains.”
“Where water pressure allows.”
She smiled faintly.
“I can already see the gatherings.”
Garden parties.
Summer feasts.
Noble families strolling the lawns.
Music drifting through the terraces.
For the first time since arriving, excitement replaced disbelief.
This place could become magnificent.
She glanced toward Caelen as they walked.
The boy who once dismantled his father’s things.
Now shaping grand estates from the wild places.
She said nothing aloud.
But inside her thoughts shifted quietly.
He is not the child I remember.
And Avalon, she realized, might soon possess a house unlike any it had ever known.
They returned to the Hollow in the late afternoon, the shadows beginning to lengthen along the terraces and scaffolds that climbed the slopes beneath the rising manor.
Work still continued everywhere. Stone moved along with sleds. Timber frames rose against the sky. Teams of laborers hauled rope and pulleys while masons set blocks into place with careful rhythm.
Lady Ventresca walked beside Caelen, her pace steady but slower now than it had been earlier in the day. Even she, tireless as she seemed, had been walking and observing since dawn.
They passed through the growing settlement toward a row of newly built stone homes set along a narrow street near the coopery.
Caelen stopped before one of them.
“This will be yours while you remain in the Hollow,” he said simply.
Lady Ventresca studied the structure. It was modest compared to the manor rising above them, but solid—two stories of pale stone, its windows already glazed and its door freshly hung.
“My house?” she asked.
“For now,” Caelen replied. “Until you wish to relocate elsewhere.”
She nodded slowly.
It was practical. Comfortable. Close enough to the central works to observe everything.
He hesitated a moment before speaking again.
“I am grateful you came,” he said quietly. “I believe you can accomplish much here.”
For a brief moment, her stern expression softened.
“Flattery will not reduce the work before me,” she replied dryly.
“No,” Caelen said, faint amusement touching his voice. “But it remains true.”
He gestured toward the doorway.
“You have traveled far today. Once you and your attendants are settled, I will send Freya to escort you.”
“To escort me where?”
“To the baths.”
Lady Ventresca stopped.
“The baths?”
“Yes.”
She blinked once.
“You have a bathhouse here?”
Caelen nodded.
“On the upper southern slope.”
For a moment, she simply stared at him.
Even Litus Solis, the great port of the south, relied mostly on tubs and heated water carried by servants. The idea that this frontier settlement—barely a year into its construction—possessed proper bathhouses struck her as almost absurd.
Her mind immediately began calculating the implications.
Baths meant comfort.
Comfort meant visitors.
Visitors meant nobles.
Nobles meant influence.
She felt a sudden and unexpected spark of excitement.
“I would like to see them,” she said.
Caelen inclined his head.
“Freya will come shortly.”
An hour later, the household had barely settled.
Her attendants had begun organizing travel trunks and inventory lists when a knock sounded at the door.
A servant opened it.
Outside stood several attendants carrying trays of food, and beside them a broad-shouldered dwarf woman with a cheerful expression and braids tied with copper rings.
She stepped forward confidently.
“I am Freya, brewmaid of the Hollow,” she announced. “I have been asked to welcome you properly.”
The servants entered quickly, arranging the meal across the central table.
Lady Ventresca watched with polite curiosity.
The food was simple but appealing.
Molasses beans. Pork baked with a crisp brown sugar glaze. Pickled vegetables in vinegar. Fresh bread.
And a tall glass pitcher of pale yellow liquid.
“Lemons from Litus Solis,” Freya explained proudly. “Sweet lemonade.”
She lifted a small jug.
“If the lady prefers, I can also offer rum.”
Having spent days sipping the stale, barrel-aged water aboard the barge, Lady Ventresca’s mind fixated on the imagined sweetness of lemonade.
“The lemonade will suffice for now,” she said. “I may try the rum later.”
Freya grinned approvingly.
The meal proceeded quietly.
Between bites, the women spoke softly about the Hollow and the boy who seemed to guide its growth.
Lady Ventresca maintained her usual composure, though more than once she found herself admitting that Caelen’s efforts had surpassed her expectations.
Far surpassed them.
After dinner, Freya rose.
“If the ladies are ready,” she said, “the baths are waiting.”
The bathhouses stood higher along the slope, near the steaming vents where hot water emerged from the earth.
Lanterns glowed softly along the path leading upward.
Lady Ventresca stopped when the buildings came into view.
They were far larger than she expected.
Stone halls built to hold dozens of bathers.
Perhaps more.
Inside, warm mist rose above the pools.
“Separate houses,” Freya explained. “Men and women.”
Lady Ventresca nodded approvingly.
Then Freya gestured farther uphill.
“Mixed bathing farther up.”
Ventresca stopped.
“Mixed?”
Freya shrugged easily.
“The waters are stronger closer to the source. Minor healing. Skin improvements.”
She grinned.
“Most of the women prefer it.”
Lady Ventresca chose not to comment.
Instead, she stepped into the women’s bath and lowered herself slowly into the warm water.
Steam curled along the stone ceiling of the bathhouse, the warm mineral water settling the stiffness from long travel. Lantern light shimmered across the surface of the pools, reflecting softly against the polished stonework that lined the chamber.
Lady Ventresca leaned back against the edge of the bath, the heat easing the tension she had carried since leaving Avalon. Around her, the low murmurs of women relaxing in the water rose and fell like distant conversation in a courtyard garden.
Beside the pool, Freya sat with her feet dangling into the water, idly rolling a copper ring along the braid of her hair.
For a time, neither woman spoke.
Then Lady Ventresca opened her eyes and studied the vaulted ceiling again.
“This bathhouse,” she said slowly, “was it truly the third thing he insisted upon?”
Freya nodded. “Homes first. Storage next. Then the baths.”
Ventresca considered that.
It was not the order most men would have chosen.
She watched the steam rising across the room, then turned her gaze back toward Freya.
“If this was the third thing,” she said thoughtfully, “what was here before he came?”
Freya blinked. The question seemed to amuse her.
Lady Ventresca gestured slightly toward the valley below, which she had studied earlier that day.
“I saw the roads. The aqueduct foundations. The encampments. The quarry. Even that enormous manor rising on the ridge.”
She shook her head faintly.
“All of that suggests years of work.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“I was not aware he had been here that long.”
Freya’s grin widened.
“My lady,” she said simply.
“Everything you saw today was built after he arrived.”
Lady Ventresca stared at her.
Freya continued casually, ticking items off on her fingers.
“The watercourses.”
“The dredging and cleaning of the riverways.”
“The encampment.”
“The blacksmith forges.”
“The kilns.”
“The quarry.”
“The breweries.”
“The salt mine and the pans.”
“The cooperage.”
“The plumbing.”
“And all the houses.”
She shrugged.
“Too many things to list, really.”
Lady Ventresca sat very still.
Freya leaned back against the warm stone, her tone softening.
“And it all started,” she said quietly, “with three young men and a broken hollow less than 8 months ago.”
The bathhouse fell momentarily quiet.
Freya glanced toward the valley.
“Now look at it, a comfortable place, roads, an aqueduct, trade,” She smiled faintly, “And hope.”
Lady Ventresca said nothing.
But her eyes drifted toward the steam-veiled doorway that led out toward the valley beyond.
A realization dawned on her for the first time since reaching the Hollow: the day’s sights were not simply construction.
It was the beginning of something far larger.
Ventresca opened both eyes in realization.
Most men would have built barracks. Walls. Armories.
“That,” she admitted quietly, “is… unusual.”
Freya nodded.
“That is why I have hope for him.”
Later, once the women were dressed again, Freya produced the rum.
Lady Ventresca tasted it cautiously. Then blinked.
Warmth spread quickly through her chest.
Freya watched her reaction with satisfaction.
“World-changing,” the brewmaid said confidently.
Lady Ventresca studied the drink for another moment.
Then nodded slowly. “Yes,” she said.
And though she spoke of the rum, she was thinking of Caelen.
…
Lady Ventresca did not sleep immediately after the baths.
The warmth still clung to her skin, the scent of herbs and faint spirits lingering in her hair, but her mind had not quieted. It had sharpened.
So she sat.
Alone, save for one small lamp and the quiet presence of her most trusted maid, she unfolded the drawings.
They had been left for her deliberately.
That much she understood.
Not as a boast.
As an invitation.
The first parchment was simple—almost crude by her standards. A single octagonal tower, with modest adjoining structures; its proportions strong but restrained. She tilted her head slightly.
“This,” she murmured, “would have been respectable.”
Her maid said nothing.
Lady Ventresca turned the page.
The second drawing expanded the idea. The tower remained, but now it was anchored—a house beginning to grow from it, extending southward, more deliberate in its symmetry, its internal divisions more refined.
Her brow lifted.
“He did not abandon the tower,” she said quietly. “He centered everything upon it.”
Another page.
Now the design has changed entirely.
Corridors appeared—true corridors, not the long halls of draft and noise she had seen in every manor of note. Rooms accessed from structured passageways. Separation without isolation. Flow without chaos.
She leaned closer.
“Servants can move unseen,” she whispered. “Guests can be guided without disturbance… and the family—”
She stopped.
The family could live within the house without being constantly observed.
That alone…
Her lips pressed together.
“Intentional,” she said.
She turned another sheet.
Now the innovations began to reveal themselves fully.
Water.
Not simply wells or carried basins, but flowing water.
She traced the lines with a gloved finger, following the channels drawn into the design.
“In the lower floors… direct,” she said softly. “In the upper floors… assisted.”
Her eyes narrowed in appreciation.
“Toilets supported by pump systems… bathing chambers integrated…”
She leaned back slightly, astonished.
“This is not comfort,” she murmured. “This is… transformation.”
She turned again.
Now came the details that unsettled her more deeply—not because they were grand, but because they were subtle.
Boxes.
Placed along the chimney paths.
She leaned forward again, studying the notes.
“Warming compartments,” she said.
Her maid blinked. “For food?”
Ventresca shook her head slowly.
“For everything.”
She tapped the drawing.
“Towels. Clothes. Bedding. Even boots, if one wished it.”
She sat back, almost incredulous.
“Imagine waking to warmth without fire in the room. Imagine stepping from the bath to prepared linen already heated.”
She exhaled slowly.
“No servant rushing. No delay. No… interruption.”
Her eyes moved again across the parchment.
“He has thought of the morning,” she said quietly.
That unexpected understanding of the rhythms of life stayed with her longer than the grand halls.
She turned to the final set of drawings.
The complete manor: the tower, house, terraces, gardens, and bathhouses.
All of it is integrated, intentional, and alive.
Her breath slowed.
“This will outshine them,” she said at last.
Her maid tilted her head. “My lady?”
“The merchant cities,” Ventresca replied. “Their palaces are grand, yes… but they are built for display.”
She looked again at the drawings. “This is built for living.”
She set the final parchment down with care. “And because of that…”
Her eyes lifted, distant now, already calculating. “It will surpass them.”
She sat in silence for a long moment, dwelling on that thought.
Then, very softly— “And I must be worthy of it.”