I jumped when a light tap came at the door, but strode to tug on the handle. Jyn stood in the doorway, dressed in his formal leathers. His hair was tied back into a mildly haphazard bun, and he had his swords crossed over his back. The hilts of his daggers peeked from his boots, but there was another strapped at his waist today.
“Where’s mine?” I teased with a wave at the small blade. My voice cracked. The smile he offered was strained and he held out his arm.
“How are you feeling?”
My shrug was half-hearted. A leaden weight pressed down on my chest this morning. The minimal sleep dragged at my eyelids. I didn’t want breakfast but choked down a mouthful of water. I couldn’t relieve the dry feeling in my throat.
Annalea met us in the foyer, her dress a somber black cotton with a lace veil attached to her own tiara. Raul stood nearby dressed similarly to Jyn, though he lacked the silver gryphon embroidered above Jyn’s heart, and he wore three extra blades.
“You look beautiful,” I said softly to Annalea. I squeezed the hand she offered.
“You look—” she paused. Her eyes scaled the length of me. “You look magnificent. Like a queen. Like our queen.”
I squeezed her hand again, a bit harder, and glanced at our guards. They were ever attentive. With a small nod, they stepped forward and opened the double doors.
A host of guards stood in front of the palace, each piece of armor polished to shine and accented with the blacks of mourning rather than the purples of our kingdom. Devlyn rode with those guards, his expression gaunt but focused—that of a man who had outlived more rulers than he’d anticipated and wasn’t keen to go through another. The standard bearers carried flags of black, stitched with the gryphon and flapping loudly against the moderate wind.
Our horses waited in the front, four adorned in black saddles and bridles, held by stable hands in black of their own. Most of the servants had been excused from duties for the day. Some had left for town earlier in the morning, but a few had stayed. Whether they’d remained for their own religious beliefs or simply their own reasons I didn’t know, but I appreciated the thought.
“Are you ready?” Meryn stood by a horse of her own. She’d toned down her usual ‘risqué’ attire, and yet she still managed to dazzle in the simple black dress and shawl she wore.
She and Lucian were to ride between us and the guards. Usually a Court Enchantress wouldn’t be allowed for such a formal event—royalty and guards only—but I’d told Wulfric I wanted her present and he hadn’t argued. The request was simple enough. My parents had treated her like a daughter. I knew she felt the loss almost as keenly as we did.
“Can you be ready for something like this?” I asked.
She smiled sadly. “I know what you mean. I’m sorry, Natylia.”
I hugged my friend tightly before I said, “I guess we orphans will have to stick together.”
“Always.”
My hands shook as I took the reins Jyn offered, my legs draped sidelong over the horse. I didn’t much care for the style of riding, but tradition didn’t much care for my preferences. Annalea took a few moments to settle, but Jyn was the last to mount after helping Meryn into her own saddle. Beside her, Lucian was adorned in a fully midnight-black ensemble, down the stitching on his vest. The yellow of his eyes sparkled in contrast to the dark colors, but there was no humor in his face today. Only sadness.
I took a deep breath before I clicked my tongue. The knots in my chest were beginning to form, and I knew that the shake of my knees was visible to anyone who might look.
The Temple of Nahara sat to the far side of the village, a large white marble structure. Inside, the building was elaborately decorated with various arts and tributes related to the Ancient. Even the floors were laid out with intricately woven prayer rugs. On the outside, however, the building was simple. The only external embellishments came in the form of large pillars that framed the stairs leading inside. These were overgrown with ivy—the priestesses considered the growth a blessing from Nahara herself.
Mother’s casket would be at the top of those stairs on a short dais. Annalea and I were expected to receive the mourners as each one passed, and to give our blessing before any were allowed to approach one of our own in such a state of vulnerability. My stomach tossed.
The town was quiet as we passed. If anyone had decided not to attend the funeral, I saw no hint in town. I didn’t like the silence. Not so much as a curtain rustled around us. The paranoia roiled in my stomach, the fear that any second someone would spring from the shadows. As little as my people trusted me, I trusted them far less. The trees began to close on the path the moment we’d passed the last building, a wide lane through a thin part of the forest. I pulled my horse to the side when they were beside me, jumping down to bolt into the trees and empty the meager contents of my stomach onto the grass. Jyn was there before I finished. He pulled back the shimmering edges of the cloak and veil as they tried to fall into my face.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” he said gently. “I’m so sorry.”
His apology was loaded with things he wasn’t responsible for. My eyes welled, and I blinked hard. I stared at the splattered grass while I tried to steady myself. I wanted to cry, to collapse against Jyn and sob until I was empty all over again, but there were too many eyes and too many more waiting. The thought choked me, panic surging fresh through my stomach. My first real task as queen, and here I was crouched in the trees. Failing already.
I took another breath and dabbed at my eyes. Jyn offered a waterskin and I swirled the liquid around my mouth before I spat that on the grass as well. Annalea reached for my hand the moment I’d mounted, and when I gripped hers she didn’t let go.
The flat lawn in front of the temple was filled with black—soft bundles of fabric that shifted to let us pass. I could hear soft sniffles under the veils, and the majority of the men had their heads tilted down in a gesture of respect. A younger man waited to take our horses to the side and our guards marched dutifully up, lining either side of the stairs. Meryn broke off into the front of the crowd while Lucian took a knee at the foot of the staircase. His gesture started a chain reaction, the rest of the crowd following suit and kneeling as Annalea and I climbed to the top. Raul and Jyn followed closely, taking positions at the top of the stairs. Jyn stood much closer, within arm’s reach.
Moments passed. The sound of a harp resonated softly from within the open windows of the temple. Shortly, the melody was joined by the soft tones of a piano and then a wooden flute, the music heavy and dramatic. Finally, the doors opened and the priestesses came out, bearing the weight of the unwieldy casket between them.
Callithyia stepped around them quickly with a large, square wooden pedestal clutched in her hands. She rested this close behind Annalea and me before she spread a soft black cloth over the top. The Priestesses lowered the casket gently before Callithyia motioned to me. I was to remove the lid for the farewells and light the incense for Nahara. My legs wobbled beneath me, but I rolled my shoulders back and stepped forward. Maybe I imagined the collective intake of nervous breath around me. I wasn’t sure. Annalea was visibly shaking, but the quakes that shook her were nothing to the tremors that wracked my body in that moment.
The lid wasn’t heavy—the whole casket was designed for mobility and intricately carved from lightweight hemlock. I took a steadying breath as I lifted, thankful when Callithyia stepped forward to help.
“You’re doing well. We did what we could for her,” she whispered.
A heavy wave of sorrow rushed over me when I looked down. The priestesses had done kindly by Mother. Her hair was neatly braided, her skin a yellowed tone from the preservative wash. Her eyes were closed. The Priestesses had selected a high-necked gown for her, and if I hadn’t known better I might have assumed she’d died in her sleep. After the funeral, before she was moved to the mausoleum, she would be wrapped in the final burial fabric Annalea had requested.
I bowed my head low and tried to steady
my legs. I wanted to reach out and grab her, shake her, maybe beg for her to come back. In this moment, these thoughts all felt logical, plausible. I could wake her up and she’d tell me how ridiculous my emotions were. How I needed to get them under control—and I’d still cry.
In light of everything, our arguments seemed so petty now. I would marry anyone to bring her back. I bit my tongue, fought against the tears that pushed against my eyelids and threatened to spill over. Annalea approached the casket when Callithyia motioned to her. She didn’t last long. The sobs that tore at my lungs ripped from her throat. Raul was quick to escort her inside the temple to collect herself while I moved back to the side—the procession had to begin. I pulled my hood back from my face.
Lucian was the first. The kiss he pressed to my fingers lingered a second too long. Meryn hugged me so tightly I thought I might burst onto her shoulder. I wanted to find Camion, but I didn’t dare. Instead I kept my head up, ignored what I felt, and continued on. Every person that came through offered condolences, apologies—several brought flowers to lay in with Mother. Why hadn’t I thought to bring flowers?
Annalea joined me after half the line had passed. A handful of people returned to kneel in the grass below and a few left to return to their homes. I grabbed my sister’s hand and held tight, used her to anchor myself.
Most of the line was gone when I spotted a glint of sandy blond hair. My heart lightened as Annalea received Camion politely. He offered her a rose before he turned to me and, without hesitation, opened his arms. I stepped into the embrace, a shuddering sigh of relief breaking my composure.
“It gets easier—the pain, this feeling. I know you. You’re stronger than this moment. If you need me, I’ll be here,” he whispered into my ear.
Camion bowed politely when he stepped away and held out another rose for me before he stepped up to pay his respects. He had three more roses in his hand and he laid them gently atop the piles that grew around Mother. Annalea cast me an appraising look. Her eyebrows drew together. I ignored her, and wiped at the few tears that had finally begun to spill over. An older man behind Camion glowered in his direction.
“Absolutely disrespectful, taking an opportunity like this to try to get close to the queen,” he muttered under his breath.
He swept elaborate bows for my sister and I before spouting generic apologies. When he moved on, I stole a moment to glance at Annalea. She shrugged, her hand swept into the grasp of the elderly woman that accompanied the fussy man.
Another twenty people passed before we approached the casket again. Annalea’s fingers trembled inside my own when we did. We slipped the roses Camion had given us into the pile and knelt before the casket. The high priestess began the lament of passing, singing loudly while she passed incense over the body. The ceremony wasn’t long, but normally large sections of the crowd would have left by now. I was surprised when over half the town stayed. Lucian resumed his spot at the base of the stairs, Meryn now his parallel.
I tried to ignore the words, the blessings offered to Nahara for safe passage to reincarnation. Tears clung to my eyelashes, and I tried to blink them away. I had pulled my hood well over my face and there was a strange sort of relief in knowing I didn’t have to show my face again if I didn’t want to.
“Rest easy, My Queen,” Callithyia said finally.
The skies had begun to fall to pinks and purples. Several moments passed before the lid of the casket was replaced, after the burial wrap had been completed. Five or six of the men from the village offered to carry the casket in place of the priestesses, but they declined. The walk wasn’t long, and their transport of the deceased was tradition, but the sentiment was regarded highly. With a final rite, the priestesses moved—to the mausoleum and Mother’s final resting place.
Chapter 22
Annalea hung back when we reached the mausoleum. She had pulled her veil back, revealing cheeks streaked with tears and smudged kohl. My head remained low, and I could feel Jyn intentionally hovering too close—that beautiful, reassuring presence at my side. The key to the mausoleum had been hidden in the palace and was one of the many things I’d been entrusted with after Father’s death. Jyn had carried it for me today, and he passed it off carefully, the small piece of silver cold on my palm.
The lock came free easily enough. I cringed at the weighted click and the stale air that whooshed from inside. Small ventilation holes lined the seam where wall met floor, but they were clogged with dust and cobwebs, leaving no room for air flow.
Around the mausoleum, the walls were lined with niches, filled with caskets from different time-lines, family as far back as the Titans had existed. Father’s casket was in a fairly central slot, against the rear wall of the right side antechamber. The priestesses slid Mother’s casket into the only empty niche, in a spot parallel to Father’s.
The high priestess murmured another set of rites over the spot before she turned to me. “We’ll let you have a few moments. Come out when you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Callithyia,” I said softly.
After she’d stepped out, Annalea and I stood quietly. The silence was almost disorienting after the busy of the day. Jyn and Raul had waited in the main chamber and only Annalea’s quiet sniffles broke the silence. I lowered myself to my knees, the skirt of my dress wafting dust and cobwebs up around me, before Annalea dropped to my side. She laid her head on my shoulder and cried, occasionally wiping at her eyes with a square of cloth that Raul had given her at the temple.
I dropped my hood to my shoulders and wiped at my own eyes with a corner of my cloak. The material scratched, but I didn’t care. My eyes were locked onto the wooden boxes in front of us. The weight of reality pressed around us, the truth of our loss. It was up to me now—up to me to take care of Annalea, of our people. The queen I’d offered to be, even though I wasn’t ready, and now . . . I had given Mother such grief, over every suggestion she’d offered. Over my training and her belief that I needed to wed. Over everything. Mother had been sick and instead of checking on her every day and cherishing the hours I had left, I’d fought her at every turn. Her time had been cut in half, and I didn’t think there was anything that would heal the hole my anguish left. My guilt. I thought I’d have more time. I guess that’s the truth of it. You always think you have more time. And when it’s gone, sooner than you’d anticipated, your heart is left filled with regrets.
Annalea’s eyes were swollen and red when she glanced up at me. I took her cloth and wiped at her eyes. I tried to clean up the kohl a bit before I returned the slip of material and pulled my own hood back down over my face again.
“We should go.”
Annalea nodded, but before she turned I pulled her against my chest and hugged her. I could feel the fresh sobs that shuddered through her when she buried her face in my sleeve. We stood there for several minutes. I held her and we listened to the quiet sounds of chatter that floated in the open doors.
When Annalea and I stepped back into the main chamber, the light had begun to fade outside. Jyn and Raul paced the hall in parallel patterns when we came through. Light streaks traced Jyn’s cheeks, a reminder that we weren’t the only ones who mourned Mother’s death. He didn’t speak though, the tradition of guards being seen more than heard, at least publicly. Today, I hated it.
Outside, the crowd had largely dispersed. A group remained though, off to one side. I couldn’t make out what they were saying to Callithyia, but the voices didn’t sound happy—emphasized when Jyn stepped in front of me with his fingers wrapped around the hilt of his blade. Raul drew Annalea behind him before Jyn asked, “Is there a problem here?”
I didn’t like the pinched expression on Callithyia’s face when she turned to us. Or the way Devlyn stood prepared to spring, his men in replica stances beside him. She hesitated. “I told them today isn’t the day for this, but they won’t hear me.”
Jyn tapped his fingers down his hilt. “For what?”
One member of the group stepped out from b
ehind the high priestess. I didn’t recognize him, but he was one of the few that I didn’t. Camion’s father was mixed into the group, and the baker’s daughter, Emilyn. The man who had moved drew my attention again when he said, “I speak for the community. Or a large group of. We want you removed from the throne, effective immediately.”
I froze. My stomach plummeted into my feet. They wanted what? My family had held the throne in Thrais for decades. I swallowed and said, “That’s not going to happen.”
“Beg your pardon, Majesty,” the man said, “but we are well within our rights as citizens to petition the Council to remove a ruler from the throne. We intend to do exactly that.”
“But why?” I stammered.
The man hesitated and glanced at the people behind him. “You took the throne before you were supposed to. Your mother died suspiciously days later. There have been concerns about the safety of the Thraisian people, and you don’t seem to be doing anything about the matter. Queen Palina would have at least issued a statement by now.”
“I told you what happened to her. There’s been no leads, no new information,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. My voice was steady, surprisingly, but I was grateful that my hood masked my angry tears. “For all your supposed love of her, how dare you disrespect her funeral like this?”
Camion’s father stepped forward. He had a slight limp and this close the small resemblances to his son stood out. I couldn’t imagine how the kind man I knew had come from him, however, especially when the older man spoke. “You sitting on the throne is the truest disrespect to her memory.”
“Go home old man.” I hadn’t seen Camion standing with Meryn before he stepped up beside me. Jyn drew his blade to my left.
“Stay out of this, boy. We’re within our rights.”
Imber Page 17
