Chapter 25
The builders paused, lowered their tools, and bowed their heads.
Hannah forced a calm facade she didn’t feel and dipped her chin in approval at the elaborate funeral pyre.
They had erected the structure inside the largest cavern of the Goddess Isla’s stronghold.
The crystal enclosure would protect the ashes from the slightest gust of wind during the ceremony.
As she inspected the craftsmen’s progress, she lightly caressed the urn she cradled in her arms like a newborn.
It was a gift from the artisans of Erastaed.
The ivory box, as iridescent as the finest opal, contained intricate panels, carved with scenes, regaling how Taggart gave his life to save Erastaed from Sloan’s evil rule.
A shuddering sigh escaped her as she hugged it tighter. No tears remained for her to cry. All she had left was a cold emptiness, a steady ache that would never go away.
“Mother?” William’s soft nudging interrupted the painful void that refused to release her.
“What is it?” she whispered, not bothering to take her gaze off the uppermost level of the pyramid.
“What are yer plans after the ceremony?”
She clutched the ivory box so tightly, the inlaid lid dug into her. She ignored the pain. It was nothing compared to the agony in her heart. “Why do you ask? What does it really matter?”
“The people need to know.”
Head bowed, she closed her eyes. Had the people not taken enough from her? “Septamus and Isla are handling everything. It doesn’t matter what I do. Erastaed will be just fine.”
“I am not a child anymore, Mother. Please dinna speak to me as if I am.” He stepped in front of her, blocking her view and the path so she couldn’t walk around him.
She lifted her head and saw her sorrow mirrored in the depths of his great dark eyes.
“Forgive me, William. You are absolutely right and I shall try to remember that in the future.”She gave a weary shrug.
“After the services, I haven’t decided what I am going to do.
There is one option I am considering. But if I choose it, it would be major.
So I haven’t settled on anything just yet. ”
“Septamus wondered if ye planned to go back and leave us forever.” He nudged her with his wing while giving her a look that thoroughly convinced her that her baby Draecna was indeed grown.
“Are you talking about me behind my back?” She nudged him back with her elbow. “That is rude, you know?”
“I am not.” He managed a toothy grin. “As heads of Erastaed’s new council, Septamus and Isla met to discuss what they thought ye might do and how it would affect the country.”
“If I go back,” she began, then paused, mulling over what words to use.
“Isla can only send me back alone and she can never bring me back to Erastaed. You realize what that means?” She wanted him to understand he might have to go on without her.
She loved her Draecna son with all her heart, but Jasper Mills would be hard-pressed to accept him as one of their own.
Of course, she could always make her home at Taroc Na Mor.
William would always fit in at his birthplace if the gateway ever became stable again.
William nodded. “I understand.” As he strolled along beside her with his claws clasped behind his back, he scowled down at the floor. “But Septamus and Isla both remarked the portal is being repaired. Eventually, the gateway to Taroc Na Mor will be restored. Then I could see ye again.”
“Eventually?”
“Give or take a few hundred years.”
“I see.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed the corners of her gritty eyes. With her curse of immortality, a few hundred years was merely a blink of an eye.
“I would miss ye, Mother,” he said softly.
“I would miss you too, my son.”
A crimson shroud was draped over Taggart’s body as six young Draecna carried him on their shoulders.
Each of the bearers wore golden circlets around their arms and horns.
They marched in unison, swaying in perfect step, as though their burden weighed nothing.
Heads held proud, eyes straight ahead, they carried their respected leader to the top of the one-hundred-and-thirteen-step funeral pyre and lowered him to his honored resting place.
Hannah walked beside them, her unblinking stare locked on her beloved Taggart’s face.
Her heart begged him to open his damn eyes.
She wanted this to be some cruel joke. Some magic spell someone had cast to spoil their joining ceremony.
But no, he remained motionless, his strong, handsome features frozen in the eternal mask of death.
Isla floated along on the other side, her great luminous eyes filled with the stark pain of a mother who had lost her last child.
Septamus limped along behind them, closing the processional march.
The ancient Draecna looked as though he felt each one of his three thousand years on this terrible day.
He hitched his way over to her side and gave her a sympathetic shrug of his wings. “They . . .” He nodded toward the throng crowded inside the cavern. “They would hear you speak if you are able. Are you so inclined, beloved Guardian?”
She swept her gaze across the sea of followers; her mind whirling at the swarm of colors milling all around them.
“I cannot,” she whispered. But as Septamus turned, she stopped him, resting a hand on his side.
“Please tell them Taggart loved them more than he loved his own life. And he would be honored at how they supported him through everything.”
The old Draecna nodded his approval. “I will see that they hear your words. The translator sends it out even now.”
A deafening murmur hummed through the crowd as they all rose and filled the cavern with thunderous clapping.
“This needs to be over,” she implored.
Septamus agreed with another nod. “Draecna, it is time to send your leader home.”
The six bearers stepped up to Taggart and removed their circlets of gold.
They placed the rings on his chest, then touched their claws to their foreheads.
Once they each performed the ritual, the six returned to their positions on either side of the pyre.
In unison, they pulled in deep, chest-expanding breaths and released their hottest blaze.
The blue-white flames licked and danced to the ceiling as the Draecna kept the fire going for what seemed like forever. As the inferno roared; sparks crackled and spun up into the darkness until nothing remained on the platform but ash.
Hannah pressed her fist to her mouth, shaking with the emptiness of love ripped away from her.
She had been wrong when she thought she had no more tears to cry.
A streaming torrent wet her cheeks. She kept her gaze locked on the glowing embers as they swirled upward and disappeared.
Footsteps shuffled toward her. She clenched the urn tighter until her fingers cramped.
If she gave it over to them, they would shovel the last of him inside and then force her to shut him away forever.
“Please, Guardian.”
Throat aching from the agony eating away at her soul, she choked back a sob. With shaking hands, she forced the box into Septamus’s waiting claws while never taking her eyes from the carved lid.
“I want it back once we place him inside,” she said.
Septamus paused; a rare look of surprise shadowed his wrinkled face as he gently pulled the box from her lingering grasp. “That is not usually done, Guardian. Prince Taggart’s tomb awaits him beside the River Ursia Diuan.”
She snatched the box back, her heartbeat pounding against the lid. They had robbed her of the love of her life; she would be damned straight to Hell before she allowed them to deny her this. “Does my word mean anything in this world or not?”
With an apologetic bow of his great horned head, Septamus retreated a step. “Of course, Guardian, your word means everything. Please forgive me.”
She offered him the box again, holding it surprisingly steady. The ivory urn strangely seemed much lighter. “Then please do as I ask, Septamus. Once Taggart is inside, return him to me. I will not allow him to be taken away from me again.”
“As ye wish, my Guardian.” After a respectful tip of his horns, he took the urn and placed her beloved in his final resting place.
“If you choose a human from among the provinces, I shall bestow the gift of immortality upon them. Therefore, you will not be required to spend your eternity alone. Pick one.” Esme’s dry, logical reasoning jarred Hannah from her thoughts.
She had taken refuge in the cushioned window seat, hoping everyone would leave her alone. With her forehead pressed against the cool glass, she wished Esme would find something else to do. What had she said? Select a human? Not bloody well likely. She ignored the offer and remained silent.
Eyes closed, she massaged her temples. A jackhammer ratcheted inside her head, and they had yet to find an herb in all of Erastaed that matched the strength of the prescription medication she used to take for her migraines.
Esme needed to go away. The migraine yanked her stomach into the act, the excruciating pain sickening her until she almost retched.
If Taggart were here, he would heal her with a wave of his hand.
Her eyes burned like hot coals. No more crying.
It only increased the misery. Besides, she had sworn she would not put herself through the if-Taggart-were-here game again today.
Distinct shuffling and general noisiness made her crack an eyelid.
Esme carried a pile of scattered clothing over one arm while straightening a pile of pillows.
“Do the servants not tend to your private rooms? This place is a disgrace.” Her snout wrinkled in disgust as she heaved several plates of questionable food into the hearth and ignited them with a well-aimed fireball.
As she turned back to Hannah, she resettled her shimmering wings against her scaly back.
“I have noticed you appear unable to function well without a mate. If you will select another human that you believe would be suitable for an eternity, I will gift them with immortality, since you already have an extended lifespan.”
Making the mistake of shaking her head, Hannah staunched a gag and closed her eyes again. “Not that simple. You don’t just get another human like replacing a pet that got hit by a car.”
“I cannot understand this pet-hit-by-a-car comparison. Please explain.” Esme circled the room again, sweeping up more scattered clothing with her tail.
“Esme, I feel like proper shit! Please, just leave me in peace?” She had reached her limit. She lunged for the silver ice bucket on the table, slung out the ice, then heaved into it.
A cool damp towel pressed against the base of her neck until her retching stopped.
“Forgive me, Guardian. I was unaware you were unwell. I should have been more observant.”
Another damp towel wiped her mouth, and a glass of water pressed against her lips.
“Take a sip to rinse your mouth and spit it into the bucket. When you are ready, I shall take it away.”
“I am so sorry, Esme.” Hannah eased back into the pillows of the window seat as Esme removed the pail.
“I didn’t mean to bite your head off.” Now guilt joined the hammering inside her skull.
“Please, just hand me Taggart and give me some time to myself. When I am better, I will explain it so you understand.”
The overly logical female scowled down at Hannah, then shifted a wary glance toward Taggart’s urn where it rested on the mantel across the room.
“The prince’s remains should be in his tomb.
It is not natural that you keep them in your rooms. All the Draecna speak of it.
Even Isla has mentioned we should properly lay her son to rest.”
“Get out!” Hannah forced herself upright and pointed at the door.
“I have had enough lectures to do me a lifetime. Your insolence is neither welcome nor appreciated.” She stumbled up from the bench, leaning against the wall to maintain her balance.
“The people of Erastaed ripped away my last chance at happiness as the price for their own freedom. Isn’t that enough?
I refuse to pay anymore! Taggart was my husband, my mate, my eternal friend.
” A keening sob escaped her. “If I want to keep him with me, it is no one else’s business. Got that?”
Esme’s eyes flared wide as she backed toward the door. Her scales flushed to a deeper shade of blue. “I only tell you these things so you know the truth. Without the truth, ye cannot make wise and logical decisions.”
Hannah staggered toward the mantel and pulled Taggart’s urn into her arms. Have mercy, but her head pounded like a fiend.
She clutched the carved ivory box to her chest and slid down to the floor.
Eyes squinted almost shut, she glared at Esme while bringing up her knees to support the box.
“I pity you. Pity you and your pathetic logic and I hope someday you figure out what to do with your heart.”
Esme lifted her snout. “From what I have observed, my logic is far superior to your love.” She flounced from the room and slammed the door behind her.
“I thought she would never leave us alone,” Hannah said to the urn as she settled it more comfortably in her lap.
For the thousandth time, she stroked her fingers across the carved images across the lid.
With a bitter laugh, she lingered on the one panel that looked painfully like Taggart’s profile.
“If I keep this up, all the pictures they carved of you are going to be worn away.”
The smooth ivory warmed to her touch. It brought her calm.
A calmness she sorely needed. Her fingertips tingled as she stroked the lid; when she noticed the odd sensation, she shifted positions.
“I must have a nerve pinched or something.” She rolled her shoulders while shaking her hands then suddenly realized her headache had completely disappeared.
She stared down at the box while massaging the back of her neck.
Surely not. It couldn’t be. Her headache must have simply run its course; she puked, and it went away.
Like usual. How could Taggart heal her from the other side?