Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
ALLIE
T he Commander stood before me in all his glory, towering, unflinching, but with a quirk to his lips.
Heat rose up my neck as I remembered I’d tasted those lips and had those blue eyes of his gliding over my exposed legs. But his gaze didn’t hold the same intensity as before.
He looked tired. Weary. Worn.
My day had been freeing and curious.
His looked like it had weighed him down in a way I’d never seen before.
A thousand clever words and questions stung the tip of my tongue, but they didn’t get a chance to spill out. Something in his energy told me verbal sparring wasn’t ideal right now and, miracle of all miracles, I didn’t press.
I wanted to ask, but something in the slope of his shoulders, usually so angular and regal, didn’t feel right.
“Didn’t imagine I’d find you here, of all places,” he muttered gently.
Even his voice, though gruff and still sliding down my spine as it had no business doing, sounded exhausted. More so against the low melody vibrating from the temple.
“Then it’s quite a coincidence,” I said. I looked up at Sylvester, who was suddenly very interested in staring at the stars, as if his beak hadn’t been directed straight at us only moments before. “Or someone tattled on me. When did you even have the time?”
Sylvester ruffled his wings, but didn’t look down at me.
The Commander hummed low in his throat. “I see you two are getting along.”
“Yes, we’ve had a breakthrough today.”
“I’m glad,” he said, eyes never leaving my face, as if watching me was the only thing keeping him awake. “Did–did something happen?”
The blue in his gaze flashed. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
I wanted to ask more, I did. But the words tangled in my throat as I stared up at him. He held the same lit bloody candle as the rest, the light dancing across his jaw and making it look even more angular.
My body began to lean toward him, searching for his heat.
Luckily, I caught myself before I did something stupid, like resting my head on his shoulders and letting him sigh his problems away against my hair.
I cleared my throat and slid to the side of the door. “I don’t have a candle, so I’m out. Literally.”
“The gods smiled upon you today.” He rummaged through that leather satchel he sometimes wore, which looked to have been weaved decades before our times by loving hands, took out a twin candle, and handed it to me.
It was so thick, I had to coil both hands on it to keep it steady as the Commander lowered his own to give light to mine. The wicks sparked as they met, mine resisting the fire, even as red wax fell from his onto the ground.
“Stubborn like its holder,” he muttered with the same soft smile.
“You gave it to me, you knew what you were doing,” I said.
Finally, my own candle came to life with a spark, illuminating us both. Only then did I notice how close we’d tilted toward each other, his forehead almost touching mine, as if we were wrapped by some unseen cocoon.
“So dramatic,” he said in that same low tone, as if he too was hesitant to break the sudden spell washing over us.
There was magic in the air tonight, one I hadn’t met before and couldn’t name.
Maybe it was the chant shaking the very ground we stood on.
Perhaps the candles had lulled me into a state I didn’t recognize.
Or venturing outside today to places I’d never seen had brought back that sense of wonder.
Whatever it was, I wanted more of it, to sip until the sun shone back on the sky.
We kept on staring into each other’s eyes, neither moving. We probably would have stayed that way an embarrassingly long time if the old man wouldn’t have cleared his throat pointedly.
“Those candles won’t last forever, y’know?” he grumbled, snapping us both back to reality.
We stepped apart, candles flickering with the sudden movement.
Thank the gods for the old man. Who knew what would have happened if he hadn’t snapped us out of whatever that had been. Or what I would’ve done.
The Commander gestured for me to go first. I did, steps slow and steady, but more confident now that I felt his presence at my back.
A guardian Shadow.
I didn’t dare call him mine.
A musty, earthy scent filled my senses as I entered the building. What I’d perceived as a corridor was actually a hall.
And this was no temple.
The air was solemn and sacred, but earthier. More still. Too quiet.
“It’s a crypt,” I said, louder than I meant to, the sound running away from me to echo within all the arches and rooms leading into the main hall.
Its walls were filled with dozens of rows of small alcoves, each big enough to fit a stone coffin–and they were all filled.
Stone columns with vines sculpted onto them separated each row, climbing toward the arched ceiling and turning into an intricate web of beams.
Voices filtered in from all the rooms, some joyful, others filled with longing. It sounded so much like the ruckus back in Aquila whenever we had a big party.
“This is…unexpected,” I said, transfixed.
“Why?” he asked, genuine curiosity coating his voice.
“I just imagined you’d have different funerals in the crater.
Cut off from the rest of Malhaven would mean scarce resources.
Scarce resources means you use them for the living, not the dead.
Plus, you live in a harsh climate, so any amount of effort requires more energy, so more food.
Sculpting vines and stone caskets goes against all of that. ”
Burning their dead, like the rest of the Blood Brotherhood, would have made more sense. They had an entire forest–a dangerous one, apparently–growing around them and need for heat, no matter how macabre.
It didn’t make sense.
“There’s that inquisitive mind that makes Clan leaders quake.” He chuckled. “We have a few secrets here in the crater.”
I looked up at him, holding on tightly to my candle–another thing I had to borrow here. “I want to know them. All of them.”
The Commander hummed as we began to walk. “So curious all of a sudden.”
“I’ve always been curious, the direction is just different now.
” I stuck close to him, my body drawn to the comfort he represented in this strange crypt where I felt out of touch and out of place.
If I hadn’t been holding the candle, I could almost pretend I was holding onto his elbow, like we were taking a leisurely walk–through an imposing, embellished cemetery, but still.
“This is the Memory Hall, where we lay our dead to rest,” he began, tone low and reverent, as if not to disturb his ancestors. “Legends say when the living will need them, our ancestors will rise to protect the crater.”
A shiver raced down my spine. I imagined all those caskets hissing open and the rattle of bones vibrating through the entire crater.
“In the meantime,” he went on. “We come here and spend time with them.”
As we passed the first room, filled with more rows of coffins embedded in the walls, a stone table dominated the center.
People crowded around it, old and young alike, placing their candles onto it.
They had bottles filled with a sour, pungent alcohol that smelled of apples, cinnamon, and vinegar.
Some poured it into glasses and toasted, laughing.
Others sipped on their drink, eyes glazing over as they stared at a specific casket.
Mourning had many different faces, some visible, others hidden.
“This is the Seventh Day ritual.” The Commander’s voice lulled me forward, more powerful than the previous chant. “Once a week, we come and celebrate with our ancestors, so they can remember what life was like. They watch over us and we never forget them.”
“That’s actually precious,” I said as we passed another arch.
In this room, the little girl from before chatted up a storm about her new doll as she stared at a coffin way up the wall. Her father stood behind, watching her with a proud, soft smile as he raised his glass at that same coffin.
My heart clenched.
Such a simple display of love–family love, perhaps the purest of them all. Three generations brought together through it.
I couldn’t help but imagine my own father standing behind me as I poured out my soul in Grandpa Constantine’s mausoleum. That had never happened; we’d each liked to mourn in peace and cry without witnesses. But if I had been her age, I knew he would have been there, a silent guardian.
Swallowing the tears became unbearable. But I couldn’t devolve into a mess now, not when the smallest sob would echo for all the city to hear.
“It’s a really great tradition,” I struggled past the lump in my throat. “Are you visiting your parents?”
“My mother,” he said, his tone no longer soft. “And my grandparents, though I’ve never met them.”
“That sounds like a story,” I said cautiously as we delved deeper inside the crypt.
The walls grew taller, the stone weathered, like it had bore more centuries and survived them intact.
“Not a very interesting one.” The edge in his voice was unmistakable. “My father is also here, but he never spent time with me during his lifetime, so I won’t do him the same courtesy.”
So it was really a story. A sad one, unfortunately. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged, but it didn’t seem careless in the least. “It’s not your fault.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t empathize.” I licked my lips, a nugget of an idea taking shape in my mind. “You Solkar’s Reach people have a thing when it comes to sorry, I’ve noticed.”
It was worth a shot. I hadn’t drummed up the courage to ask anyone else.
A corner of his tight mouth quirked. “Someone’s been paying attention.”
“Always.” It was my turn to shrug. “One can never have enough information.”
The Commander hummed again. He was doing that a lot today.