Chapter Forty-Three #2
“Hela, I pray you guide his soul through the Otherworld. Find Draevan Daercathian, your devout son, worthy to pass into Brigid’s halls, where she will judge him anew.
His soul goes with the blessing of his daughter, Aemyra Daercathian, Queen of Tìr Teine,” she whispered, smearing the oil across her father’s forehead.
Somewhere high above, Gealach let out a mournful screech.
No tears fell from the queen’s eyes. This grief would lie dormant until she sat the throne and had fulfilled what Draevan had spent his life fighting for.
Adarian approached the altar and dipped his own fingers into the oil, repeating the ritual after Aemyra.
“He goes with the blessings of his son, Adarian Daercathian,” he muttered, eyes bloodshot.
In this crumbling temple, Aemyra emptied her mind and looked upon the man who had taught her how to be queen. Draevan was the reason her husband was still standing with breath in his lungs and a beating heart.
His sacrifice now made her future possible.
Pulling herself out of the pit of grief that had wrapped around her the moment Draevan had fallen, Aemyra finally looked up.
The dead could wait, the living could not.
Ever grateful for Riya’s instruction in mind-stilling, Aemyra addressed the priestesses.
“I will have two dozen warriors guarding the temple night and day until the last rites can be given. No one will disturb the body.”
As one, they rose from their knees to bow to the queen before they began to take stock of the temple and their own injuries. Several headed outside to comfort the wounded and grieving.
Turning her back on the eternal fire and her father’s body, Aemyra approached Fiorean, Adarian, and Katherine.
“I never could have imagined being queen would come at such a cost.”
Adarian didn’t seem to know what to say.
“I will stay with him,” Katherine said, much to everyone’s surprise. “The body must be guarded from dark spirits until the burning, correct?”
“C-correct,” Adarian replied.
Wondering if this was Katherine’s way of mending the rift, Aemyra watched her approach the altar and sit down on a stool to quietly keep vigil.
Lowering her voice, Aemyra said, “We must fly to àird Lasair. Thear and Brodie will have reached the city by now.”
Adarian looked grimly over their bloodstained armor. “Can you not rest first?”
Another pain swept through her abdomen and she gritted her teeth, accidentally swimming into Terrea’s consciousness.
Her dragon was flying away from Edinbane, a singular thought occupying her mind.
“Fuck,” she hissed.
Fiorean had seen the same vision she had, the unspoken shared secret of Terrea’s nesting passing between them.
Adarian looked concerned. “You need to get that spear injury checked.”
Aemyra turned to her husband. Fiorean’s facial scars were smeared with dried blood, his hair hastily tied in a knot, but his hands were gentle when they brushed her cheek.
“We need to tell him,” Fiorean said.
“I wasn’t able to attend either of your weddings, don’t tell me you’ve been keeping more secrets?” Adarian asked, his sapphire eyes darting between them both.
She bitterly regretted that her father had died before hearing this news. Fiorean was right, Adarian had to know.
She took a deep breath, glad the priestesses were otherwise occupied, and whispered, “Terrea is nesting.”
Aemyra had never seen her brother look so shocked, the ghost of a hopeful smile turning the corners of his lips.
“You said they had mated, but I hardly dared to hope this might—” Adarian’s words cut off when his eyes landed on the body of their father.
Aemyra had to close her eyes against the wave of physical pain.
Goddess, she wished Draevan could be alive to see a dragon egg. She remembered the light in his eyes when he had spoken of their future. Draevan had looked just like Lachlann had—once again a little boy with a dream.
“I trust you to keep this to yourself,” Aemyra said firmly.
“Trust goes both ways. You have to stop keeping things from me,” Adarian replied. “I won’t breathe a word.”
Rubbing the promise mark, Aemyra nodded. “Good. We need you to hold the southern coast while we go north. If all goes to plan, this war will be over in a matter of days.”
They had the antidote and a dragon.
Alfred wouldn’t live to see another sunset.
Together, they walked out of the temple to find Riya with one arm around Maeve, who looked utterly devastated. She had been betrayed by her lover, watched Sorcha die, and then lost the man she had devoted her life to all in the space of a few moments.
It was a wonder either of them was still functioning.
“Your Grace?” Riya asked, sketching a bow as heads turned in their direction. “What are your orders?”
Without the luxury of going to pieces, Aemyra addressed the phoenix laird.
“Do what you can to spare my people further pain. Imprison all who rebel but keep bloodshed to a minimum. And find Laird Lorna’s son, if he’s still alive.”
Riya tilted her head. “What of the remaining Covenanters?” she asked.
Aemyra turned in the direction of the city gate. “Gealach is currently without a Bonded Dùileach to control him and a personal vendetta against those who worship the Savior. I say we leave him to his vengeance.”
Riya smiled savagely.
Aemyra’s heart ached for her father’s beathach and she sought out the Bond to her own dragon. Meeting nothing but surging hormones and furious nesting behavior, Aemyra quickly withdrew back to her own mind.
Fiorean passed her the dagger, the garnet rubbing against the promise mark as if the threads of the universe had led them to this moment.
Or perhaps the Goddesses were simply tugging at them like puppets on a string.
Lost in his emerald gaze, Aemyra knew the only thing left to do was liberate àird Lasair.
“Are you ready to follow me, my king?” she asked.
“To my last breath, my queen.”