Chapter 54 #2
We took our seats to the right of the empty thrones, and I was grateful the Koron and Korona weren’t already here.
How dare they show their faces when it is their fault she died.
My nails dug into my palms. I pressed my tongue into my cheek and faced forward. Agony speared between my ribs as I was forced to behold the place upon which my friend would burn.
Maelsar brushed past a moment later, settling between me and some other nobles I didn’t know. Ithuriel sat at the far end of the bench behind us, hands folded in his lap, peering into the distance without really focusing on anything.
What did he think about Heraphia’s death? Was he glad for it? Did he hope that finally, Zuriel would remarry someone fit for his noble house?
I didn’t have long to linger on the questions.
A group of priestesses in billowing robes emerged from the greenery. In the middle, the acolytes carried a wood-carved platform on their shoulders, moving with slow, graceful steps. Atop it rested Heraphia.
Two moonstones sat atop her eyes, peering up at the sky she would never see again. Her hands folded peacefully across her belly. Fine silk adorned her slender frame.
Hot tears burned as the acolytes pivoted to the side of the pyre.
The High Priestess—for that was who it had to be, with hair whiter than any I’d ever seen—appeared behind them, haloed in her power.
Her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent.
She walked with a holiness about her, like she’d never once cursed the Goddess.
Like she truly was the Radiant Mother whose steps touched Her earth.
The second priestess took up space on the opposite end, hands tucked in her robes. Yet she didn’t hold herself with that same effortless, sanctified poise as the High Priestess.
Around them both walked the Koron and Korona.
I shot the latter with a hateful glare.
Vaeron’s hand wrapped around my wrist. “Don’t do or say anything. This was the one compromise I had to make to ensure that the second priestess could speak about peace.”
“She shouldn’t be here at all,” I snapped back.
“I know,” came his reply.
“My darlings,” the Korona began, and I gritted my teeth at the use of that word.
There was nothing darling about us. At least not with how she treated us like birds, caged to sing at her whim.
“A great tragedy struck the heart of our home. One of our most powerful Seers, Heraphia of House Ilythar?, died using her blessed power to aid us in exterminating the beasts who dare to claim part of Keleti as theirs.”
I glanced at Ithuriel, wanting to see his reaction to claiming Heraphia was noble. His expression hadn’t changed from when I’d looked at him earlier.
The acolytes shifted my best friend lower, shuffling around to place her body on the pyre. With deep bows, they backed away, framing the outer edges of the two priestesses.
Iaoth continued her drivel. “But fear not! The Goddess has a plan, for she sought to bring an even more powerful Seer to House R?viel. Which, as you know, is the house from which I come.”
Vaeron’s grip on me tightened, and down our bond, he willed me to find my center.
But I was unmoored in the tempest that lashed my emotions.
The Korona’s gaze fell upon me. I did not flinch. Instead, I lifted my chin in pure defiance and glared with hatred in my heart.
“She has yet to See anything so useful as Heraphia, but with time, I am sure she will change the tide of this war.” Iaoth bit out every bitter word. Yet the threat, the suspicion in them locked my spine straight. Vaeron too stiffened—almost imperceptibly.
“I trust our Radiant Mother. Our devotion to Her holy war will see us a victory this very year. Shout now your praise for our divine creator!”
All around us, affirmations rang out.
Yet my lips didn’t move except to curl back from my teeth.
Fury flashed through the Korona’s expression before she smoothed it away. “Shout now your praise for our most blessed Seer, Sylaira of House R?viel.”
More voices cut through the midday air. But I didn’t acknowledge a single one.
For one wild moment, I thought about snatching the torches from the acolytes and flinging them into Iaoth’s face. Stadiel’s dark gaze settled over me, like he was weighing my worth. Like he was deciding what he’d do with me should Vaeron somehow win the trial by light.
The Koron and Korona approached their seats, sweeping out their silver-threaded capes before settling into them.
Once a hush fell over the gathered, the High Priestess began the funerary rites. It should have been an honor to have such a holy figure sending my best friend off into the next world. I should have been humbled by it.
But I couldn’t even concentrate on what she said.
Her words blurred by me, my world tunneling in on Heraphia. How her hair shimmered even through mist. How her fingers were so still, never to paint again.
Oils splashed over Heraphia’s skin. Herbal smoke scented the air around us. A drum beat, the steady thrum, thrum, thrum doing nothing to calm me.
Instead, it sharpened my resolve.
Over the past few months, my entire world had been turned upside down. I’d lost my identity weeks ago.
And Heraphia’s death?
I feared it had remade what was broken.
Because the female who wanted to protect without violence, who wanted freedom, who sought a peaceful resolution at every turn?
She was gone.
She died the moment Heraphia did.
My body was far too small to contain the magnitude of the storm brewing in my marrow.
The second priestess centered herself on the pyre, drawing my attention. She opened her arms wide, sweeping them toward the sky. At that moment, the sun broke through the clouds and canopy, shining a single beam over her and Heraphia like she had called the Goddess herself to do so.
With her head tipped toward it, the priestess spoke.
“Radiant Mother, light of the first dawn, creator of our blessed lives, hear my prayer. Gather Your child into your gentle embrace. Let her rest where no sword sings in the air. Purify her with flame, that she may find peace in her future. Let her spirit move blissfully into a new world without war.”
Peace. That was all she’d ever wanted. A quiet life with Zuriel. Not to wake screaming in the night from a vision of death and destruction.
A sob lodged in my throat. Hurriedly, I swiped at my eyes. Vaeron wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer, shielding me from those who might think me helpless because of my emotion.
“Let us pray as one.” With that, the priestess closed her arms and hooked her thumbs together over her heart. The rest of us did the same, bowing our heads. While making a fluttering motion, she spoke her final words.
“So too burn away our hatred this day, Goddess, as Heraphia would have wished. May Your light fall upon each of Your children, enlightening them to Your true holy path.”
“Goddess save us all,” the gathered murmured in unison.
When we straightened, the High Priestess gestured for me to rise. Vaeron did with me, and together, we approached the white-robed female. An acolyte stepped forward, a torch in hand.
“Since she was your friend, you will light the pyre,” Vaeron explained, passing the flame along.
I nodded, turning away from him and facing Heraphia one last time.
Lying on her back with a single ray of sunshine falling over her, she looked so peaceful.
Far more than she had been in her life. Her pearlescent locks were perfectly curled and fell in long, loose waves around her shoulders.
The stones resting atop her eyes glittered. The silk adorning her frame shone too.
She looked ethereal. Otherworldly, almost.
Tears blurred my vision. This time, I let them claw down my cheeks.
“I love you,” I rasped. Though she couldn’t hear me. She never would again.
I kissed the tips of my fingers and laid them gently against her cool brow, the final benediction of love she would ever receive.
Memories of us as girls rose, unbidden. How I’d dance circles around her while she painted.
How she’d flick her wet brush in my direction, dotting me with color.
Then, as we grew older, sharing a bottle of wine we swiped from our parents and getting blissfully drunk beneath a full moon.
We were supposed to have more moments like that. Make more memories together.
But this would be my final one of her. One I’d make alone.
“Go in peace.”
Swallowing hard, I tipped the flame to the bundle of kindling beneath her. The dry brush caught—too soon. More herbal smoke filled the air.
I stepped back, every heartbeat a knife carving the organ to ribbons. Someone lifted the torch from my hands.
Heat licked my skin, a foreign sensation when I was so cold inside. But I couldn’t look away.
Even as Vaeron dragged me back to my seat.
I couldn’t move, even as everyone else drifted away.
Fire engulfed my friend, sending her soul onto its next journey. And as the lashes of red rose, so too did my resolve to change.
Myself.
This realm.
This war.
Because we couldn’t keep going like this.
A hand pressed into my shoulder, finally tearing my gaze away from the burning body of my sister. I blinked, mind as hazy as the fog in the forest.
Zuriel—no, Ithuriel, stood over me, ice-blue irises cradling something that looked a lot like sympathy.
“Sylaira, I am sorry for your loss,” he said, his words elegant and polished.
Somehow, not a hair was out of place, despite the time that had passed with us outside.
“Heraphia was sweet and kind and embodied many qualities that I should have embraced sooner. I hope you can forgive me for not welcoming her into the family as I should have.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. Quickly, I glanced around, realizing only Vaeron and Maelsar remained in the garden, speaking in hushed tones some distance away.
“I–” I began, unsure how to respond.
Ithuriel cleared his throat and continued. “Zuriel is my heir, as you know, and now he fights on the front lines. I fear that House Ilythar? will die out. Perhaps if I had been a better male, that would not be the case.”
Why was he confessing this to me, here of all places? Was this guilt, or was he telegraphing something to the Issaraeth, whose gaze remained on us even now?
“You have told him?” I clarified.
He nodded. “I hope that when the message reaches them, the Zahal will relieve him of duty, even temporarily, to grieve. Yet the war wages on, fierce and violent, and I am afraid there will be no time for him.”
Fear held my ribs in a vise. “Heraphia’s last words were that she saw the end of the war.”
At least that was what I had assumed she meant. What else could she have been focused on? What else would the Goddess have shown her anyway?
Ithuriel dipped his head, releasing a long sigh. “I pray that she did. And that it didn’t end with all our deaths.” His gaze drifted toward my mate. “Hold fast to those you love. Mates are the most blessed gift, even more so than your Sight. Take care, Sylaira, and may the Goddess save you.”
Sweeping into a deep bow, he took his leave. I sat, reeling in his words. Wondering what would happen next.
And whether there was resentment and rebellion creeping into the halls of Thalvireth, beyond my own inclinations.
Vaeron and Maelsar strolled to the bench, towering over me when they came to a stop.
“Do you need more time?” my mate asked me.
I glanced past them to the pyre, the flames so strong now that I could scarcely bear sitting so close. Reds and oranges engulfed Heraphia’s body, hiding her from view.
“No.” The word was hoarse and thick. On shaking legs, I rose. Vaeron lifted his arm, and I tucked myself beneath it, like it was the most natural thing in all the worlds.
Maelsar haunted our steps as we wound through the garden and back into the palace. The cool, metal vine covered walls provided a modicum of relief from the oppressive heat.
People strolled about like nothing had happened that day, going about their lives, their focus only on what was right in front of them.
The sight angered me far more than it should have.
But that was what grief did—it made one gnash their teeth at those who were not suffering. It slid insidious thoughts into the minds of the afflicted, coaxing them into dragging others down to its watery depths.
I was no stranger to it, not after losing my parents and countless friends over the years.
With Heraphia’s death, it was different.
This time, I’d enter the maw with my eyes wide open and no intent to return.
Survival was no longer my goal.
Only destruction.
If the Korona wanted my power, I would give it to her—but she would choke on it. I would wield my agony like strikes of lightning, charring everything in my path.
As I should have done long ago.