Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PHOENIX
First Roman. Now the General.
Two funerals in a week. My personal record.
While Roman’s and the other fallen Ezkais’ funeral was small and intimate, a ceremony only for select few, the Ezkai General’s funeral is an event of a century.
It’s as if the whole country stopped the moment his heart did.
A heart attack. A godsdamned heart attack.
I still have a hard time believing it. That a man like Kitajo Hiromasa, the legendary Ezkai General, one of the most powerful fae Decarios in history, the man who always carried an aura of lightness and amusement around him, ended his life journey with a heart attack.
When we last spoke, mere days ago, he looked healthy as a horse.
What an anticlimactic death for a soldier. And so sudden.
The Taaslord called us into an assembly at the castle late at night, three days ago. When Daegel and I arrived, and I saw that the whole House Dzuni was there too, I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t expect to hear that the General, the man I had put all my hopes into, had passed away.
They said a heart attack is rare amongst fae Decarios. Decarios in general. But he’d been under a lot of stress with the new law, facing House Dzuni, and negotiating with King Francis. All the responsibilities he carried on his shoulders led to this, to his heart finally giving out.
I don’t fucking buy it.
Of course, who am I to question it? Even Daegel doesn’t.
He accepted the news with quiet contempt, and when I expressed my doubts, he pressed a kiss to my temple and said, “I know you looked up to him, and it must be hard suffering through a second loss so soon after Roman, but entertaining conspiracy theories isn’t the most productive way to grieve.”
Of course I’m grieving. Not only for Roman, but also for the General.
Only when he passed away did I realize I looked up to him not only because of his offer to mentor me and to help me claim the blood debt I’m owed, but also because he was the last thread connecting me to my family, to my dad.
I thought I had time.
That once I’d proven myself to the General as his most loyal and determined mentee, I’d be able to ask questions. How long had they known each other? How well did they know each other?
But now…I’ve lost the last connecting piece. They’re gone, truly gone for good.
After that conversation with Daegel, I’ve kept my thoughts to myself. We haven’t spoken much these days—Daegel seems to be lost in thought.
Even now, as we sit next to each other in the carriage that’s taking us to Halvarra Mountain, looming over Jaakii, where the funeral ceremony will conclude, Daegel’s distracted.
He holds my hand in his lap, our fingers weaved together.
Absentmindedly, he traces circles with his thumb while gazing through the window.
Physically, we’re close, but it feels like we’re far away from each other. Last time I’ve felt this distance between us was when he hid his ties with Caligos.
It’s been a while.
My stomach’s uneasy. But I try to keep my head straight. That night I opened up to him, he held me close to him all night. I don’t remember the last time I slept that well.
Just because he’s distant and distracted, it doesn’t mean there’s an issue with us. He’s allowed to grieve the loss of his General, too.
Through the window, we pass the streets of Jaakii, full of crowds all dressed in white. All the windows are shut, and not a single business is open. Harsh wind tears through the many white flags attached to every single building in the city.
White is the color of mourning.
Even House Dzuni exchanged their colorful silk for a plain white when I saw them earlier today at the castle. Only the Order of Ezkai are allowed to wear their black leathers, but we all have thick, long white satin sashes draped over our shoulders.
It’s evident the General was loved, and he’ll be missed. I have no clue what happens now. Who’s going to take his place? And what does it mean for me and my future?
It’s selfish of me, I know. But after three years of feeling angry and looking for the way to my northern star, he finally gave me a clear path.
I was so close.
One step forward, three steps back. That’s how my road to vengeance feels.
Without knowing who’ll be the next Ezkai General, I can only hope whoever takes the place will be willing to have me in their Order. I know very intimately how unwelcoming the fae can be to humans.
By the time we arrive at the base of Halvarra Mountain, there are crowds of people gathered around the large, elaborate archway. None dare to take the path that leads towards the mountain. Patiently, they wait. I’m not sure for what.
We get off the carriage and join the rest of the Ezkai. Every face is grim today.
One last carriage arrives. When the door opens, the Taaslord’s head emerges. He acknowledges the Ezkai with a dip of his chin. Four Ezkai rush to the back of the carriage and open the double door at the back.
My heart drops when they pull out an obsidian cot with the body of the General resting on it. It’s the first time I see the fae not dressed in his leathers. He wears a white silk tunic and pants, his broadsword resting next to him.
Taaslord Noire, followed by the four Ezkai carrying the General, walk up to the archway and take the path towards the mountain. Order of Ezkai follow, and after us, House Dzuni move forward before the rest of the spectators.
It’s a long column of people.
I don’t have to open up my senses to feel the misery, grief, and pain that follows behind us. The emotions are strong enough, and there’s too many of them. They press against my senses. It takes a lot of energy for me to keep them away, and to keep myself centered.
The path winds side to side, following a small river. In some places it intertwines and weaves together before splitting again. Thick, low trees surround us. Not a single leaf moves, there’s no wind.
The sky above us is clear, but I see the dark clouds gathering beyond the mountains.
We take a turn, and a wide staircase carved into the side of the mountain emerges at the end of the path. Six monks dressed in white robes stand at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.
The closer we get to the staircase, the more beautiful and grand it appears. Each step is inlaid with obsidian and enchanted silver, reflecting the sky above. It’s a breathtaking sight.
I imagine walking up those stairs gives an illusion of walking on the clouds high in the sky.
Once the Taaslord approaches the monks, he halts. The monks bow in respect and move out of the way. The Taaslord hesitates only for a moment before starting the climb.
His shadows leave a trail behind him as he climbs, Ezkai carrying the General in his wake. When it’s time for me to take the stairs up, my steps falter.
Daegel’s hand is on my elbow in an instant, steadying me and urging me forward. At the top of the stairs is a platform. Only the Taaslord and the Ezkai carrying the General’s corpse step on it. The rest of us line up on the sides of the staircase.
I glance around. Fern and Bloom both stand a step down, right behind me and Daegel. I greet them with a nod, and they return the gesture. They are not mourning. Fern looks bored out of her ass, and Bloom’s eyes glitter with curiosity as she looks around us.
House Dzuni remain at the bottom of the stairs, with the rest of the population gathering behind the nobles. Only one person stands out of place—Vera D’Argent. Dressed in a sharp tailored ivory suit, she stands at the front of the nobles with her head held high.
Her gaze is trained on the top of the stairs, face a mask of nothing.
For someone who doesn’t know what signs to look for, she may appear cold and unbothered, like a marble statue. But when for a brief moment her gaze flicks to mine and our eyes lock, I know.
I recognize that bottomless ache that threatens to consume you at all times too well.
One by one, monks climb the stairs. I turn back to the platform.
“These stairs feel magical,” I whisper to Daegel.
Over his shoulder, he whispers back, “According to our tradition and faith, the spirit of the fallen General will ascend them on their way to the world of the spirits of the gods. This mountain is sacred.”
I look down at the reflection of the blue sky and the sunrays. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks, or what, but I do feel as close to the gods here as I ever felt in my life.
Just when I think I’ve learned everything about the mystical ways of the fae, there’s more to discover.
Four Ezkai place the cot with the General on top of an obsidian altar and step down from the platform. The Taaslord stands at the bottom of the altar, with his back to us. The monks line up on each side of the altar and start to speak in unison.
I don’t understand a damn word they’re saying. It’s in Old Ekiosh. A very old, specific version of it.
“Do your parents think the Taaslord will go for the General’s position?” Bloom whispers to Fern behind me, which draws my attention to them.
Over my shoulder I see Fern shake her head. “Father said he didn’t participate in the trials after the last General passed away. He doesn’t think he’ll do it this time either.”
Bloom chuckles. “What if he will? It must be boring serving as the second-in-command for so many centuries.”
“What trials?” I whisper at them.
“Val’taz Ezkairin,” Fern says to me. This Old Ekios I do understand. To Burn Worthy. “The new General is chosen during the series of deadly trials.”
“We’re betting who from the Order will enter this time around. It’s an event of a century—I can’t believe we get to witness it!” I don’t miss the gleam of excitement in Bloom’s eyes. “Wanna throw in your bet, Wildarrow?”
I glance at the Ezkai around us. “Anyone’s game?”
“Anyone in the whole Order,” Bloom says, nodding enthusiastically. “I bet on Taaslord Noire.”
Fern rolls her eyes. “He won’t. I told you.”
A newfound hope blooms inside my chest. I don’t dare to even voice that thought aloud to myself.
No way. It would be impossible.
But what if? What if…instead of trying to win the support of the new General, I could become one myself?
Why follow when I can lead?
No, I scold myself. No way could I do this by myself. I may be a strong Decarios, but I’m nowhere near ready to become an Ezkai General.
Mind buzzing, I bite the inside of my cheek and turn back to the platform. In the few minutes I wasn’t looking, the dark clouds have approached us. Deep rumbles echo in the distance.
The air is charged.
A familiar screech reaches my ears. Another one follows. Flaps of powerful wings echo and six dragons emerge from behind the tall mountaintop.
They soar through the dark clouds towards us. Lighting cracks the sky into two, painting the dark grey clouds in vivid reds and blues.
A chill goes down my back. It’s the very first storm I’m witnessing in Ekios. My heart races in my chest.
The dragon in the middle I recognize once it’s closer. It’s Kitajo’s big, beautiful creature. It roars again and circles the sky above us.
Once the monks finish reciting the words in the old tongue, the dragon roars and slowly glides down. When its strong legs land on the platform, the whole mountain shakes. The rest of the dragons follow, landing on the boulders of the mountain behind the platform.
Their intelligent eyes watch the crowd.
I don’t have to use my ability to know that this creature is grieving, more than all of us combined.
Kitajo’s dragon growls and snaps its sharp teeth at the monks. Despite the hostility, they don’t fear the creature. With respectful bows, they retreat and descend down the stairs to join the nobles at the bottom.
The Taaslord lingers for a moment longer. The General’s dragon approaches the altar and brings its snout dangerously close to Noire’s face. It exhales, warm breath tickling even my cheeks.
The Taaslord reaches a hand. My breath hitches. But the dragon doesn’t reject Noire as he places his palm on the dragon’s snout and whispers words I can’t catch.
After, Noire turns and leaves the dragon with the General’s corpse. The Taaslord descends halfway down the staircase before turning back to face the platform.
I have no clue what’s going on. But my heart bleeds when the dragon curls its long, large body around the altar, as if the creature is trying to protect the man lying on top. Head angled towards the cloudy sky, the dragon releases another roar.
The grief-stricken song pierces right through me. Tears spring to my eyes. I’m overwhelmed with grief and sadness I don’t think belongs to me. I swallow, my heart tearing in half.
With one last breath, the dragon rests its large head on top of the altar, protectively over the General’s legs. When the creature’s eyes close, it’s for the last time.
The dragon dies together with the Decarios they’re bonded with.
The dragons perched behind us roar, a symphony honoring one of their kind who has fallen. When the roars die down, the dragons face the altar and torch the General and the dragon resting on it in white flames.
My cheeks heat, eyes burning. But I don’t flinch. Don’t turn away.
I only realize I’m crying when I taste salt on my lips.