Chapter 10
JINGYI
They lit the pyre as the sky began to pale. Through the night, she had bathed the body, cleansed it with burnt herbs, and clothed it in a clean gown from her own wardrobe—a solemn ritual to send the woman, dignified, on her journey to the afterlife.
From parchment and twine, she had fashioned provisions and laid them beside the woman’s head. A paper palanquin for when she grew weary on the road to the Gates of Heaven. A house so she might be mistress of her own home, beholden to no one. Ingots for bribing her way into her final rest.
Now, down by the mist-curled lake, she stood beside Lord Wulfbane with her hands folded into her sleeves. The woman lay atop the firewood, a small bundle of wildflowers—violet thistle, plum asters, a white daisy—resting against her chest. Tedric had brought them forward earlier.
‘’Tis a sorrow to send her off without blooms,’ he’d said. ‘If she were my sister, I’d hope some kind stranger would do at least as much.’
JingYi had accepted them with a grateful nod. ‘They’re beautiful, Tedric. Thank you.’
The flame took slowly, then flared in a sudden rush.
Heat washed over JingYi’s face, carrying the scent of burning wood, herbs, and scorched cloth.
The wind stirred her skirt and veil. Behind her, the guards murmured prayers.
Lord Wulfbane was silent, but his bearing was grim and respectful.
JingYi said no words aloud. She’d spoken through the acts—the cleansing, the provisions, all done with care.
Death didn’t always require poetry. Sometimes it only needed a witness.
“She may not have died among her kin,” she said, “but at least her final departure is witnessed.”
His voice came low beside her. “You gave her more than most would have.”
“She deserved that much,” she replied, eyes never leaving the flames.
The fire crackled and hissed as the mist lifted, and the first edge of the sun began to rise. A gust of wind tugged at her sleeves, and a tiny ember spiralled into the air—carried upward, somewhere beyond reach. She followed its movement as it flew higher, higher.
The day her mother’s body burned was similar to this.
Stripped of title, her mangled body had been dragged through the dust, bound in rough hemp and cast into the cremation pits meant for criminals and beggars.
There’d been no offerings or incense, only the jeering of courtiers who’d once bowed at her feet.
No one had closed her mother’s eyes either. They’d been wide open, bloodshot and filled with tears.
Her stomach twisted, sleeves crushed in her fists. She forced her breath to stay steady and her spine straight.
She felt Lord Wulfbane’s eyes on her. “Are you alright?”
Woodenly, she nodded.
“Did you find any rest at all?” he asked.
“I might’ve dozed a little.”
Lightly, never deep enough. Sleep came hard when duty tugged at her mind, and the notion of returning to the carriage promised little relief.
From beyond the small crowd, she could feel those three hostile pairs of eyes on her. They stood cloistered in front of the treeline, holding perfumed kerchiefs to their faces. Not one of them had come forward to help or donate a small item for the ritual.
She looked up at Lord Wulfbane just as his gaze shifted toward her ladies-in-waiting.
His brow furrowed, lips tightening into a disapproving line that sent a chill down her spine.
He kept his thoughts to himself even as the men drifted back to camp, but his silence was a coiled restraint that felt more dangerous than any outburst.
He remained at her side as the pyre slowly consumed the woman’s form. The body blackened, curled, and sank into the wood with a collapse of flesh and bone.
“Two men will remain until the burning is completed,” he said. “With your leave, they’ll gather her ashes into an urn, bring it back to Parandor so we can keep it in trust, should her kin ever come.”
She looked up at him. “That is kind, Lord Wulfbane. Thank you.”
He inclined his head. As they stepped away from the fire, the first full rays of morning broke over the trees in soft gold. Around them, the camp stirred. Wheels creaked. Hooves struck earth. Voices rose as preparations were underway.
She walked beside him without looking back.
The dead had been honoured.
But the living still had far to go.
JingYi stepped into Conrad’s tent and found the boy seated on his bedroll, tugging on his boots, lips pulled back into a grimace. Pale and tousle-haired, he still managed a smile at her entrance.
“Your Highness is an early riser,” he commented. “You put even Blackwood-Veyrde’s finest soldiers to shame.”
Heat bloomed beneath JingYi’s veil despite herself. Lord Wulfbane’s ward clearly had a silver tongue, and if he had charm to spare for a woman like her this early, then his strength was returning faster than she thought.
“We held a funeral rite at dawn,” she explained.
His smile dimmed. “Yes . . . I heard what happened.”
She sat down on a stool beside the cot. “She came to me. The least I could do was send her off properly.”
Conrad studied her, brown eyes steady. “Thanks to you, she’s at peace now. If her kin ever finds out, it’ll comfort them.”
JingYi lowered her eyes. Would it, truly, when their loved one died alone so far from home, her funeral attended only by strangers? But she said nothing of it, only lifted her gaze with a small smile. “You look well. I’m glad to see you sitting up.”
His smile widened. JingYi could already see how, in a few years, he’d leave a trail of broken hearts behind him.
“With your tender care, Princess, how could I not feel better?”
Her cheeks warmed. “You flatter me too much.”
“Flatter?” He clutched his chest theatrically.
“Never. It’s the solemn truth. I owe you a life-debt.
And my father always says a Reave never forgets a debt.
My mother will insist on meeting you when she hears the tale, and my brothers too.
Thank Solthar you’re pretty much married to Lord Wulfbane, else he’d have real cause to worry. My brothers, you see—”
“I take it,” came a dry, gravelled voice from the tent’s opening, “if you’re well enough to chatter, you’re well enough to ride, pup.”
Conrad flushed to the tips of his ears. “Merely making sure the princess knows how grateful I am, my lord wolf.”
Lord Wulfbane arched a brow as he stepped fully inside. “Commendable. But save your tales for the wedding feast. Your sire and dam can hear them then.”
“We’re leaving now?”
“Should’ve left already.” His gaze swept over the younger man, measuring. “How do you feel, pup? Can you stay upright?”
Conrad winced, fingers gingerly pressing his sternum. “My chest feels like my horse danced on it, but I’ll manage.”
JingYi turned and asked, “May I assist, my lord? I have a treatment that may help lessen the pain.”
The tent fell quiet. Conrad looked at her, hand resting over his ribs, eyes wide with no small amount of awe. “You can do that too? Is there anything you can’t do, Princess?”
Heat surged to JingYi’s cheeks. She lowered her gaze again and focused on taking a hold of her medicine chest.
“This is a common treatment where I’m from,” she explained. “We use it for pain relief and to support healing. I hope it will offer some comfort during our journey.”
JingYi watched Conrad turn to his guardian. The Alpha gave a subtle nod, and she took it as her cue to motion the boy to lie down on the cot.
“Are you using herbs or numbing salves to lessen the pain?” Lord Wulfbane asked. Hands clasped behind his back, his posture was relaxed, but interest shone in those blue eyes.
“Neither.” JingYi placed the chest at the end of the cot and fetched the leather sleeve. “I use these limyerite needles to direct fresh blood and energy flow to the injury, which aids healing and reduces the pain.”
He rubbed his dimpled chin with his knuckles, looking quite engrossed while he studied them. “I have heard X?en-Sarai transforms limyerite crystals into needles for healing therapy, but I have never seen the practice in person.”
“Limyerite crystals are hard materials. They are unyielding, easy to clean before and after use. It holds heat where you need it.” She turned the crystal in her fingers, wiping it with a cloth soaked with distilled rice wine.
“But its true gift is absorption. It draws impurities from the flesh into its own structure, cleansing as it works.”
She caught herself speaking more words than she usually spoke at once. Her gaze darted between them. Lord Wulfbane’s eyes were fixed on the crystal, intent. Conrad, too, leaned forward slightly. She waited for the dismissal—the impatient sigh, the turned shoulder. It never came.
They were . . . listening.
JingYi began to work, heating long, slim needles over a candle flame before sliding them into pressure points across Conrad’s chest and abdomen. Lord Wulfbane observed. Silent though he was, the weight of his gaze was palpable, steady as she moved.
How strange this was—being watched without mockery or scorn. At the palace, people had only sought her out to jeer, to feel better at her expense.
When she finished, Conrad loudly declared himself a brand-new man. Apparently, the needle therapy had taken away not just yesterday’s battle pains but the aches from months of training.
Jing Yi’s lips twitched as she watched the boy stagger out of the tent.
“Conrad is nothing but putty in your hands, now,” Lord Wulfbane remarked with amusement as he lingered while she packed her supplies.
“He seems exceedingly fond of you,” JingYi commented, latching her box closed. “And you of him.”
He shrugged, but pride shone in his eyes. “He came to Parandor when he was eight, but I’ve known him since he was born.”
He lifted the tent flap for her and escorted her out while she hobbled beside him. “I myself began training under Conrad’s father when I was nine.”