Chapter 29 Svenn #2
She’s terrified and exhausted.
“Rhianelle,” I say softly. “Look at me.”
Her eyelids flutter open. Those beautiful lilac eyes that I’d die for, kill for, stare back at me.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, even though I know it’s pointless. “We could find another way.”
“There is no other way,” she says softly. “You know that. This is the only chance we have to end this without everyone dying. But I am scared for you.”
“For me?” I quirk an eyebrow. Of all people, me?
“If I die, you die with me,” she says simply. “That was Death’s condition, remember? Our lives are tied now.”
The truth is, when Death told us the condition, I felt nothing but relief. I don’t tell her that it brought me peace, knowing I will never have to exist in a world without her. It is the kindest thing any god has ever done for me.
“I remember. Where you go, I go,” I say quickly. “I wouldn’t want to live without you anyway. But I’d much prefer if we both just lived. Together. For a very long time.”
Rhianelle smiles, and some of the fear leaves her eyes.
I cup her face in my hands and kiss her softly, not with passion or heat, but with everything I feel. All the love, the fear, and the desperate hope that somehow, impossibly, she’ll survive this. She kisses back, her hands coming up to grip my wrists, anchoring herself.
When we break apart, she’s crying.
“I love you,” she says quietly. “I love you so much, Svenn.”
The tent flap opens.
We both turn to see Lady Deirdre standing there. Her face is grave. Tallula is right behind her, Rhianelle’s handmaiden.
“My queen,” Deirdre says softly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the blessing ceremony for the dead will begin soon. Would you like to see them before their bodies are carried home for burial?”
Rhianelle stands immediately. “Yes.”
Deirdre does not move. Her expression crumples, and she lowers her gaze.
“There is something you must know,” she says. “Siofra and her husband, Darstan. They... they didn’t make it.”
“I know,” Rhianelle breathes, her eyes glistening again. “I saw them earlier on the battlefield.”
“Lenna too,” Tallula adds quietly. “She was helping carry the wounded from the field when a siege tower collapsed. We couldn’t save her either.”
Rhianelle sways. I catch her, hold her up.
“I want to see them,” Rhianelle interrupts. “Siofra. Darstan. Lenna. I want to see them. Now.”
I was going to tell her about Darstan and Siofra. I’d considered waiting and letting her focus on the fight. I had hoped to let her rest without that weight, but she already knew.
“I’ll take you,” Deirdre says, stepping aside to hold the tent flap open.
We follow the healers through the camp, past the living and the wounded to a section where the dead lie in neat rows.
Siofra and Darstan lie side by side. Someone had enough grace to leave their hands clasped. Even in death, they’re together.
Rhianelle kneels between them and pulls back the cloth covering Siofra’s face. The arrows have been removed and her wounds cleaned. The beautiful elven lady looks peaceful, as though she’s only sleeping.
“I’m sorry,” Rhianelle whispers. “I’m so sorry, Siofra. I couldn’t protect you.”
She moves to Darstan and uncovers his face too. The knight looks exactly as he did in life, stern and serious. But there’s something soft around his mouth as if his last thought was peaceful.
“Your son,” Rhianelle says, and her voice breaks. “Darstan, your son. He’s just a baby and now he’ll grow up without you. Without either of you.”
That’s when I realize. The child, Aldric. Darstan and Siofra left behind a child.
An orphan now.
Rhianelle covers her face with her hands and sobs. Great, heaving sobs that shake her entire body.
“They died protecting your kingdom so their son could have a future,” I say, kneeling beside her and placing a hand against her back. “That’s what they chose.”
“I didn’t want them to die!” Rhianelle screams. “I didn’t want any of this!”
She collapses forward and I catch her. I pull her away from the bodies, holding her while she cries.
Rhianelle is breaking and falling apart.
Gods. How is she going to fight in a few hours?
A bell rings across the camp. Its low, mournful toll silences the voices around us.
Rhianelle lifts her head from my chest. Her face is wet with tears, but she wipes them away and slowly rises. I stand with her, ready to catch her if her legs fail again.
The survivors gather around the rows of bodies. Soldiers lean against one another while healers emerge from the tents, their hands still stained from tending the wounded. Those strong enough to stand bow their heads. Others watch from their bedrolls.
Deirdre offers Rhianelle a small bowl of burning herbs. Smoke curls from it, carrying the scent of cedar and winter flowers through the camp.
Rhianelle takes it in both hands and walks to the head of the first row. Her fingers tremble around the bowl, but when she speaks, her voice carries through the silence.
“May the earth remember your footsteps. May the wind carry your names beyond the borders of this world. May the stars guide you through the darkness, and may those who loved you find you again when their own journeys end.”
She kneels and places the bowl before the dead.
“You gave your lives so others might live. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten. Your names will be written into the history of Aelfheim, and as long as I draw breath, your families will never stand alone.”
One by one, the gathered elves lower themselves to their knees. Even the wounded try to bow their heads.
When Rhianelle turns back toward them, I see what she cannot.
Hope.
It shines through their grief as they look at her. They have lost their homes, their families, and nearly their kingdom, but they still believe in their queen.
Rhianelle sways when the ceremony ends. I catch her arm and guide her away before anyone can see how close she is to collapsing.
“Come on,” I murmur. “You’ve given them everything you have. Let me take care of you now.”
I bring her back to the empty tent and lower the flap behind us.
“You need to sleep,” I tell her. “Just a few hours. You need rest.”
“I can’t,” she whispers. “Every time I close my eyes, I see them. Siofra. Darstan. All the dead.”
“Try,” I plead. “Please, Rhianelle.”
She lies down on the bedroll. I lie beside her, pulling her against my chest.
“Sleep,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
She closes her eyes and her hands start shaking. I hold her tighter. Cyntefin tries to calm the tremors with warmth. It doesn’t work. She cries in her sleep. Soft, broken sounds that tear at my heart.
I lie awake, watching her break.
In just a few hours, she has to be whole again. Rhianelle has to be strong again.
She has to win or we all lose everything.