Chapter 14. Unkindness.
The Royal cemetery was quiet. Empty.
Snow covered every engraved stone, shining under the Moon. We walked along the graves, our boots leaving a trace behind us, as I read every name we passed.
“They are not here,” I whispered, the cold cloud lingered on my breath. My lips trembled at the realization once we’d reached the last stone that carried my name. “They didn’t bury them at the Royal cemetery,” my voice shook.
“We will find them.” Francis walked down the rows several times; the shovel in his hand dragged along the snow. “Where else could they be?” He stood before me; his face inches from mine, yet all I could see was my engraved name above the empty casket.
“I don’t know.” My lungs caught aflame as I forced my next breath. “I don’t—”
“Think, Cordelia. We don’t have much time.” Francis gentled, his hands covering my cheeks. “There must be another cemetery nearby, or perhaps a meadow of some kind. They wouldn’t just leave the bodies to rot near the palace.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know! What if they burned them, or—” I trailed off when the thought clouded my mind. “Oh dear Gods...”
“What is it?” Francis searched my eyes.
“There is only one other cemetery nearby.” My voice didn’t belong to me when the words escaped my trembling lips.
“Where is it?”
“North.”
Burying the Royal family in the cemetery meant for traitors was a stab in the back I hadn’t been prepared for.
No stone stood at this graveyard, no names remembered at the empty land. The gate screeched with age when Francis pulled on the lock, snow fell on his uncovered hands.
“We will never find them here.” The back of my eyes prickled as I took a step into the cemetery. “Traitors don’t get a memorial.” I turned to Francis. His hands still held the rusty lock; his eyes shot past me, bewilderment filling them.
I followed his gaze, and my heart stumbled as I took a step backwards, my back hitting Francis’ chest.
“What in the Kingdom...” he muttered.
“Ravens.” I swallowed, walking towards an unkindness of ravens that circled the patch of fresh fallen snow.
My legs shook as they carried me forward against my better judgment, yet something pulled me towards the birds no matter my fear.
Onyx eyes met mine when I stood before the birds; their quiet stare pierced into my soul as they crooked their heads at once.
“It’s here,” I whispered to Francis standing beside me.
“I wouldn’t be so certain—”
“They are buried here.” I nodded without breaking my stare with the ravens.
“Cordelia—” Francis trailed off when a deafening croak filled the cemetery. The ravens squawked at once, their strong wings whistled as the unkindness rose to the black sky. Disappearing into the woods, their song rang in my ears.
My lungs ached when I took my next breath; my eyes closed, welcoming the raven's prayer. “It’s here.” I swallowed. “I can feel it.”
“Moon help me,” Fracis muttered, pushing the shovel into the cold soil.
The Moon had faded into the sky by the time Francis’ shovel stuck deep inside the pit: the morning twilight was upon us.
“You should probably go.” Francis glanced up at me when the big wooden box appeared at the bottom of the pit.
“I need to see them.” I swallowed the growing nausea.
“I don’t think that’s wise, Cordelia,” Francis argued. His perfect clothing was now wrinkled and covered in soil as he cleaned the remaining dirt off the box, fidgeting with the cap.
“I need to see them.”
I clenched the ends of my sleeves. Nausea clawed at my weak stomach.
Francis sighed, his lips turned into a thin line, yet he obeyed my wishes, opening the cap to the dishonorable casket.
My legs weakened as an invisible force kneeled me before my fallen family.
My ivory gloves turned the color of dirt.
Their bodies were a bloody mess.
I clenched onto the edge of the grave, my fingers digging into the frozen soil.
If it hadn’t been for Mother’s jewelry that still hung on her broken fingers, if it hadn’t been for the two tiny bodies clutching onto each other, I would’ve never guessed they were my family.
Their limbs rested in the most unnatural of ways, their skin broken apart as long-dried blood sat on every inch of their flesh. Their clothes ripped apart, clinging on their broken ribs, their bruised cheeks shone purple against their pale—covered in blood—skin.
A strong smell of sour-rot and soil hit my nostrils; my jaw clenched shut, nausea making its way through my insides.
Then I saw her.
My dear sister.
She lay beside our mother. Her body was not broken into shreds like the rest of our family’s were. Kane had spared her at least that. Her hair still wore crimson, her wrists marked by long cuts.
“It’s a gift.” She had told me before—
“I do not wish to stay without Frederick and Eleanor,” she’d said. “This is a gift.”
Oh, how I wished for such a gift at that moment. How I wished for the Moon to take my soul, despite my unfulfilled oath.
Had Sandra been there when Fredrick and Eleanor were murdered? Had she been forced to watch such horrors?
Were they together now, in Moon’s paradise, safe and sound?
“I am sorry,” I whispered to them all. “I am so sorry.”
Francis’ gaze bored into my flesh before he cleared his throat, his voice as soft as velvet, “Which ring is it?”
“Her ring finger,” I replied, staring at Mother’s ruby stone that no longer sparkled: covered in blood and soil. Identical to the one Ash had given me. “Her wedding ring,” I said, almost laughing.
The irony wasn’t lost on me... The woman who surely hadn’t loved my father, put so much meaning and purpose into the symbol of their marriage.
Francis moved to my mother, removing the ring from her hand. My gaze was planted on her face.
Mother looked peaceful. The most peaceful I had ever seen her. Her sharp features now softened, her withering gaze now hidden, her edged lips tendered.
I forced air into my lungs, giving a small nod to Francis before he closed the cap.
“I love you,” I told my family as the first pile of dirt fell onto the casket.
The trip to the cabin was a dream—a nightmare—brought to life. The faces of my loved ones, engraved in my mind, walked alongside me every step of the way. My eyes closed in an attempt to rid myself of the horrid memories in vain.
Francis fought with the frozen lock of the cabin’s door when the darkness crept into my wrecked mind, daring me to act upon its wicked needs.
“Cordelia?” Francis started, opening the door for me. “If you wish to talk—” he trailed off as I rushed into the cabin, walking straight for the ladder next to the black-painted door.
I’d never been in the room on the second level, as it was the residence of Roxanne and Florence.
I wished not to indulge in their private space, yet in that moment I could not find it in me to care.
I knew what I had to do to be rid of the memories from this vile night; I knew what I had to do to bring slight justice to the pain I’d inflicted upon my sister.
“I wish to be alone,” was all I said before climbing the ladder and shutting the door closed.
The room darkened as I walked in. The drawn curtains kept the rising sun at bay. I scanned the space until my eyes landed on the bedside table that carried a candelabra with three unlit candles; my heart skipped a beat in anticipation of the upcoming repose.
I took the bronze flint out of the pocket of my dress as my shaky legs carried me towards my salvation. My lungs squeezed shut.
My trembling hands held the flint as I watched the candle catch flame. An invisible hand squeezed my lungs, refusing to let air in as I stared down the flame: my imminent punishment, my imminent relief.
The candle chanted, frantically dancing, putting me under a spell I was unable to resist.
I watched her face inside the flame. Her disappointed eyes bored into mine.
“Forgive me, little sister,” I told the flame.
The fire sparkled, inviting me to receive what I deserved. My breathing turned frantic.
I set the candle on the bedside table, rolling up the sleeves of my tunic.
“Forgive me.”
I brought my exposed skin to the flame, surrendering it to the pain.
My eyes squinted in anticipation until the fire delivered its punishment.
A gasp pushed past my lips, but the pain had yet to bring me relief. I kept my wrist above the flame, yet the pain would not release me, keeping me hostage in the evermore torture.
A muffled cry escaped me as my skin caught aflame. The blackened spot moved inch by inch across my arm until it reached my elbow. And yet, it brought no relief.
Terror clawed at my spine as I moved my hand away from the ever–judging flame.
Nausea crept in at the burning smell of my flesh.
My hands trembled when I felt the hardened skin. My skin wailed from the touch.
Dear Gods!
Dear Gods, and the Moon!
Oh, Moon!
I forced my lungs to expand—they refused.
“Dear Moon.” I choked.
My knees weakened as I dropped onto the floor, my eyes never leaving the assault. My vision darkened as I felt my consciousness slip away from my strong grasp.
“Forgive me,” I whispered when the dark, cold wave dragged me under.