Forty-one
Ariadnne
Dawn’s brilliant rays streamed through the window. Ariadnne squeezed her eyes shut. The couch she’d slept on was too short for her frame, and every muscle hurt from being scrunched to fit.
Today. They would bury her mother today.
Ariadnne nudged her bond with Nieve. A soft quiet met her touch, an absence of thoughts or feelings. There was no wrongness the way there would be if anything had harmed her. More likely she had succumbed to sleep.
Gathering her limbs, Ariadnne stretched while her mind churned. She needed Nieve free before the Council tightened its leash, making it impossible to find the true killer.
She needed help.
Kayla flashed to mind—the one other person she’d felt close enough to trust. A person who could be her eyes in the company, asking questions where Ariadnne couldn’t.
She just hoped a public confession from the killer would be enough to force their hand.
With a groan she kicked her legs off the side of the couch and forced her stiff form up.
They would bury her mother today, while the word ‘mother’ was still raw on her tongue.
Her reflection in the mirror wasn’t pretty; the lines of strain as alien to her as the shadows under her eyes. That wouldn’t do. Not for Melixanthe.
In honour of the day, Ariadnne found her kohl and painted her eyes, then smeared the twin black warrior lines on her cheeks.
She fixed her hair into a long braid and surveyed her wardrobe.
Her ceremonial armour stood adjacent on its stand.
She would probably be expected to wear that.
However, nestled amongst her tunics, Ariadnne owned one dress.
It was sapphire blue, with a back panel of silver lace.
She fingered the fabric, remembering how she had laughed when Melixanthe bought it for her. ‘In case a formal occasion arose.’ She’d asked Ariadnne to try it on, but Ariadnne refused, saying she’d do that on the day she needed it. She now felt regret that Melixanthe had never seen her in the gift.
Making up her mind, Ariadnne drew the dress from the wardrobe. Today she would honour her mother.
She slid out of her nightgown and stepped into the silken fabric.
It fit perfectly. Gazing into the mirror, her heart throbbed as she recognised the slope of Melixanthe’s nose, and the angle of her jaw.
How had she never seen the similarities?
On bare feet she padded through to the living area, past the tapestry of Beatrix, for the first time noticing the shadows under the mighty warrior’s eyes and wondering if she had been as tired and lost as Ariadnne.
As the bell tolled seven, the entire castle turned out. The funeral was to be a celebration befitting the most decorated of generals. Servants and knights alike gathered in the main training yard, waiting as the wooden palanquin bearing Melixanthe’s body was brought out, borne by six pallbearers.
A hush fell across those assembled as necks turned to watch the sombre sight. Following close on their heels were the seven Councillors in dark blue robes of mourning.
Ariadnne’s place was beside them. Taking a deep breath, she held up her head and strode across the sands, skirts fluttering.
Her barefoot visage drew many looks, and she ignored the prickle on the back of her neck as the other varanyen stepped in behind, handlers at their sides, each dressed in their finest ceremonial garb.
Sol stood beside Lucius, smiling softly with a crinkled strain that deepened as the haunting voice of pipes lifted, signalling the start of the procession.
It was a short walk to the burial grounds along the cliffs edge, to where a series of stone chambers stood facing the ocean: resting places for those important enough to earn them.
In the grandest chambers, the remains of dragons lay in eternal rest, decorated handlers and Generals spread out amongst the surrounding smaller chambers.
Behind them were the marked graves of those not important enough to spend eternity with an ocean view.
The chamber that had been chosen for Melixanthe was decorated with garlands of flowers, the path winding through the graveyard similarly strewn with white lilies.
It was beautiful, but the sight tore Ariadnne in half.
While part of her was glad to see that no expense had been spared, the other wept that she would eternally rest in the grounds of those who’d killed her, her funeral soiled by the faces of the Council.
One, or all, could have ordered her death.
She ground her teeth as the pallbearers reached the arched doorway, watching as Melixanthe was set down with care.
Her body was shrouded in white flowers, precious gems scattered amongst the petals to symbolise wealth for the afterlife and pay for her passage.
Ariadnne stood to the side as her company gathered, forming smart rows.
Each knight looked heartbroken. Josef, especially, was quite pale with grief, and she searched the lines for Kayla, finding her absent.
‘Josef, where’s Kayla?’ she muttered under her breath.
His brows knitted and he shrugged.
Ariadnne frowned and turned back to the front, feeling a prickle of concern as a priest of Ra’Tel slowly climbed the steps of his podium, clearing his throat with a wet, watery sound.
He began to speak, lauding Melixanthe’s life; her glories and strengths, and how those strengths would see her carried safely across the river of souls to the afterlife.
They were lovely words, but they weren’t actually of her. Not the real Melixanthe Ariadnne knew. She thought that at least she could be with Zolif now. She hoped they could find peace together.
The priest invited fae to pay their last respects. Ariadnne stepped forward to look on her mother for the last time.
She looked so peaceful, frozen in time as Ariadnne tried to commit every line of her face to memory.
‘I’ll miss you.’
She closed her eyes, the salty brine of the sea merging with the sweet fragrance of lilies, gooseflesh pebbling in the chilled breeze as she stepped back. Gooseflesh that pricked harder as the Councillors moved to pay their respects, the irony disturbing.
Eventually, the queue of people waiting slowed, faces both familiar and foreign approaching the General to take their turn staring or muttering words.
Sol made his approach; head bowed in grief.
He brushed Melixanthe’s hand, uttering words too low for Ariadnne’s ears, the small, sad smile he offered enough to break her heart all over again.
When the last person had returned to their place, the priest signalled the pallbearers to move Melixanthe inside. Turning, he thanked everyone for their presence and assured them that she would be interred with the utmost respect.
Slowly, the silence that had held the crowd at the cliff’s edge lifted and voices rose in conversation, people turning to make their way back toward the castle.
It didn’t feel like enough as Ariadnne lingered, watching her mother disappear into the dark.