CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
There was a queue to see a dead guy.
Asher laughed to himself at the thought as he stood in place, waiting to gain entrance. Just ahead, the court guards opened the doors, and the line began to move slowly forward.
Close to the front, he took note of the dressage the guards wore and the swords at their sides. They also wore armor of white, their fur-trimmed cloaks also in a matching white.
This was a wealthy Quartaine. It was obvious the previous Protector liked to show his money by dressing up his men.
Stepping into the main hall Asher’s gaze drifted from the men at the doors to the long black banners that hung evenly spaced along the walls on either side of the chamber. This was a court in mourning. They looked strangely out of place in a palace dressed in white, gray and silver. The court was dressed in the colors of the land that surrounded them. The white of the snow, the gray of the sky, and the silver of the peaks of the mountains when the sun eventually broke though and caused them to shine.
The sound of sobbing from below him had Asher glancing down. A little old woman wrapped in a pale blue skirt with a thick woolen cloak wrapped around her shoulders was wiping at her eyes as they grew closer to where the old Protector lay.
“Are you okay, my lady?”
A loud sniff echoed in the room as she wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. Mid-turn her head tipped slowly back to look up at him, “I am no lady young man, and no, I am not okay. Our Protector is gone. He shall be missed; he was a good male.”
Asher pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. He bit his lip to hide the small smile tugging his lips at her rebuke.
Taking it, she dabbed at her eyes before bringing it to her nose and blowing.
Asher forced himself not to screw up his face when she offered it back to him, “Perhaps keep it?”
He kept his head tilted in her direction as he lifted his gaze to count twelve soldiers on either side of the room, each armed with a sword and wearing dress armor. The place was heavily guarded, each one keeping a watchful eye on those filtering through the room.
The old lady turned back and continued to walk.
Asher lifted his gaze to the place just ahead where the body of Cian Forrester lay and noted as each person approached him they reached out and touched his hand. Not gripping, or anything so demanding, instead they just brushed their fingers over the back of his hand as a sign of respect. They would step up, touch his hand, then step back and move on.
Such a strange custom, but then again, each Quartaine had one. This just happened to be theirs.
Asher moved along, following in the footsteps of the old lady in front until she was next to pay her respects. She did just as the others before her had, and upon stepping back, she curtseyed before shuffling on.
Following her example, Asher moved forward and stepped up onto the raised platform. The closer he got to the male laid out before him, the more the magic in his body began to vibrate and act strangely.
Asher looked down at the male, and a frown pulled on his perfectly shaped brows. He seemed almost familiar. A gnawing feeling of familiarity which was crazy as they had never met, nor had Asher been in his presence. It almost felt like he knew him, had seen him somehow before, and yet how could he?
A cough sounded behind him jarring Asher from his thoughts.
His body felt charged, his abilities thrumming. As he reached out to touch the male’s hand, Asher could feel his magic react. It was as if it, too, was pushing out to touch the male. The moment his fingers brushed the back of his hand it felt like he had been struck by lightning. The jolt shot from the cold gray hand to Asher’s fingertips causing him to stumble back, his foot slipping from the platform causing him to fall back and land on his ass.