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He doesn't need them anymore.
They're big, so I feed my whip through the loops around the waist and tighten it to keep the pants up. The soft linen billows around my legs and almost camouflages my boots as I cross the room.
"Are you ready?" I ask Mace quietly.
"Will I ever be?" He lifts his head from his hands, his angular face made even sharper from grief and exhaustion. The dark bags under his eyes beg for sleep, but we can't put this off.
"After we take care of her and after we tell everyone what happened, we can rest. But until then, we need to go deal with the fallout." Nodding, he stands and takes my outstretched hand, weaving our fingers together.
I pull open the door to see Tulip, her face clean but grave. There is guilt shimmering in her eyes, and I make a note to talk to her about it later.
But not right now.
No, right now, I have an appointment with the citizens of Rainworth and the Bloomtide.
Tulip leads us to the large community hall that we've used for dining, and when I walk through the doors, I'm stricken by the fact that every citizen of Rainworth is here. There aren't many of us, only about three dozen or so between Jaz's modest crew and my companions, but the room feels stifling with all of the bodies, all of the hearts beating within its walls.
One heart in the room does not beat.
Ahastily constructed stage at the front of the room has a table in the center and a rigid body covered with a sheet in the middle.
My high priest.
I can tell when Mace's eyes land on the altar as his hand tightens within my own. We walk up the center aisle of tables and chairs, and I look straight ahead, avoiding all eye contact. Because if I see the devastation in the eyes of my people, I do not know if I will have it in me to do what I have to do today.
Next to the table is a chair that is occupied by a beautiful woman with pointed ears and blood covering her face and neck. The Bloomtide is restrained, eyes wild with fear as she moans and groans in an attempt to get someone to free her.
It's hard to beg for forgiveness when your tongue is lying on the battlefield.
Behind Amaryn, Shadow, still in his large seps form, lays coiled, his head and upper body hovering just over her shoulder. His eyes sparkle with keen intelligence as he watches me approach.
Mace and I step onto the stage, and the already quiet crowd stills even further, all attention on us. Right up front, Cirrha and Taegan sit holding hands, both with swollen and red eyes. Taegan's eyes are unfocused, the compounded grief of losing his partner and friend in such a short period of time cracking something within his psyche. Cirrha's jaw is set tight, gaze locked on Amaryn's face.
Tulip slides into a seat next to Morrow, who quickly grabs her hand in his own. Both of them have gotten cleaned up, butTulip's entire demeanor is subdued. Her eyes flick to Shadow frequently, and I feel a sharp pang of guilt at what his presence must be doing to her. Morrow, ever a rock, pulls her head to rest on his shoulder. When he sees me looking at him, he gives me a reassuring nod, bolstering me with his belief. Jaz is on Morrow's other side with Plume, who is inconsolable. She hiccups and sobs, tears and snot running down her face. But no one stares, no one judges.
She and Zeph were as good as siblings, and she lost her magic on top of it. Jaz supports her through it, handing strips of fabric to continuously wipe her face.
Mace clears his throat, drops my hand, and steps back to stand beside his brother's body, silently letting me know that he cannot handle this part.
That's okay. It's my responsibility to see this through.
"Rainworth," I say roughly, my voice clogged. I clear my throat and begin again. "Rainworth, I bring you here today for many reasons, and none of them are good. In the late hours of midnight, we lost Zeph Nightroot, my high priest, former Patrician of Ytopie, friend, and brother. He should be here with us today, and instead, we will pay our final respects and send him on his journey to the hereafter." I glance behind me and see Mace, his head dropped, placing a hand on Zeph's chest over the sheet.
"And his death is the fault of our so-called Gods." Amaryn thrashes against her bindings, yelling around the gag that circles her mouth. The crowd shuffles uncomfortably, low murmursrising up with my words.
So I tell them the story.
And not just what happened last night. I tell them the story from the beginning, in it's whole. From stealing the Witch's Ladder to being the vessel to running from Himureal the first time. I admit my faults as we traveled for the artifacts, how I got trapped by Himureal, and the way and the why of summoning the other three Gods.
Every hope and dream we had for what would happen to Krillium pours out of me, stripping me bare for judgment in front of my people. Every mistake, everything we hoped and thought would happen, didn't come to fruition.
When I explain Plume losing her magic and Zeph listening in on the Gods, the crowd grows restless and uncomfortable at learning of my ineptitude, which led to this situation.
At how badly I misread everything.
I thought I was doing what was right, but instead, I should have let the Gods lie and used the magic in the artifacts to support the realm on my own. So now I prostrate myself in front of my people. I choke on my voice as I explain the damage Amaryn did to Mace, how close he was to death, and how Zeph made a choice to feed me so much devotion that the realm ran out, and he had to sacrifice himself to get enough for me to save Mace's life.
"While her hand did not end Zeph's life, her actions are what put us in that situation," I continue, staring at a spot on the back wall so I do not have to look anyone I know in the eye. "I am notblameless. I am aware of the mistakes I made that led us here. It is my fault the Gods were brought back at all, and if I hadn't, Zeph would still be here."
