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“Where’s Liliana?” he asked.
Viktor jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom. “Passed out in there.”
“That bed is big enough for all of us. She can move over,” he yawned, rubbing his eyes. Vadim walked into the room first, then strode to the bed and pulled her to the edge of the mattress.
“Hey, what the fuck!” she exclaimed, waking and slapping him before she realized who was moving her.
Viktor, Endre, and I roared with laughter. Viktor ribbed, “At least you know she’s ready to attack at any moment, Vadim.”
“I trained her too well.” Vadim rubbed the small red handprint stinging his cheek. “Scoot over so we have room.”
“Ugh, but I am not sleeping next to you, that is weird,” she huffed.
“Fine. Anyone who touches my sister loses their hand,” Vadim threatened.
Snorting, I stretched out across the foot of the bed where I could lie on my back, my limbs begging for rest and reprieve almost as loudly as my soul. Liliana scooted to the edge of the soft mattress, Endre positioning himself beside her. Vadim squeezed between Endre and Viktor, shooting a sidelong glare at Endre and then Liliana.
The velvet canopy above me reminded me of our game of hide and seek, Izidora nimbly scaling, and then hiding above the bed. A stone settled in my gut at the memory of herunguarded laugh that took so long to coax from her perfect pink lips. Waves crashed against the rocky cliffs beyond the windows, the rhythmic sound lulling me into a hazy sleep, where my friends were all alive and we raced around these stupidly large rooms, carefree and happy.
The morningof the funeral came with a tidal wave of grief. The few hours of sleep I had managed to get over the past few days were not enough to temper the storm of sadness that enveloped me as I rose for the day. My body protested with every small movement as I dragged myself from the massive bed that still smelled faintly of roses, despite my brothers and Liliana sleeping in it with me the past few nights. With heavy limbs and an even heavier heart, I bid goodbye to my friends and hurried to change into my sharpest attire for the funeral, painting a picture for the onlookers I needed to sway to my side. I needed to appear to those in attendance like a strong, level-headed yet impassioned male who would stop at nothing to return his mate to her throne. King Zalan had proclaimed Izidora to be his daughter, and though he had not named her heir apparent, those words had been enough to sway the crowd that already adored her.
The sun crested the horizon, sending streaks of gold across the polished wood table in the council room where Kaztar and Jaku sat, dressed as formally as they had been at the feast, and waited for the rest of the High Lords to arrive. Tibor and Erik, followed by their sons, arrived moments after me.
As soon as they’d settled into their high-backed chairs, I opened the meeting. “Lord Arzeni’s son, Vadim, reported that High Lord Valintin is also planning on disrupting the funeral forhis own gain. Kaztar, please tell me you got to the priestesses first.”
Kaztar’s smug grin was all I needed in response. “They were most pleased to receive a visit from the oldest house in the Night Realm. And Domi may have promised them a foal from our upcoming season.”
I released a shaky laugh, my chest lightening with his news. “Thank the Goddess. What’s the plan?”
“The High Priestess will begin the rites, and once it is time to light the pyres, she will hand you the torch. You will have an opportunity to speak as you light them. She has instructed the other priestesses to chant during your speech. She also recognizes that the Goddess has blessed Queen Izidora and you with her love, and she will recite a blessing for both of you at the end of the ceremony,” Kaztar informed us.
“Tibor, did you finish the speech?” Erik inquired.
“It’s right here. I kept it short so that you could memorize it in the next few hours, Kazimir,” Tibor said, handing me a piece of paper with his elegant script. I read through it once, smiling to myself as his words flowed passionately from one subject to the next.
“Thank you, Tibor, this is perfect.”
“You have always been like a second son to Katalin and myself, and we only want you to be happy. I am honored to serve alongside you now, and I know your father would be so proud of how you’ve stepped into your role.” Tibor placed his hand over mine, giving it a light squeeze, the fatherly gesture causing my throat to thicken with emotion.
All I could do was nod around the tightness, unable to speak as sadness swelled in my chest. I would release my father from this earth, never again to ride through the Night Realm by his side, never again to knock on the door to his study at Zirok House, our family home, and never again enjoy a meal with himbeside the crackling fire or around the table with the other Nighthounds. Zekari, Kirigin, and Kriztof, too, would never experience those simple moments again.
“Let’s eat together before the funeral,” Jaku suggested, sensing my rising wave of melancholy.
My breath shook as I sucked down much needed air, saving myself from drowning in the never-agains. “I’m ready when you are.”
Trudging among the other High Lords toward the dining hall, Endre and Viktor bumped my shoulder in an effort to pull me out of the haze that clouded my mind. Rubbing my eyes with my fingers, I banished the last of the whispers, perking up as we stood in line for the buffet of pastries, eggs, bacon, and cheese. My stomach rumbled as I seated myself beside my two closest friends, the three of us working together to memorize the speech that Endre’s father had written, making notes here and there to add my own inflection. I continued to bury myself in it long after I had it completely memorized, trying to squash my grief into a box much too small to contain such an overwhelming emotion.
Too soon, my friends told me it was time for the funeral to begin. The large, cobbled courtyard in front of Este Castle was lined with tall wood pyres, the stacked logs wrapped together with twine. White shrouds covered the bodies and the pyres holding King Zalan and my father were decorated with winter flowers and other offerings laid by the priestesses. The crowd of Night Fae stood on the other side of the raised platform, where rows and rows of chairs waited for the Noble Houses. The High Priestess stood in a pure white gown behind an altar, gazing down on those below her and beyond the pyres. Her midnight black hair was plaited into a single braid that fell down to her waist, highlighting the black lines painted across her face. She locked eyes with me, her gaze piercing andassessing as if she could see into the depths of my soul, and judged what she saw.
Settling into my seat, I glanced around, locating Valintin and Luzak, who were seated at the far end of the row, away from the High Priestess. I smirked, deciding I needed to thank Domi personally for her gift, even though it wasn’t meant for me. My vantage point on the platform provided unparalleled access to the faces in the crowd beyond the pyres, and my brows leaped at just how far the crowd stretched beyond the gates. Every street was filled with males, females, and children hoping to glimpse the rites, but closer to me, the wealthy merchants had fashioned themselves a seating area near the pyre that would burn their brethren.
We would release many souls to the Goddess; all had someone to grieve. The realization that I was not alone in this opened my chest a fraction, relieving some of the crushing pressure that made it hard to breathe. Though I did not want to attend more of these rituals, war would inevitably bring death, and countless more Fae would face the pain that now speared into me. But those who fought on the battlefield would die in glory on their own terms, instead of being slaughtered at the whims of a madman.
The High Priestess began chanting, as the other priestesses with black-painted faces and creamy robes stood near the pyres, harmonizing. Their eerie song rose higher and higher into a crescendo, filling the air with unearthly vibrations. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck rose as they wove magic into their words and danced around the pyres. Raising her pale arms above her head, the High Priestess looked past her fingertips toward the chilly blue sky, her voice directed at the heavens. A sudden gust of wind blasted the courtyard as she screamed, her white dress billowing behind her, the gale stinging my eyes. Squinting against the bitter wind, I continued to watch thehauntingly beautiful dance unfold in front of me, unable to tear my eyes from the young females’ writhing forms.
The High Priestess snapped her arms to the side, and the wind died as quickly as it lived. Silence filled the still air, a heaviness settling over the crowd like an invisible fog. A chill wracked my body, and it was not only from the cold winter morning.
At the altar, the High Priestess’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she began to shake. I never believed that the Goddess entered their bodies, but I wasn’t about to tell her that, especially after the huge favor she had done for us. Her shakes ceased, and she turned her face to the paled crowd in front of her, opening her mouth wide to speak.
