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“Nel,” Valdus tries again.
I shut him away. I shut everything away. Despite my throat burning with unshed tears, I grip Lara’s hand with all the strength I have, praying to Livith not to take her. Not yet.
Valdus pries my fingers away and pulls me into his arms. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to know that she’s gone. And that it’s all my fault.
32
Each of Inara’s steps ricochet from the walls of the room plunged into a dead silence. A counter is crumbling under Valdus’s fingers where he leans heavily on it. Numair’s gaze is yet to leave the tattoo of a ring he rubs over and over again. I’m clutching my head in my hands, having slid down a wall an eternity ago to sit on the floor.
“My dear girl.” Inara stumbles the last few steps, wrapping her hands around Lara’s and putting a motherly kiss on the bloodied fingers. “Valdus, bring me some heated water. Neylan, fetch some towels.”
Neither of us moves, and only Numair seems to have heard Inara speak. His gaze is empty, his voice hollow. “What will that ever do?”
“We have to let her join Livith. To let her find peace.”
Numair presses his lips, shakes his head, and marches out of the house without a word uttered.
“He needs someone,” Inara says to Valdus. “Don’t let him go through this alone.”
It’s only the two of us left tending to Lara’s body. No matter how much I want to disappear, I force myself to help. That’s what Lara would have done for me, and that’s the only thing I can do to repay all her kindness.
We untangle knots in her hair, wash away blood caking her skin, and dress her in a kaftan of pure white. My eyes prickle, but I can’t spill a tear. The void of pain and grief spreads to every last corner of my body and mind. I’m just following Inara’s orders until we are done, and Lara lies perfectly still. No agony mars her features. She’s just asleep. I’m hoping she’ll wake up when I press her hand. Yet she doesn’t. No matter how many times I try as three days and nights waltz by in a silent vigil.
News of Lara’s death had spread through The Broken Sands. The guards have retreated to the household in wait for reinforcements, and none hinder our procession to the outskirts of the city, where Izod and Damen add the last layers of fuel to the ceremonial pyre built over a circle of charred stones. Valdus, his arms crossed over his chest, stands next to Numair. Tension between them is so thick, I wonder if this funeral will end in a fight.
Valdus finally drops his hands. “Everyone always assumes that I know too little,” he says as a continuation of a conversation that started long before we arrived.
“How long?”
“Long enough.” Valdus drops his hands. “Do you know how it feels when you know that your brother looks you in the eye and lies?”
Anything Numair has to say gets taken away from his lips as he sees Lara being carried to a stone pedestal. Trinkets from her life form a circle around her. Even a blooming flower from the greenhouse has found its way into a woven circle following her life, and only her parents’ presence is missing.
“Today is not the day to set right all wrongs,” Valdus adds, pressing Numair’s shoulder. “Today is the day we grieve one of ours who lost her life to the common enemy we face.”
Running his fingers over the fine black line of ink on his finger, Numair’s answer is a curt nod. He picks up a torch from Damen and brings it closer to Lara’s body. The flames lap her kaftan, ready to set it in a fury of fire when a storm of a different kind makes him falter.
The wind carries a distant clank of armor to our ears. At the head of the raid, Rev walks with his features sharper than the blades on his belt.
Valdus appears at my side, as if out of thin air. He grabs my hand, pulling me behind him. “Whatever happens,” he says. “Don’t let him see your eyes.”
I barely have enough time to nod before Rev’s voice pierces the air. “The guards will shoot anyone who does anything to obstruct our mission here.”
“Which is?” Numair growls.
“Put that torch down, will you?”
“I won’t do that until you answer my question.”
Rev looks at him with disgust dripping from his dark features. “A note was delivered to Governor Warren today. News that will quench any revolt you want to instigate.” Rev throws his shoulders back and glares at them all, aware that he doesn’t need any weapon to instill fear in the hearts of the people of this town. My father should be proud. He has trained his puppet well. “Drop that torch or we’ll take you as well.”
“As well as who?” Numair asks, but throws the torch down.
“My guard hasn’t shot down a civilian, but a rebel.”
Curses threaten to burst from my lips. What has started as anger has long ago turned into loathing, and I can’t believe that there was a time I saw Rev as anything but a vile creature.
Valdus presses my hand as if hearing my thoughts, but I don’t need him to tell me to sit this one out. Not when I see who Rev has brought.
