The whole village was already there. People stood in small groups, some holding candles, others clutching flowers. I saw Mrs. Holt standing with her hands clutched in front of her, next to Isak’s parents. Idalie was there too.
She stepped forward and walked to the graves, carrying two white roses. There were headstones by the head of the graves, rough and uneven and gray, names yet to be carved. She knelt and placed a rose on each one, sniffling her tears. A moment later, someone else placed one down. Then another. One by one, white roses began to appear across the graves. Quiet offerings. Quiet grief.
And me—
I had the heart. The one Isak carved for Einar years earlier.
The one that saidalways yours.
I knelt and set it down in the dirt.
I didn’t say anything. There were no words for how I felt. How lost I was without him. I hoped that if there was a life after this one, he’dfind Isak there. And that this time, they could love each other without fear.
In the middle of the cemetery stood the statue of Vheris—the goddess of life and death. Her arms were stretched open, welcoming the dead back home. Moss grew thick around her feet, and ivy wrapped around her like a shroud.
My mother had told me all about her. About all the gods. She said Vheris created life itself. That she held us when we were born, and again when we died. She didn’t judge. Didn’t punish. Vheris remembered. She grieved and she forgave.
If any god was real, I hoped it was her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I thought the village would fall apart after Will and the rest left. I kept waiting for Arche to show up at the bakery again. For soldiers to swarm the streets, drunk on power. I expected screams and shouts and blood.
But none of that happened.
Jorek had been right. For some reason, the Eredian soldiers had pulled back. Maybe they’d all gone to that celebration Arche mentioned. The promotion ceremony. Arche had said something about getting promoted, hadn’t he? Of course he’d be there, standing tall, back straight, smiling like he deserved it. Soaking up applause while someone draped a gleaming medal around his neck.
Without the soldiers around, we could breathe again. On my way to the bakery I heard laughter, real laughter. And I heard women talking about their sons who had run off to join the rebellion.
They were proud, their eyes shone when they said their names.
After the wake, everything had felt just a little lighter. Not better. Not really. But something had shifted.
I saw it in my parents too. Not peace, but something close to it. Acceptance maybe.
My mother hummed as she hung the laundry, a lullaby I didn’t even know she still remembered. And my father was fixing the barn door when I left for work. He hadn’t spoken in days, but he’d found a hammer. It was good enough. It was something.
I wanted to believe we were healing.
For the first time in weeks, I let myself believe that Will would come home. The Wardens would win, and free us from King Devore, and from the Vultures picking at what was left.
Theyhadto.
“They’ll get what’s coming to them,” Mrs. Holt muttered as we worked side by side, folding thin slices of apple into dough.
Not bread for once. Pastries.
“If the gods are good,” I murmured.
“The gods aren’t good,” she said. “But they’ll get what’s coming anyway.”
I didn’t argue, just kept working.
We filled the shop with warmth, cinnamon, sugar and butter crackling in the oven. Customers came and went with sticky fingers and full bags, the air rich with sweetness and something like peace.
And then it hit.
A sound like thunder split the air.
