injured, the inability to face your own clan was deemed a weakness. That was reason enough for a forceful transition.
Right then, I fully realized the danger I left her in while I was too weak to protect her. I needed to see her, now.
“Speaking of the clan warriors, people are gathered in the assembly hall. They want to see milady, and you, of course.”
He said it in a way that showed that he was not one of those people. I released his shirt, the view of the crumpled fabric satisfied me.
“The pyres come first.”
“But—”
“Tell the clan elders, I will be joining them.” With those words, I walked down the corridor.
Servants were finishing up filling the bathtub and serving a meal for two when I entered our room. Alina was sleeping in the chair, her knees up, as if trying to protect herself in her sleep. I dismissed the servants and locked the door behind them, then I approached her. My woman, my mate. She wrinkled her forehead, her eyebrows furrowed, reminding me just how much she had to face in the last few days. I touched her shoulder, but she did not wake up.
Carefully, I lifted her up and placed her on the covers. Slowly, I removed her boots and unbuttoned her flying suit. She had the most narrow waist I had ever seen of any woman. Her thin, nearly see through, top barely concealed the lines of her shoulders and the gorgeous peaks of her breasts. My eyes followed along the slight curve of her hips and down her long legs. If I had one artistic bone in my body, I would want to draw her, just to remember every line, every tiny freckle she disliked, but I happened to love.
Alina sighed and rolled to her side. I covered her with a blanket and brushed away a lock of her hair.
Flames reached up into the sky and the somber notes of the ceremonial song, thickened with smoke and chanting, filled the air. The night belonged to the spirits as dragonborns stood, their heads bowed, whispering the words our ancestors used to see us off on our final flight. The elders used to say that dragonborns did not go where humans went, we had different paths in the afterlife. Our souls lifted up into the air, so our bodies could not be claimed by the soil or water. That was the way to the dragon gods, through the gray clouds above the sleeping valleys. Although, I have heard there were tribes in the south that believed dragonborns came from the three seas, but they lived far beyond the borders of Talman, in the forgotten lands of Thalyth.
I shifted my gaze to the tallest platform, under the white cloth laid Hanoch, the brother I never truly knew. His widow, and their many children, were now my responsibility. I had to step into the role as the head of their family, even if I never knew what it was like to have one.
Hanoch’s widow approached me, offering an unlit torch. It was tradition that the closest remaining relative or friend would light the pyre, but she could not do it. I took it from her shaking hands and she immediately dropped to her knees, hugging her children. I remained rooted to my spot, watching them. It was not just the loss of life, it was a tragedy of an unimaginable degree for the entire family. Something that was impossible to recover from.
Slowly, I stepped to the carefully staked, wooden structure and blew on the torch. The burst of light blinded me for a moment, and the strong smell of burning tallow hit my face. I clenched my jaw, lowering the torch. A bright red wall ignited upward, swallowing the body.
A muffled scream broke the silence, but I could not take my eyes off the wild dance of the flames.
When the ceremony was over, I moved toward the castle following the path of the lit torches. Many elders and warriors from the defeated clans remained in Darragh, expecting to see their new leader, and were unsure about what to expect next. At the very top of the hierarchy was an emptiness that brought fear and uncertainty to the hearts and minds of many.
I used to dream about taking charge of the clan. Back then, taking over my mother’s position seemed to be the answer to everything. I knew I could do a better job. I wanted to improve the lives of others. But, being twenty years older, I could finally understand everything I was not able to before. Sometimes good and evil were so closely intertwined that there was no way of distinguishing between them.
I went up two more floors and moved through the crowd of people who had gathered in a wide, partially lit room with several candle chandeliers close to the ceiling, and rows of sturdy wooden tables that faced a raised platform.
In the center of it stood a chair made out of obsidian, and darkened steel. Its sharp edges used to frighten me when I was a child, they looked like the claws of a raging monster that was only pretending to stay still. The throne symbolized my mother’s unlimited power over me, over everyone I knew. I paused, just staring at it. I could still see my mother sitting there with her manic, unfocused eyes. Against all odds, the third son was about to rule from a throne that was purposely kept from him, per the wishes of his parents.
All sounds in the room ceased, every pair of dragonborn eyes were watching me. I went up the stairs, and for a moment, my hand stilled on the surface of the obsidian armrest. The material was warm to the touch, it felt like it had been waiting for me all this time. If I took the seat, there would be no going back. My life, as I knew it, would be over. The livelihood of several cities and dozens of villages, and the lives of thousands of people and dragonborns would depend on me. I clenched my jaw and lowered myself on the throne. Its hard shape molded around my body like I was a part of it, as if it had always belonged to me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FRID
Imoved my sword, tightly gripping its handle. The unbearably bright light shined right into my eyes and I was unable to shield myself from it. I could feel the sticky cold sweat on my back and forehead, but even despite the heat, my limbs were shaking. Both the men and women had long hair and wore loose, light colored linen clothes that were too clean and well made to belong in the wastelands. All of them had smooth, healthy, tanned skin that looked nothing like being over exposed to the sun. The spears they pointed at us were made out of cured wood that was twisted into a sharp point at the end.
“You trespassed onto our territory,” one of the women announced in a loud and clear voice.
Her accent was hardly distinguishable and was softer, more melodic than what I was used to hearing in Darragh. Her voice was low, husky, but incredibly pleasant to the ear.
“What?” I blinked, staring at the edge of the spear.
“You are not welcomed on the sacred land,” the same woman continued.
Her long, smooth, black hair looked like it was tirelessly brushed until every lock fell into place.
“We mean no harm. We were only looking for some water.” Victor explained, his hands still raised in the air.
The woman with black hair peeked at him, ignoring his words. Her gaze returned to me.
