And I’ll have to return to Kirrasia without her. And explain to Calix, my best friend, that I couldn’t keep his sister safe, eventhough he nearly lost his life trying to protect the woman I love for me.
The thud in my chest reminds me that I’ll carry that guilt for the rest of my life.
Darkness shrouds us, as if the night and Aslendrix know what’s to come and don’t wish to intrude. Two figures walk out of the shadows, carrying a bundle of material.
“We didn’t have anything red. Sorry,” Jensen remarks.
“It’s fine.” I take the neutral cotton sheet. With all my strength, I build my defences and barriers and block off all my emotions. I’m a Guard. We can manipulate others, so it shouldn’t be too hard to freeze my own feelings while I do this, to build a wall inside my mind, around my heart, to allow me to wrap her before burning her.
A traditional ceremony calls for the blood of an enemy, followed by the family’s blood to help carry her to her final resting place, with her chosen weapon, so she’ll always be protected, always be a Warrior.
I settle for the Ciro knife. She did this for me, and I can’t think of a more fitting mark of respect. It will still have Fenix’s blood on the blade. I pull her Transference ring from her hand to return to her family, take the knife, slice my palm and let a few drops fall to her chest. Finally, I place the Ciro knife in her hand.
With the preparations complete, I stand back, and mercifully, Jensen sets the stack of wood around her alight.
The flames flicker and glow, climbing up and over her body, and I have to remind myself that this won’t hurt her, that she’s already dead, and that this is the right and honourable next step. But inside I’m screaming. Anger and vengeance and guilt swirl and mix and drive me to move. To do something. But I lock those emotions away along with everything that happened at Fenix’s hand over the last few weeks.
If Crim hadn’t already killed him, I’d fear the reckless need to drive the blade into his chest again.
I stand in silence with Kalan and the other men, who until a few hours ago were complete strangers, as I send up my prayer and beg Aslendrix to watch over Crimson.
The smoke from the pyre still wafts far up into the sky as I finally give in to exhaustion.
“Aten. Aten, come on, lad.” The nudge of my knee stirs me, and my eyes snap open in a panic. I look around, not recognising my surroundings for a moment.
My back’s propped up against a tree trunk, the smouldering ash and embers from Crimson’s pyre a few yards ahead.
It was real.
This was all real.
“We’ll get supplies and set off. Shawn will travel to town with us and assist in booking our passage.” Kalan’s standing over me.
I don’t answer, only nod. I slip Crimson’s ring onto my little finger for safe-keeping and drag myself up and follow back into the house, stretching the muscles out from the uncomfortable vigil I’d taken. “Did you stay with her last night?” I check.
“Yes.”
“Any change?”
Kalan’s eyes slide away from mine.
I bypass the pleasantries and head straight to the back room where Ever is still asleep, or rather unconscious, on the bed.
She’s not moved. Her body is in the same position as when I left her last night.
I take a seat and lean forward, resting my head in my hands.
I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her after Crimson, or it will all be for nothing. Her death has to be for something. The Maker told me I’d have to choose a path—a journey—and I have. It can’t be for this.
Food. Water. Kalan deals with supplies, and I let him make the arrangements. But for this part of the trip, I’ll carry Ever.
She belongs with me. And as I wrap my arms around the back of her legs and lift her body, I hope there will be some sign, some energy, that tells me she’s coming back to us.
There isn’t.
The farther we travel, the more numb I grow.
I keep myself enclosed behind the fortress of barriers and blocks I’ve built in my mind, utilising every drop of magic to fortify them.
