From parchment and twine, she had fashioned provisions and laid them beside the woman’s head. A paper palanquin for when she grew weary on the road to the Gates of Heaven. A house so she might be mistress of her own home, beholden to no one. Ingots for bribing her way into her final rest.
Now, down by the mist-curled lake, she stood beside Lord Wulfbane with her hands folded into her sleeves. The woman lay atop the firewood, a small bundle of wildflowers—violet thistle, plum asters, a white daisy—resting against her chest. Tedric had brought them forward earlier.
‘’Tis a sorrow to send her off without blooms,’he’d said.‘If she were my sister, I’d hope some kind stranger would do at least as much.’
JingYi had accepted them with a grateful nod.‘They’re beautiful, Tedric. Thank you.’
The flame took slowly, then flared in a sudden rush. Heat washed over JingYi’s face, carrying the scent of burning wood, herbs, and scorched cloth. The wind stirred her skirt and veil. Behind her, the guards murmured prayers. Lord Wulfbane was silent, but his bearing was grim and respectful. JingYi said no words aloud. She’d spoken through the acts—the cleansing, the provisions, all done with care.
Death didn’t always require poetry. Sometimes it only needed a witness.
“She may not have died among her kin,” she said, “but at least her final departure is witnessed.”
His voice came low beside her. “You gave her more than most would have.”
“She deserved that much,” she replied, eyes never leaving the flames.
The fire crackled and hissed as the mist lifted, and the first edge of the sun began to rise. A gust of wind tugged at her sleeves, and a tiny ember spiralled into the air—carried upward, somewhere beyond reach. She followed its movement as it flew higher, higher.
The day her mother’s body burned was similar to this. Stripped of title, her mangled body had been dragged through the dust, bound in rough hemp and cast into the cremation pits meant for criminals and beggars. There’d been no offerings or incense, only the jeering of courtiers who’d once bowed at her feet.
No one had closed her mother’s eyes either. They’d been wide open, bloodshot and filled with tears.
Her stomach twisted, sleeves crushed in her fists. She forced her breath to stay steady and her spine straight.
She felt Lord Wulfbane’s eyes on her. “Are you alright?”
Woodenly, she nodded.
“Did you find any rest at all?” he asked.
“I might’ve dozed a little.”
Lightly, never deep enough. Sleep came hard when duty tugged at her mind, and the notion of returning to the carriage promised little relief.
From beyond the small crowd, she could feel those three hostile pairs of eyes on her. They stood cloistered in front of the treeline, holding perfumed kerchiefs to their faces. Not one of them had come forward to help or donate a small item for the ritual.
She looked up at Lord Wulfbane just as his gaze shifted toward her ladies-in-waiting. His brow furrowed, lips tightening into a disapproving line that sent a chill down her spine. He kept his thoughts to himself even as the men drifted back to camp, but his silence was a coiled restraint that felt more dangerous than any outburst.
He remained at her side as the pyre slowly consumed the woman’s form. The body blackened, curled, and sank into the wood with a collapse of flesh and bone.
“Two men will remain until the burning is completed,” he said. “With your leave, they’ll gather her ashes into an urn, bring it back to Parandor so we can keep it in trust, should her kin ever come.”
She looked up at him. “That is kind, Lord Wulfbane. Thank you.”
He inclined his head. As they stepped away from the fire, the first full rays of morning broke over the trees in soft gold. Around them, the camp stirred. Wheels creaked. Hooves struck earth. Voices rose as preparations were underway.
She walked beside him without looking back.
The dead had been honoured.
But the living still had far to go.
JingYi stepped into Conrad’s tent and found the boy seated on his bedroll, tugging on his boots, lips pulled back into a grimace. Pale and tousle-haired, he still managed a smile at her entrance.
“Your Highness is an early riser,” he commented. “You put even Blackwood-Veyrde’s finest soldiers to shame.”
Heat bloomed beneath JingYi’s veil despite herself. Lord Wulfbane’s ward clearly had a silver tongue, and if he had charm to spare for a woman like her this early, then his strength was returning faster than she thought.
