Page 99 of Where Broken Wings Fly

Which was why I stumbled away.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay.” My bottom lip trembling, I nodded at him. “It’s okay. It’s just… I’m leaving soon.”

That wasn’t the entirety of what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was that I didn’t want to wake up everyday and feel ghostly lips against mine. I didn’t want to be at the clinic and feel a breeze tickle at my chin just as his hand did. I didn’t want to live with the reminder of him in a mind that couldn’t remember him.

“Right—” He nodded, his brows pinching ever so slightly as he offered me the bend of his arm. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

~

At least Niamh hadn’t been lying. The funeral rites were definitely not what I was used to.

The pixies of Choilltean spared no expense —not that they had such things as expenses — in the grandeur of the event. The sight of the castle of Choilltean even contested the brilliance of the Beltane Ball, which I never thought would have been possible.

Bodies flitted through the halls of the castle as Killian led me, fireflies buzzing around our heads and ivy swinging on the walls. Gowns were worn, long stretches of elegant material and well-tamed hair, sparkling powders dabbed onto faces and kohl lining their eyes. The major difference between the funeral and the Beltane Ball, though, was that the only pixies present were from Choilltean. Only curled down ears, dark hair, and haunting eyes could be seen on the walk from my chambers to the throne room.

The excellence continued into the throne room. A feast had been erected on both sides, meats and fruits and vegetables all thoroughly spiced and seasoned, the smell soaring into my nose before my eyes even found the tables. Between the bowls and plates and basins were hundreds, possibly thousands, of goblets of nectar. That was where I found Raegan and Shea, chatting to themselves as they pressed the clayed cups to their lips.

“It’s incredibly disgusting,” Shea huffed as Killian and I reached them, Niamh appearing only seconds later.

“It’s incredible,” Raegan purred as he taunted Shea, earning him a swat in his direction that he ducked under and chuckled to himself.

“Is he doing it again?” Niamh asked before pretending to gag.

“Doing what?” I laughed along with them, their wide smiles and gleaming eyes.

“This freak—” Shea rolled her eyes as she hooked a thumb at Raegan, “—spices everything with cayenne.”

I glanced down at his nectar and winced. “Like… everything?”

Raegan held my eye contact as he took a pinch of the red powder and sprinkled it into his drink. I didn’t even have to pretend to gag, the convulsion ripped through my spine and I had to clench my jaw against the desire. They all burst into laughter just as Shea grabbed an apple from the table and tore into it with her sharpened fangs.

Conversation was floating from wall to wall as more and more pixies filtered in. The only space in the throne room that was left hauntingly empty was a large slab of rock, dead-center, that had something atop it where a sheet had been thrown across.

~

Killian and I moved from space to space, engaging in small-talk and light-chatter with the fair folk. Most of the time, I was staring at my boots beneath my dress and hoping that none of them would ask anything of me. Thankfully, it was few and far between that one of the pixies even noticed me at Killian’s side.

All discussion stopped when several large thuds echoed through the space, all eyes spinning to the source. Raegan was standing behind the stone-table, the Druid hovering over his shoulder wearing some odd draping-material that was solid black. Of everyone here, he looked to be the only one appropriately dressed for a funeral. A human funeral, though.

“People of Choilltean,” Raegan declared as he lifted his goblet and smacked against it with a stone a few more times. “Gather around, it is time to begin.”

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Bodies started moving, one at a time. But Killian shoved through them all, dragging me by the wrist, until we were on the inner-circle of the masses with Niamh and Shea at our sides. Both offered us awkward smiles that we tried to match, before the focus was on Raegan once more.

“Today, we lay to rest King Ronan Righ’Fiodh’ Rugadh. The Unwavering, some referred to him. The Balanced, others declared of him. King Ronan was ruthless, unyielding, and above all, head-strong.” Raegan’s eyes dropped, meeting mine in an instant. “But to me, he was one thing – my father. And I know what he would say if he were here to see this, ‘depart from me not with grief but with honour, for I died so that you all could live’.”

Raegan paused for an assortment of cheers, clapping, and terms of endearment.

“King Ronan Righ’Fiodh’Rugadh enters Mag Mell with honour, which is what he would have wanted. With him, he takes his sword and his shield, his crown and his pride.”

As he said it, the Druid stepped forward and yanked the sheet from the stone-slab, revealing the groomed and prepared King. Lay across his chest was, indeed, a sword, shield, and crown, all carved of stone.