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And there was one, and only one, reason, for all of them to come to her at once.
“No, no, no—” She put her hands up to stop them and closed her eyes. “No! Fucking no!”
Next to her, the tower fell in a clatter.
“Don’t you say it, don’t you say it, don’t you say—”
She popped open her lids on the chance that maybe—maybe—she wasn’t seeing anything right. But the Brothers were crowding in, and behind them, out in the hall, the other fighters were clustered around: All of them, the Band of Bastards, those two angels… Lassiter, who was bleeding silver from a head wound.
There was a milling of the big bodies, a breaking of the crush, as someone came through them.
It was Tohr. And George was mincing with stress at his side, the golden panting hard.
That was not what she noticed most, however. What registered in her mind, with all the impact of a blow to the head… was Tohr’s dagger hand on George’s harness grip, the one thing, for all the petting the dog received from everybody, no one ever, ever, touched.
Beth fell forward onto all fours.
And screamed.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Three nights later…
The Tomb was the Black Dagger Brotherhood’s sanctum sanctorum, a place deep within the earth on the mansion’s mountain, a secret location where the ancient rituals and traditions of the membership could be carried out in private.
As Lassiter walked through the forest, he was part of an immense lineup of people.
Watching those ahead, and feeling the presence of those behind, he noted that the black robes were out again, and marveled at the swing of destiny. Happiness one moment… paralyzing grief and shocking loss the next.
Although he’d led the way in the topple, hadn’t he. And people thought Dhunhd was bad? The loss of the shellan that he’d barely felt like he’d had was, for him, the first death… the harbinger of the second that laid waste to all of the lives in the Brotherhood’s extended family.
And now they were here, everyone, servants and young as well, traipsing through the forest of the mountain, the scents of pine and mourning intertwining such that he doubted he would ever smell a conifer again and not think of this procession of black robes.
Then again, he was going to spend the rest of his interminable nights and days grieving. So what was one more association, really.
The foot travel ended at the camouflaged opening of a cave system, and there was a slow-up as the mourners waited to pass through the constriction. Everyone took their hood off as they entered—because it had been decided that anonymity didn’t set the right tone—and he did the same, pulling the cloth off his head as he stepped into a winding passageway that culminated in a meshed gate bolted into the rock.
No one was talking, and he was aware that rules were being broken here. In the past, no one but members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood were allowed in the Tomb. Tonight, though, it certainly felt as though the whole of the household had joined those hallowed ranks.
Grief had inducted them all.
After he stepped through the gate, which was being held open by Rhage, there was a long hall of empty, new-built shelves. He remembered when they had been filled with the jars of lessers, those trophies collected by members of the Brotherhood over centuries, the earliest ones imported on ships under sail from the Old Country.
The Omega had broken into them all on its last-gasp attempt to stay alive, consuming the bloodied hearts that had contained the dregs of his essence. After the infiltration, V and Butch had cleaned up the mess and rebuilt the setup.
Fresh start. For an old war.
Eventually, the great hall opened up to a tremendous, nearly arena-sized chamber that was lit by black candles and torches, and had a gradual descent to a stage-like platform with an altar on it. Behind the locus of worship and ceremony, a wall that was twenty feet tall and God only knew how long owned the focal point of the cave.
Countless names were carved in the stone.
Every one of the Brotherhood was listed, right up to the most recent addition to the membership, John Matthew.
As the solemn crowd filed in, instead of going to the front with them, Lassiter hung back, taking his place against the rear of the cave. In a way, all this sorrow fit his mood, and although he didn’t want the suffering for anyone, it did make things easier as he didn’t have to pretend to anybody that he was fine.
And no one had questioned Rahvyn’s absence, so consumed were they by the absolute tragedy.
Which was the only relief to be had for him.
As he wondered where she was, and prayed she was safe, he stared all the way down to the ancient skull that sat on the center of the altar. It was the first brother.
