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Chapter1
A Funeral For The Masses
ANTONIO
The city hall was arguably the heart of Cuidad de Rubíes. It housed the most important moments of my life. My Campeón ceremony happened here, both my parents and I had been married here, and then it became the place where I mourned both my father’s and Beleza’s deaths. Every important event for every important person in Arrebol happened within these four walls.
I shouldn’t hate it, but I did. This place represented everything I had never wanted thrust upon me.
Even now, the cold stone walls seemed to close in on me, dimly lit by the flickering candles that lined the room. I never liked this place, and I liked it even less as I worried about Carmen's safety. Though she was not near me, she was an undeniable presence in my mind as I watched the service for Martina de León.
The city hall rang with the sound of muffled weeping as those present mourned the loss of a woman who had been respected, but disliked.
The funeral customs in Arrebol were elaborate, steeped in tradition, and the room was filled with mourners wearing somber expressions as they paid their respects to the deceased woman. A carving of the Familia Real watched it all, and I wondered if somehow their spirits truly lived on through their likenesses all around us. The air was heavy with the scent of burning sage and rose petals, swirling together in a bittersweet dance that reminded me of the delicate nature of life itself.
A row of white-cloaked Artistas stood before the podium, their faces hidden beneath veils as they hummed the haunting melody of the canción de duelo. A large portrait of Martina de León loomed over them, her eyes seeming to pierce through the veil between worlds. In front of the painting lay an elaborate casket adorned with intricate carvings and symbols, each one representing a different aspect of the afterlife.
“Señor Castillas,” whispered a familiar voice beside me. I turned to see Manuel, the bodyguard I’d hired for Carmen. “We cannot find her anywhere.”
I took a deep breath. My mind raced with thoughts of what might have happened to her, and the possibilities overpowered my senses. I rubbed my face.
I didn’t enjoy feeling this much.
“Keep looking,” I replied harshly, and went back to watching the procession. A plañidera stepped forward, her face a mask of sorrow beneath the black veil that covered her head. Her voice trembled as she spoke, and I could see she was an expert mourner by the ease with which she spoke of a woman she didn’t know. "Martina de León was a beacon of light in our lives. She brought joy and laughter wherever she went, and her passing has left us all bereft."
The mournful wail of the plañidera's artistic words echoed throughout the chamber, and I turned my attention to Isaac, Martina’s son. He had been badly wounded the night she died, but the Canciller had found him before he reached hibernation.
His demeanor changed as he listened to the woman. His eyes, once green and vibrant like the first leaves of spring, were now clouded with a heavy sadness. The corners of his mouth turned downward, and his gaze never wavered from the decorative urn holding the ashen remains of his mother.
"Martina was a loving wife, mother, and sister," the plañidera continued, her voice still a haunting melody. "Her presence was a gift we can never replace, and her memory will live on in our hearts forevermore."
A bitter taste exploded in my mouth. Isaac was trouble. He had hurt Carmen.
Isaac's body tensed as he clenched his fists, knuckles turning white with the intensity of his emotion. He took a deep breath, struggling to maintain composure as his shoulders shook with barely suppressed sobs.
Martina's husband, Señor Monroy, cousin to the Canciller’s wife, stood next to Isaac, his own face etched with lines of despair. When the plañidera's song reached its crescendo, he whispered softly, kissing his fingers and raising them into the air.
"May Martina's spirit find peace and solace in the embrace of los volcanes sagrados,” the plañidera concluded, her last words hanging in the air like a benediction. The heavily decorated woman wailed loudly, and another joined her. Her tears were thick, and reminded me too much of Beleza’s funeral.
My thoughts returned to Carmen. Her disappearance still loomed over me like an oppressive storm cloud, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for thinking about her during this somber occasion.
Canciller Duarte stepped forward, his stooped form casting a long shadow over the somber gathering. His voice was gravelly and heavy with authority as he addressed the mourners. "Citizens of Arrebol. We stand here today to bid farewell to Martina de León, a beloved member of our society."
"Her sudden and tragic passing has left us all shaken," he continued, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Since a mere heart attack was enough to bring down one of us with such power, it makes one feel their mortality. We have this gift, and yet, it does not make us immortal.”
A shiver ran down my spine as his words sank in, and my fists clenched at my sides. I knew him well, had been his pawn before in his own desire to preserve someone else’s life at the expense of another. My throat tightened with rage at the thought of things I had done. What I might have to do in the future.
I took a deep breath. I needed to get my emotions under control.
The Canciller had made me be Carmen’s mentor, just like he’d made me marry his daughter.
"Furthermore," Duarte went on, "we must consider the implications of this tragedy on the upcoming Blood Tournament. Losing one of our most esteemed Élites is not only a blow to our morale, but a disruption to the very core of our traditions."
I could see the worry etched into the lines of his face, but I couldn't bring myself to care about the Blood Tournament. All I wanted was to find Carmen and protect her from whatever dangers awaited her within the city walls.
"Rest assured,” the Canciller pronounced, his tone firm, "that our traditions are the beacons that lead us home to unity and peace. I speak now to Isaac.” He turned at the pulpit, putting his full attention on a young man who seemed to feel nothing. “May you find greater value in this tournament, knowing that your mother would want you to win.”
As the crowd murmured in agreement, my heartbeat thundered in my ears. Winning was a double-edged sword—sure, the money was nice. It was almost amusing to see the anger and uproar when properties were redistributed. But just like the wealth and the land, we all belonged to the commonwealth.
