Page 129 of Shadows and Roses

"Thank you, Octavius. Extend my gratitude to Master Reivyath. Please release the body for the funeral."

The funeral would be in the Silver Briars, and they'd already made it clear she was not welcome. She'd sent her regrets to Damon and the rebel captains. They'd declined to see her. At least they had not refused Castien's presence.

Castien. Every time he stepped back or around a corner when she was near, her heart fell. She knew this phase of healing wasn't unusual or even prolonged. His progress was remarkable, in fact. It didn't make her want less, hope for less. But if she pushed too soon, she could push him away. She wouldn't risk that.

Castien

The funeral was a dreary affair. It was nearly summer, but rain recalled a chillier time of theyear. A light drizzle continued throughout the journey, drawing a dark cloud over an already grim gathering.

Damon was restless. Castien set his tent between Damon and Jerrl, often hearing their troubled nights. While Jerrl silently cried himself to sleep, Damon twisted and turned, mumbling in his dreams if he managed to sleep, or leaving his tent if he couldn’t. During the day, he was quick to anger, snapping at the smallest irritation. He rubbed his bandaged hands, ripping off the cloth when it became soaked and dirty.

The day of the event dawned on the wet and miserable group. The tree cover was only moderately better than the open plains. Now that they had to walk, their boots gathered mud as they squished through the undergrowth, slowly soaking their feet.

They picked a beautiful and large willow tree as the burial site, its trunk at least the width of an average person’s arms’ span, its branches drooping over a space large enough for multiple tents. Jerrl dug until he was exhausted. He’d finally run out of tears, but this day, he refused to eat.

Damon’s anger vanished around Jerrl. He would talk and talk about nothing—how the forest might've looked when the tree was a sapling, how the rain sparkled on every leaf, how the water made rivers and streams out of the mud. His voice soothed all of them, even Jerrl somewhat.

When it came time to place Kevam's ashes in the earth, they gathered around the tree and began to speak, one at a time, until they each ran out of words. Jerrl sprinkled the first handful of wet dirt over the tightly wrapped body. He knelt then, staring into the pit while everyone tossed in a bit of soil, waiting while they took turns filling in the hole. He found his tears again when the earth was flat, the pit gone.

From the earth, may you rise.

May your soul seek the stars.

Watch over us for eternity.

From the sky, be with us.

Damon's restless anger disappeared when they stepped onto the palace grounds. It was a jarring change—the grieving, irritable man became a charming, arrogant lord. Castien reminded them all that the Inner Circle's healers were just as good with grief and trauma as they were with broken bones. Damon seemed to ignore the suggestion, while Jerrl took as much of Octavius’ time as the healer could spare.

Chapter 36

Castien

Damon opened the door to his apartments, gesturing for Castien to enter. Dirt flicked from his hand, and in his other hand was a trowel. Castien took it as a sign of recovery. Gardening was good for the soul.

"Castien. You know, sometimes I look up and expect to see Kevam walk through that door or around the corner. It's slightly terrifying."

His friend snatched a wine cup. Unfortunately, Damon also often took to drinking now, at least in private.

There was a book on the table. Castien glanced at it while Damon poured.A Chronicle of Kings and Emperors.

Odd. Kings and emperors. Both ancient, dead words. He raised an eyebrow. "Reading fairy tales?"

"History," Damon replied. He shrugged at Castien's incredulous pause. "Or so the author claims. Kings ruled a thousand years ago, and he writes about a line of emperors from another land far beyond the seas."

"Sounds like a fairy tale. Did they fly and have magical powers?"

Damon scowled. "Is it so ridiculous to imagine that men once ruled?"

A bit, but it looked like Damon was going to argue, and this was not why he was here.

Castien shrugged. "I suppose not. We have dukes and counts, why not a… king." The word always sounded strange. "How are you doing, Damon?" He glanced at the bottle of wine.

Damon's scowl darkened. "Who's asking? Is the Queen worried I'll talk too much when I drink?"

"Anais' said nothing. I'm concerned, Damon. Your friends are worried."

"And they sentyou? You hardly know me anymore," he scoffed.

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