Page 14 of The Flame King's Queen

“You don’t,” I tell him with a smile. “They’re gone forever.”

“Your mother would be happy to know that they’re no longer keeping you captive in one of their monasteries,” Dad replies.

The smile fades from my face. “Yes, she would. I wish I could have seen her one last time so I could tell her that myself.”

“May we see where they are buried?” Anise asks quietly. “I would like to say goodbye to Ma and Waylen.”

There’s a spasm of pain in my chest. I should have thought of Dad and Anise before deciding what to do with their bodies. In our village, we used to bury our dead and place offerings on our loved ones’ graves, but Ma and Waylen were given dragon rites instead, their bodies burned, and the ashes and sparks beaten by dragon wings and blown up into the heavens.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t. All the villagers who were killed are in the skies.” They both look confused, and I explain about Maledinni last rites. When I’m finished, I feel like there’s a stone laying heavy on my chest. I’ve betrayed them by acting so thoughtlessly.

“So you’re saying Chrissa and Waylen are…everywhere now?” Dad asks, glancing toward the sky that’s visible through doors to the Great Hall. Anise lifts her chin and looks with him.

My throat tight with grief, I nod. “Forever flying. That’s what the Maledinni say. The dead aren’t gone. They’re everywhere around us.”

Dad thinks for a moment. “It’s hard on us, not being able to stand in a spot to pray for them, but Chrissa never liked dark places. She must like this better than being in the ground.”

Anise reaches for his hand and squeezes it, tears in her eyes. “You’re right, and Waylen must like it too. I think he would have loved dragons.”

It doesn’t feel right that Dad and Anise don’t get to partake in some kind of ritual to grieve for our loved ones.

“There is a place where we can go,” I offer. “The Flame Temple. Can I show you how the Maledinni pay their respects to the dead?”

Dad agrees, but then tells me to wait a moment as he wishes to invite the other villagers to come with us. I watch him moving among them, spreading the word that their loved ones who were killed because they possessed Maledinni blood can be honored and remembered in the Maledinni way. I was afraid that I might see disinterest or even disgust on the villagers’ faces, and that they might not want to learn Maledinni traditions, but Dad has a quiet and kind way of explaining things to them. Many of the villagers assemble by the doors to the Great Hall, faces gray with shock and grief, but they want and need to do something to honor their dead.

My eyes are wet with tears as I lead them through the castle to the temple made of black stone. As we approach the door, I see the astonished Temple Crone in her scarlet robes coming forward to find out why so many strangers have come to the temple.

“The villagers of western Maledin wish to remember our dead,” I explain. “I was hoping that the Temple Mothers might show them how it is done.”

The Temple Crone steps back, bowing her head reverently to welcome the villagers. “We are honored. Please, come inside.”

7

Zabriel

Ithink I must sleep for several hours, or perhaps several days, and all the while, the Temple Mothers’ potions work their way into my bones and help them heal. It is painful to have your bones knitted back together at such speed, and I awaken covered in sweat with an ache in my chest and a sensation like pins and needles in my flesh.

I have barely opened my eyes when there is a Temple Maiden at my elbow holding a flask to my lips. “For your pain and healing,Ma’len.”

I drink down the offered tincture, and as I lay back down, the pain recedes enough to allow for the murmur of voices to fill my ears.

“What is that sound I hear below?”

“The villagers from western Maledin have been coming every day to honor their dead,” the maid explains. “They are burning knot grass and praying for their loved ones.”

I sigh and lay back on the pillows, filled with sadness for Isavelle and the villagers. I should have been able to protect the villagers of western Maledin, but instead, they were slaughtered before my eyes. I wonder how I am going to face my mate’s father and sister knowing that I failed their family and friends.

After laying there, smelling the fragrant smoke of the burning knot grass and listening to the prayers from below, I hear soft footsteps approaching me. It’s Isavelle, and she wraps her arms carefully around my shoulders.

“The villagers. When I’m back on my feet, I will tell them I’m sorry.”

“It’s Emmeric who needs to be sorry,” she says and kisses my cheek. “What you need to do, and what I need to do, is to never give up trying to make Maledin a safe home for everyone.”

“I can be strong with you by my side,sha’lenla.” I glance over her shoulder toward a Temple Maiden. “Will you please fetch something from my rooms? I wish to feel like a king once more, not an invalid.”

“Of course,Ma’len.”

A few minutes later, under the Temple Crone’s disapproving gaze, I’m leaning on Dusan and Fiala for support while Isavelle helps me into my robe and ties it around my waist. It feels good to be back in my own clothes, and I’m going back to my own bed.

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