Page 47 of Wild Flame

Unconsciously, I stroked at my hand where the wound had been. It was already healed, thanks to that magical salve.

We stood there for several moments before I glanced at Zara. She had been uncharacteristically quiet beside me and had tears in her eyes. I knew they were not just for the devastating scene around us.

“Zara,” I murmured sympathetically.

“Sorry,” she apologized, wiping at her eyes. “It’s just all of this . . .” she gestured around us, “and it beingtodayand all. I can’t seem to hold it together.”

“Would you like to sit for a moment?” I asked, motioning to the knee-high pedestal at the base of the statue. “No one will be expecting us at the palace for several hours yet.”

She took a bracing breath and nodded, so we both sat.

Mesmera, who up until that point had been flying in the air above us in her minor form, swooped down and landed on her rider’s shoulder. She nuzzled Zara’s cheek and made a soft trilling sound. Zara gave her dragon a watery smile and stroked her small snout. “I’m all right, Mes,” she whispered. She made a humorless sound. “I promise I will get a handle on these tears before we go back. We can’t have a princess blubbering in front of her people, now can we?” She inhaled sharply in that way people did when they had been crying too hard for too long. “At least . . . that’s what my mother says.”

It sounded like something my mother would have said as well. Though her reprimand would have likely been harsher. I reached over and clasped Zara’s hand, and I couldn’t help but think she was heartbreakingly beautiful even when she had tears in her eyes. She would be a stunning woman one day.

“Grief is not something to be ashamed of, and it cannot be held back,” I said with a weak smile. “So, cry all you want. I won’t tell.” I squeezed her hand. “And besides, today is your day of mourning, so tears are allowed.”

She gave me a grateful smile in return and wiped away another tear. She gazed briefly at the street around us. Her voice was a little stronger when she spoke again. “You told me before that your people mourn your dead.”

I nodded. “We do.”

“What are some of your traditions?”

“There is a period of mourning where we wear black and no rich foods are eaten, only simple fare. And in the case of a king or another public figure, no weddings or celebrations are held. Lamenting processions where people wail or cry publicly are sometimes held.” I paused. “We also sing.”

“You do?”

“It is most often mournful music, laments, or songs that tell a tale of loss,” I explained, “but some are truly beautiful.”

Zara stared down at her hands. “I should like to hear that one day. We have nothing of the like.”

At her statement, I glanced around. There were a few more people about than when we first arrived, but thanks to the guards, most of them seemed content to give us our privacy.

Nerves assailed me at my sudden idea, but then I took in Zara’s grief-stricken face and thought of the little flower girl whose name I didn’t even know. A sweet spirit whose life had been cut short.

I could do this for them.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I took a deep breath. Then I opened my mouth and began to sing. My voice carried in the quiet morning air, crisp and clear. As I sang the first sorrowful line, I felt Zara turn to me in surprise, but I didn’t open my eyes.

I got lost in the feel of the music as I wove the tale of the woman and the lover she had lost. It was a song of grief and pain, and I couldn’t help but think of all those who had died. I thought of the old man we found in the rubble, Zara’s grief over her father, and even Sura and Malik’s distress over not understanding what Ramin had done, and I wove it all into the song. I let the emotion pour out of me into every note. The lyrics were in old Halmarish, so no one here would likely understand the words, but I hoped I conveyed the emotion behind it, and that some part of them would.

I swallowed hard as I brought the song to a close and the final haunting note echoed through the street around us. I opened my eyes in the silence that followed and was shocked to find we had collected quite an audience while I sang. Several dozen people now stood around the street, watching me, and as I glanced around, I saw several tears being wiped from glistening eyes. Others wore expressions of sorrow, while still others gave me a soft or grateful smile when I met their gaze. Even our guards stared at me with a quiet reverence.

I tried not to show the wave of self-consciousness that suddenly overtook me. Choosing not to face all those weighted stares, I turned to Zara and her tiny dragon instead. Zara had tears streaming down her face as well, but thankfully all she did was squeeze my hand with gratitude burning in her eyes.

An elegantly appointed horse-drawn wagon carried King Nazeem’s intricately carved stone coffin at the head of our procession. The rest of the royal family walked closely behind, followed by a much larger group made up of the Zehvitian courtiers as well as any personally invited guests—such as myself, Nilfren, Leif, and the other foreign delegates.

As we walked the stone streets of Taveran, winding our way through the city, street after street, I was amazed at how quiet the crowds of people that lined the roads were. They were so different from the joyful people I had become accustomed to seeing night after night during the celebrations. Now, hardly a word was uttered as we passed, save for the occasional hushing of a child or the rustle of clothing or shift in movement.

Everyone either wore all white—like all those in the procession—or some form of white. If not a piece of clothing, then a ribbonor scarf or veil. Many wore sashes around their waists or tied to their garments. I wore a simple white gown trimmed in silver. Hilde had dug it out of the bottom of one of my trunks when I explained to her that I couldn’t wear the black gown she had laid out for me. The last thing I wanted to do on today of all days was offend everyone in sight.

Every face was solemn as they watched us pass. Some wept openly while others showed little emotion at all. Their dark gazes riveted on the coffin and then their new king, who was stone-faced next to his siblings. Amir’s expression was just as blank as his brother’s, while Zara kept dashing silent tears from her cheeks. I fought the urge to go and wrap my arms around her. The queen also looked appropriately solemn, though no tears fell from her eyes.

I knew from my reading that today was the only time public mourning was considered acceptable as I had pointed out to Zara earlier. It was honestly a relief to finally see people around me sharing in and showing their grief and sadness as I was accustomed to.

Many people cast white flower petals in our way as we passed, and the ground was soon covered with them. I felt as if I was back home walking over the snowy ground of a Halmarish winter. Though it was definitely not winter. The day had been cooler than normal, though still quite warm, but it was now late evening and there was a slight breeze. For once, I wasn’t uncomfortable in my heavy skirts.

We walked for what felt like hours in the procession as the sun set around us and finally reached our destination just as dusk fell over the city. Standing torches were lit along either side of our path and illuminated the massive stone edifices as we passed under a gated stone archway and entered the ancient cemetery.

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