Page 160 of Mother of Death and Dawn

Tonight was the Eve of Occassus, the largest celebration in Ela’Dar all year. Meajqa described it to me as a festival of death and rebirth, intended to celebrate the cycle of life and bring forth a new year. The night would begin with a ceremony to send off the dead and end with a feast to bring in new life.

“Along with all the other fun that entails!” Meajqa had said, with a sly smile and a pointed look. I did not understand what he meant and did not ask.

In some ways, it seemed strange to celebrate now. The casualties from Niraja had barely been laid to rest. The wounded were only just starting to heal. Even the shallowest of my own injuries had hardly begun to scab over.

And of course, we all knew it was only the beginning. I had tasted blood and I wanted more, and I knew I was not the only one who did. I had watched humans kill my people. We had allowed a terrible and powerful magic to slip from our grasp.

But with that defeat had also come victory. We had dealt a devastating blow to Ara’s forces. And we had reclaimed our own power—Ihad reclaimed my own power.

So perhaps I understood when Meajqa had said, “The dead should be mourned properly, and there is no greater collective mourning than the Eve of Occassus. And our victory should be celebrated properly, and there is no greater night of celebration, either.”

So even with our society in shambles, the festival went on.

“I, for one, expect this to be the best of our celebrations,” Meajqa continued. “Death is a powerful aphrodisiac, and it came closer than ever this week. Besides, if this war kills us, at least we will have had our fun before we go.” His smile stiffened in that way I could always recognize—when it shifted from something genuine to something forced. “During Occassus last year, I was locked up in that Aran bitch’s dungeon, getting my wing hacked off. I plan to enjoy this one to the fullest.”

He lifted his glass and took a long drink.

Luia eyed him, disapproval warring with concern. “You should slow down. You have scriptures to read.”

“I am perfectly fit for reading scriptures, thank you.”

I looked past Luia and Meajqa, to the empty hallway beyond them.

“Where is Caduan?” I had barely seen him since our return to Ela’Dar, save for a few brief appearances during which he seemed tired and disengaged.

“He has many required duties ahead of the festival,” Luia said, as we went to the door. “You’ll see him there.”

Meajqa again looked me up and down. “He’ll certainly be happy to see you,” he said, draining his glass.

* * *

The funeral was heldbeneath the moonlight at the edge of the palace grounds, where the rocks of the mountains met the forest. The entire area—grounds and city streets alike—had been cleared and meticulously decorated for the event, every inch of the walls covered in flowers and greeneries, bundled with silver fabric and filigreed decor.

Caduan and Meajqa stood by a stone platform, empty save for a small table at its center with a ceramic bowl upon it. The rest of us gathered around the stage, the crowd so thick that it sprawled out far into the streets of the city.

I stood close to the front with Luia and watched Caduan and Meajqa. Caduan’s clothing was comparatively simple compared to the elaborate outfits I had seen many wearing, and yet he managed to look more striking than any of them. He wore deep green and gold, his coat flawlessly fitted to the shape of his body, and a cape of bronze falling down his back. It matched the shade of his stag-horn crown, which he rarely wore but now sat upon waves of auburn hair looking as if it belonged nowhere else.

I wanted him to look at me—why did I want him to look at me?—but he didn’t acknowledge the crowd at all. He simply ascended the steps with Meajqa and turned his back to us, facing the forested hills and distant moon.

Meajqa held a large, leather-bound book in his hands, from which he began to read. He told a story about death, and all the things that death fueled in this world. I listened in fascination. But only a few lines into the speech, Meajqa’s voice faltered. The words blended together like running paint. He needed to stop, then start, then stop, then start again.

Warmth crawled up my neck as I watched him, ashamed on his behalf.

He glanced up at the crowd just once, for a split second, and he looked like an embarrassed child.

But there was not a hint of judgement in Caduan’s form as he calmly turned to Meajqa, laid a hand on his shoulder, took the book, and began to read.

Meajqa turned his back and faced the sky, hands clasped before him, and Caduan took up the verses. His voice was smooth and melodic, like the sound of the wind through the trees—a part of nature, speaking of natural things.

“Is he speaking to the gods?” I whispered to Luia.

She gave me a strange look. “The gods?”

“Is it prayer?”

“There are no gods, Aefe.” She said this as if it was obvious. “He is speaking tous.”

Caduan’s deep voice rang out with solemn reverence, speaking of the cycle of death and life the way one would address a power so much greater than themselves.

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