Page 50 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood

As the ceremony goes on, I stare at the fire in front of me. My ally. My weapon. My second skin. Today it is removing the last lingering traces of the only mother I’ve ever known. My eyes burn with all the tears I’ve shed. And yet they’re not enough to stop the flames from consuming my world.

The pyre before us crackles and snaps with angry flames, as if protesting its duty in consuming the last physical remnants of a life so cruelly snatched away.

The clothes my mother wore when death claimed her are slowly shriveling into ash and smoke, like an offering to the skies above.

In Aclaris, bodies are buried within their lands. Nobles like my mother have a family crypt. Tirene burial practice is to cremate the body in public, with nobles’ pyres being an event for all to attend.

To honor both traditions, the priests reached a compromise. Lady Lynnea Axton’s body will be transported to her estate and laid to rest in her family crypt. And here we are burning her clothes, including the ones she wore when she died, all wrapped in a shroud with a priest overseeing the ritual.

As the billowing smoke rises toward the heavens, I am reminded of the fragility of life and the constant tug-of-war between tradition and progress that weighs on my heart.

If someone had told me when I was a child stuck in my mother’s castle day in and out that I’d one day realize I hadn’t spent enough time with her, I would have scoffed.

Leesa reaches over and intertwines her fingers with mine. “She will be laid to rest next to Father. They will be reunited in death.”

I tilt my head in a stiff nod, struggling to find the right words. “Together in the dark. Just as they wished.”

The thought should bring comfort.

Their spirits reunited in the next world while their bodies embraced in eternal slumber beneath the cold earth of our family crypt. But instead, it feels like a fleeting ghost, slipping through my grasp like the mists that often shroud the palace grounds in the early morning.

Sterling’s gaze meets mine, his dark brown eyes a tumultuous sea, reflecting storms yet to come. He doesn’t say a word, but his silence speaks volumes. In his stillness, there’s a promise. A quiet strength that tells me he will weather this tempest beside me, no matter the cost.

The priest of Pera, goddess of families, gives his final blessing into the somber air, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Lifting bushy eyebrows, he regards Leesa and me expectantly.

Leesa unsheathes a dagger from her hip and steps forward.

My eyes widen, and I fight back the tears that threaten to fall. This is a custom both kingdoms share, and one which gives me great solace. As the eldest, Leesa is the first to make her sacrifice. She reaches up and cuts off the loose hair hanging by her temple.

Now it’s my turn. Pulling out my own short sword, I step toward the priest and my sister. With trembling fingers, I grasp the loose lock of my dark hair.

Mother taught me this ritual. Just like she taught me so many other things.

But not enough! I’m not ready to live a life without her. How will I get married, have children, raise them, without her to help me? To guide me?

What do I do now?

The sharp snip is barely audible over the crackling of the funeral pyre, but the sound echoes within me.

Leesa and I hand over the sacrifices of our own bodies.

Just the way Mother taught us.

The priest takes them and adds them to the fire, stepping so close I almost expect his long beard to sizzle in the heat. Yet he doesn’t seem to notice as he speaks to the goddess on our behalf.

Which is good. Because my throat is so tight I’m not sure I can talk without crying. Again. Gods, will these tears ever end?

A tactile memory of burying my face in Mother’s collar rises to the surface of my mind. I can feel the soft suede against my forehead. The ache in the back of my skull from crying so hard. The sticky snot running down my face and getting smeared on her clothes. Now I’m not even certain what childhood trauma caused me to cry like that. A fight with Leesa? Getting scared by the alicorn courier? Accidentally setting the stable ablaze and hurting the stable boy?

It could be all of them. Because, as a child, the answer to my pain and grief was always the same.

I would run to my mother.

She would hold me. Even when a nurse, our nanny, or a maid tried to take me, Mother would embrace me until my tears were spent.

And I never once said “thank you.” I said I hated her for keeping me locked up. I said how she treated me wasn’t fair. I said she had no idea how hard she was making my life. Because I was a stupid, prideful, ignorant child.

“May this bind our spirits to yours, so we may all be reunited in the next world.” Leesa whispers beside me, her own sheared tresses fluttering down to join mine. Though she manages to keep her voice steady, her eyes betray the tempest raging beneath her composed facade.

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