Page 55 of House of Embers (Royal Houses #5)

Chapter Forty-Six

The Funeral

It was raining the day of Kivrin’s funeral.

The clouds opened and poured big, fat drops onto the parade of attendees dressed in the traditional black.

Words were spoken about his heroics, his bravery, his fearlessness, about how Gelryn had chosen him and died in battle—about how they were the best of them.

Kerrigan didn’t utter a word. She hadn’t said anything since she’d returned. She just stared up at the funeral pyre and the lifeless look of her father. He appeared to be made of wax. All the bright and vibrant things that made him Kivrin Argon were gone.

Just like Lyam.

Just like when she had snuck down into the catacombs beneath the mountain and looked upon her friend’s face and saw none of the light that made him alive. It was all gone in her father as well.

His soul gone from this world.

His spirit returned to the plane.

His life a part of the great beyond.

None of the words the men spoke over his body really made any sense.

They had tried to convince Kerrigan to speak for her father, but what could she even say?

What could encompass all that he was to her, all that he had ever been?

How could she begin to reconcile her hatred of him for so many years and the stolen lifetimes she’d never get back because of this tragedy?

So she said nothing.

Dragon fire rained down on his body. A great honor. A sign of a revered leader. They had lit Lyam up as well since he was a Dragon Blessed at the time of his murder.

Death. So much death. All of it senseless.

She hadn’t even gotten to go to Helly’s funeral. They probably hadn’t even had one for her mentor. Prescott’s had been short. Fordham had said a few words about his cousin. It had felt like a blip. She hated that it had felt like so much less than what this felt like.

Now, she felt hollowed out, as if someone had taken a scoop to her insides. She had to remain standing and fighting and winning this war. And yet she was empty. There was nothing to be done about it. This was all she was now.

The fire burned hot enough that the crowd stepped back.

Kerrigan remained where she was, Fordham at her side.

He shot her another worried glance, but she kept her gaze determinedly forward, let the fire dance in her irises as the white of her father’s clothes began to burn and his skin sizzled and his hair disappeared.

Time seemed to slow as the rest of the funeral attendees trickled away. Darby grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Dozan’s expression was grim as he gave his condolences. Wynter and Amond and Delle and Adelaide and even Viviana—they all came and went.

Kerrigan sank into the wet ground. She would sit vigil just as she had for Lyam’s death. Fordham still hadn’t said anything to her and was drawn away by his kingly duties sometime as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

Still Kivrin’s body burned.

Still she remained.

Her fingers were freezing, her lips so cold that she couldn’t feel them. Her body was trapped in stasis in that moment. She couldn’t move her limbs to walk away. Even as the fire died down over hours and what was once her father turned to ash.

“Kerrigan,” Fordham said. He wrapped a heavy wool cloak around her shoulders. “You can’t stay out here all night.”

She couldn’t move her neck. She said nothing.

“It’s almost done. You should let someone else collect the ashes. We can inter him in my family crypt until we reclaim Waisley.”

A bubbled, indignant scoff came out of her disused throat.

“We will get Bryonica back,” Fordham said. “Audria returned with a contingent of their dragons. More are trickling in after they heard that we went up against the Society and won.”

“Won?” she croaked. It was the first word she’d said in days, and it hurt. “We didn’t win.”

“We fought them, stole their entire armory, took out two of their dragons and riders, and got in and out of there right under Bastian’s nose. They’re calling it a victory,” Fordham explained.

Kerrigan fumed at the lies buried in those words. “It was an abject failure. We didn’t get the crown. We were betrayed. My father is dead . Gelryn is dead .”

“The price of war.”

She shuddered. “Our failure is bringing the people together?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

“Kerrigan—”

“No. I’m keeping vigil.”

“You’ve been out here for eight hours,” Fordham said. “You are literally freezing. Your lips are blue. You can’t sit here in the rain any longer or you’re going to get sick.”

Kerrigan said nothing. She stared forward until Fordham released another sigh and dropped to the ground next to her. He wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders and drew her body against his.

She tipped her head against his chest, letting his warmth seep into her.

It was a bitterly cold night, with the first hint of winter in the air.

It said there wasn’t much time left before they made their assault against the Society.

If they waited any longer, they’d have to wait until spring.

That would give Bastian too much time to prepare. He’d already had long enough.

And yet she couldn’t make herself stand up. She couldn’t force her feet back to the war council. She couldn’t bring herself to lead.

Look at what happened when she did lead .

Death.

A sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in Fordham’s shirt. He pulled her into his lap and brushed the water droplets out of her hair.

“I’m here,” he said. His lips pressed into her hair. “I’m here.”

“I don’t want to cry,” she gasped.

“Please cry,” he whispered. “Please. I worried that I’d lost you. I worried that you were gone. I can’t lose you, Kerrigan.”

Tears fell down her cheeks thicker than the rain that had pelted her for hours.

She soaked through Fordham’s shirt. The words she tried to speak were unintelligible as she sobbed.

Her throat was raw from hyperventilating as everything broke into a million brittle pieces, and the only lifeline in all of it was Fordham, who clung to her like she might blow away with the wind.

When she had cried until her entire body ached, she finally pulled back, wiping uselessly at her eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He stilled. “Do what anymore?”

“Lead.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Look what I did,” she whispered. She pointed at the pyre. “Look.”

“You think that was because of you?”

Kerrigan pulled herself out of his lap, coming to shaky legs. “How could it not be?”

“Explain,” he said as he stood.

“I was reckless,” she gasped. “I did the stupid thing that has always worked for me in the past, and look where it landed me. No crown. No father. No Gelryn. If I had stuck to the plan and not insisted that we go after the crown, then he’d still be here.”

“Am I reckless then? Because I went along with the plan.”

“It was my plan.”

“It was Zina’s,” Fordham corrected. “Is Zina reckless?”

“Zina just gave me the idea. I was the one who executed it.”

“So no one else can be reckless in this situation? It’s only you and thus only your fault?

Even though we all weighed the risks in a war council and agreed to go after the crown together?

” Fordham asked stoically. “Even though I am your bound mate and agreed to walk into the belly of the beast with you?”

“You know what I mean,” Kerrigan said. “We didn’t have enough information, and everyone went along with it because I’ve made these sorts of things work before.”

“And I’ll reiterate that you and I made it in and out of the mountain, Clover had zero casualties while she stole a warehouse for the armory, and we took out some of their dragon guard,” Fordham said. “It was your plan, and it worked.”

“But my father—”

“Knew what he signed up for.”

“And he’s dead for it,” she all but screamed.

“He is,” Fordham said. “We cannot change what happened. I know what it is to lose a father. I’ve lost many people I love. In this instance, I believe that both Kivrin and Gelryn entered battle knowing what could happen. It shouldn’t have. They were both incredible fighters, but it did happen.”

Kerrigan turned from Fordham’s words. She didn’t want to think logically about this. She was shaken. Her recklessness had shown her a part of herself that she hadn’t wanted to see—a fear where before only courage had rested.

“What do I do?” she whispered.

“You face what happened. You look at your own mortality and know that you’re not invincible,” Fordham said. “Then you come back. You lead.”

“And if I cannot?”

“Then we lose,” he said simply.

She met his gaze with a growing fear in her stomach. “But…”

“You are the most fearsome and incredible individual I have ever met in my life, in any life. We need you to win this, my love.” He took her hand in his and placed it on his heart. “I need you.”

She nodded, hiccuping one more time over her tears. “I need you too.”

He brought his lips to hers. “I am yours forever.”

She sniffed, shoving at his suit. “You know…I let you wallow in Domara. You could have given me more than a few days.”

Fordham’s smile was brilliant. “If I gave you more than a few days, you would have ceased to exist. I can brood forever.”

That brought a real laugh from her. “Isn’t that the truth?”

“Will you return to the mountain with me? You’re still shivering.”

“Yes.” Her eyes returned to the pyre, which had burned down at this point. “Can we take the ashes ourselves though?”

“Do you want to do it or should I?” he asked, reaching for the bronze urn at the base of the pyre.

“Will you?” she asked softly.

His eyes softened. “Of course.”

It took him a few minutes to scoop the remains of her father into the urn. He jumped back down and passed it to her. Then he swept an arm around her shoulders and walked her deeper into the mountain.

Fordham lit a torch and carried it down the blank, winding hallways.

Eventually they stopped before a large metal door.

He produced a thick key out of a pocket of the nothing, the same way he had the first time they’d been here, and turned it in the hole.

It clicked open noisily, and Fordham put his shoulder into the door to shove it on screeching hinges.

He set the torch into a bracket on the wall, illuminating Fordham’s favorite thinking spot.

It was the same as the last few times she’d been here and somehow darker and drearier.

Gold glinted on headstones around the room.

Names and dates had been etched onto hard stone.

All except the crowned maiden in the empty casket at its center. Depressing.

“I wish I could bring my father to Waisley.”

“We’ll get there after this is all over,” he said like a promise.

She sniffled and nodded. “Where should we put him in the meantime?”

“Wherever you like.”

Kerrigan bit her lip and then set her father down at the feet of the first Fae. “I’ll be back for you. We just have to win the war,” she told him. “Just like you dreamed that I could.”

Fordham embraced her as she broke into tears again. She would let it all out now. Because Fordham was right—after this, she would have to find a way to go forward.

And not forget what happened but learn from it.