Page 247 of Lana Pecherczyk

He quickly flipped off both middle fingers but stretched those gorgeous lips into a fierce grin. It still didn’t hide his embarrassment—she felt it through their bond.

Blake laughed, swinging the glasshole back to herself.

“Isn’t he just the bee’s knees? Acts all tattooed bad birdy and”—she dropped her voice to a growl—“You die, I die,macho man. But between you and me, he’s a big softie. Thank fuck, too, because if he’d been proper obsessive, like he warned me some crows are, then after his best-mate Cloud restarted me heart a few days back, I might’ve woken up to some serious Romeo and Juliet bullshit. Who knows what River would have done if he truly believed I was dead.”

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Ada and Trix told Blake how River had almost lost it. But he didn’t. And now they were here.

“Anyhoo, where was I? Oh yeah, funerals. The point is,” she continued narrating, wedging her glasshole between her breasts and walking toward River, “about bringing back what’s lost. I have sad news, for now—they told me I can’t bring you back. Apparently, the only one who’s done that besides the Well itself is Clarke and Rush’s older daughter, Willow. But she’s now off on an adventure with six hot blokes as her mates.”

River’s eyes sparked as she reached him. “Six mates, eh? Must be powerful magic she’s got.” His voice dropped to a wicked murmur. “Though I reckon it’s not her mana keeping them all satisfied.”

“Oh, stop!” Blake slapped a hand over her glasshole’s speaker, blocking its nonexistent ears. “This is supposed to be a serious affair. Stop making me laugh.”

“Never.” His gaze lingered on her face with particular intensity that made her stomach flip. When he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, she went weak at the knees.

“The point is,” she continued, taking River’s offered hand and walking with him toward the gathering crowd, “whatever power Willow had to wake a civilization in another country was a freak of nature. It likely won’t happen again. So, if me mates back home are somehow listening, I don’t want them to get their hopes up. The Well has a plan, and?—”

“Wants what it fucking wants,” he finished.

The mood sobered as more people gathered quietly along the shore and the sun sank below the horizon. The playful atmosphere shifted, becoming something heavier, more reverent. Blake pulled her glasshole back out and spoke quietly into it as she captured the scene.

“We’re here to hold a funeral, or rather, a memorial for every soul we’ve loved and lost, from the old world, and the new one.” She tapped the glass with her newly bejeweled fingernails. “So yeah, I just wanted to show you all that you are missed. You maybe hidden, but you’re still gems. I love you all.” Blake’s throat clogged as she cut the blood connection and slipped the device into her pocket.

“You good?” River’s eyes stayed fixed on her face. “We don’t have to join them up front.”

“Really?” She dashed away tears. “I’m just … a little emotional. I think I’d like to stand back a little. If that’s okay.”

“Whatever you want.” He cupped her head and kissed the top. She sank into his side and slipped her hand around his waist.

Twilight had fallen. The ceremonial lake stretched beside them like a mirror made of liquid starlight. Between them and the forest, fae from all around the Order of the Well campus had gathered—academics, Guardians, Mages, workers, and staff.

A hush fell over the crowd as members of the Cadre of Twelve and their families gathered in a loose semicircle near the wooden platform up front, their faces solemn beneath the new moon. Children pressed close to their parents. Mates held hands. Even the twins, Holly and Hazel, stood quietly beside Rush as Clarke stepped forward, onto the raised platform, and unfurled a scroll in her hands.

“Tonight,” she announced, loud and clear, “we remember those who have returned to the Well. We honor their memory and carry their light forward.”

The first name fell into the silence like a stone dropped into still water.

“Tinger.”

“Oops, I’m on.” River squeezed Blake’s shoulder and jogged to meet Jasper a few yards along the shore. He raised his hands, the scent of ozone sparked in the air, and water erupted from the lake’s surface like liquid fireworks. Bioluminescent particles swirled through the spray, creating dancing patterns of sparks of light before settling back into gentle ripples. But the mostbeautiful sight was when Jasper’s magic joined in. He molded River’s spraying water into shape. As they worked, Violet came to stand by their side. Then a miracle happened. Out of the lake, made simply from water, bioluminescence, and Violet’s UV light particles, a glowing rabbit with wings and antlers formed. It bounded across the surface and somehow, even though the water returned to the lake, together, they made the illusion of Tinger fly into the sky and explode into little stars—manabeeze—that joined the night sky.

A few sobs were heard around the group, and then more names followed, each one punctuated by the magical light show.

“Jackson Crimson.”

“Aleksandra.”

“Maebh.”

“Dawn.”

“Colt.”

“Barrow.”

Faces appeared, burst into stars, and then floated away. The list went on, encompassing all the fallen Order soldiers, the families the Well-blessed humans had left behind in the old world, the countless souls lost to war and time and heartbreak. Each name was a story cut short, a life that mattered, a person who deserved to be remembered. Some names without faces were listed on paper boats and set adrift on the lake. Blake wrote down each member of her family, her friends, and her followers. She even wrote ‘Boss Man’ on the side of one paper boat and watched it sail away.

Then Clarke’s voice softened, carrying a particular weight.