Page 69 of Swords of Soul and Shadow (Gate Chronicles #3)

AS WERE THEY ALL

THE ONLY SOUNDS WERE THE crackling of the pyre and the soft tears of mourners.

The air still smelled damp from the rain earlier, yet the fire still burned behind Harlan’s back.

The mourning suit he wore was scratchy and ill fitting, but he’d not had time to get a new one tailored before the Burning.

Neither the well-kept pyre plot nor those assembled noticed.

Only Harlan. He tugged his bowler down his forehead, adjusting and hoped it shaded his eyes.

The sunset was radiant above them, but Harlan refused to admire it.

It might’ve been a gift from the gods, but it was a cruel one at that. The Burnings of the Lady Rose Fairchild and her newborn daughter were nothing but tragedies.

To his left stood Carleton, his head bowed.

Aurelia was tucked beside him in a demure black gown and veiled velvet-lined hat.

The latter held a handkerchief to her mouth.

His adoptive parents hadn’t known Rose long, but after a note from Harlan upon Ezekiel’s reassignment to the city, they’d taken the Fairchilds under their wing.

To Harlan’s right, Les held herself together with pressed lips, her face pale, her curls pinned tightly, and her eyes wet.

Admirable considering the circumstances.

In the three months since their correspondence had begun, Harlan felt like he understood her, which was odd considering he’d discovered that by her letters.

He’d received them weekly since that first one, and he’d looked forward to each.

While from very different origins, he’d found they both dreamed of acceptance.

Harlan’s looked a little different, but not since that tiny Ravenhelm schoolyard where he played groggon with his friends had he felt that someone truly saw him.

Ezekiel had chipped the stone wall Harlan had surrounded himself with over the years, but Les had forced her way in with only inked words.

How different his outlook on life had changed since he’d met her.

He’d not thought it possible to feel for someone in a way that a man cares about a woman.

He never thought it would be for someone as ruined as he was.

A boy from the mines never could’ve hoped for much more than a woman to cook his meals, keep his bed warm, and say his final rites when his time came too early.

That wasn’t love. It was obligation and survival.

It was a way of life, and the only one Harlan had truly known. Carleton and Aurelia seemed to love each other in a deeper way, but that had very rarely been on display for Harlan. With Carleton’s work, he wasn’t at home often—even when he’d been promoted high enough to be stationed in the capital.

Ezekiel had been the first one he’d known to love his wife in a way that felt like more than just a rudimentary contract. He’d written religiously to her in the time Harlan had known him. He’d spoken about her constantly. He kept family portraits in his pocket.

And now, that was gone. Any revelation Harlan had over the last few months had been overshadowed by the last few weeks and the fire behind them.

Les’ hand curled into a tight fist. The other was on her nephew Randall’s shoulder.

The boy stood stick straight, staring straight ahead, his face too calm for a boy who’d lost his mother and baby sister.

The other boy, Sullivan, fidgeted with his tiny suit, his hand tucked tight within Rose’s mother’s grip.

Her eyes were red, even evident from under her veil.

Her husband, Rose’s father, stood to her other side, his hands clasped in front of him, a tear sliding down his cheek.

Harlan’s heart gave a painful twinge. The twins were so young.

Younger than Harlan when he’d lost his entire family.

Would losing your mother at such a tender age have as profound an impact on him as it had Harlan?

Would they even remember the details? Or just the overwhelming darkness that hid deep inside one’s soul?

Eyes shadowed and red, Ezekiel stood between them all. His mourning suit was neat and tidy, new and as dark as midnight. According to Les, he’d rarely slept since Rose and the baby passed, the tiny bundle her mother had named Emilia before she’d died, too.

Rose’s parents moved into the Fairchild townhome to help with the boys. They and Les were the only reasons Ezekiel looked somewhat presentable.

His friend hadn’t turned with the rest of the mourners. Some might say it disrespectful to the deceased, to watch them as their souls returned to the stars, but Harlan knew better. It was taking every bit of strength he had left to stay still instead of burning with his wife and child.

Sullivan, the little boy who’d been full of fire the day Harlan had met him, wailed. His grandfather picked him up, holding him to his chest. The boy didn’t quiet. His twin at Les’ side stayed silent. Ezekiel only flinched.

More tears spilled down.

Upon Harlan’s return to the capital, he’d called upon Ezekiel to find him in the townhome study, an unopened bottle of gin upon the desk, his eyes unblinking.

He hadn’t changed out of his uniform since the day Rose went into labor—evidenced by its dishevelment and stains on the breast and once-shiny medals.

The medics said she’d bled out. They had no way to stop it, and none of their medical knowledge could have prevented it. Les had told him they believed in combination with her pre-labor issues and other evidences after birth, neither Rose nor the baby had a chance to survive.

Harlan had devoured every medical textbook he could get his hands on in the last weeks and found that nothing could have prevented it.

On First Earth, they’d had the technology to not only detect placental abruption but also use life saving measures quickly to save both the baby and mother.

Yet like spaceships, that technology had been lost to time.

“Go and find your place among the stars,” the orator spoke.

Les’ curled hand shook slightly at the words, tears slipping down her cheek at last. Ezekiel’s shoulders shook.

Harlan’s own eyes stung. The effect this already had on his friend was terrifying, yet he couldn’t blame him.

All Harlan could remember from the Burning of Michael and the others at Ravenhelm was the heat.

He’d blotted out and repressed everything else.

It had affected him deeply and in ways he hadn’t realized until years later.

What did that mean for Ezekiel? Would he ever return to the carefree man he’d been?

Les sniffed, and with only a second of hesitation, Harlan breached all society protocol and reached for her gloved hand.

He wasn’t sure he’d be received despite their intimate correspondence, but the gut reaction simply felt right.

He wove his fingers through hers, the lace scratching against his own. She clung to him like someone drowning.

And she was. As were they all.

They were lost in a storm with no way of knowing if they’d weather it.