Page 31

T he Craiggybottom clan prepared the space with a simple table bearing official documents, a few chairs for witnesses, and fragrant winter flowers gathered in copper vases. No excess, no ostentation. Just the space we needed for this moment that would change everything.

Leif stood perfectly still as I straightened his collar, his eyes serious as always. He'd insisted on fresh clothing for the occasion, though where the Craiggybottoms had found garments sized for human children on such short notice remained a mystery. The dark blue tunic suited him, making his solemn eyes seem deeper, older.

"Are you nervous?" I asked quietly, smoothing a wrinkle from his shoulder.

He considered the question with typical thoughtfulness. "No," he said finally. "It feels right. Like something that was always supposed to happen."

From across the room, Torsten's excited voice carried as he described some elaborate plan to Ruith, who listened with patient attention while adjusting the boy's perpetually crooked collar. Unlike Leif's composed demeanor, Torsten could barely contain himself, practically vibrating with anticipation.

A gentle knock announced Taelyn's arrival. She entered with quiet grace, her storm-gray eyes revealing nothing of her grief as she took her place as a witness. The mark of her mourning showed only in the single black ribbon woven through her otherwise unadorned braid.

Behind her came Captain Yisra, her weathered face breaking into a rare smile at the sight of us all together. My heart leapt at seeing her alive and well. The last time we'd been together was at Homeshore, before everything went wrong. But it was the figure who followed her that truly shocked me.

"Tariq?" I blurted, unable to contain my surprise.

My half-brother swept into the room, his elaborate coat somehow pristine despite what must have been a harrowing journey. Bash, his miniature dragon, perched on his shoulder, copper scales gleaming.

"Surprise, brother!" He grinned, arms spread wide. "You didn't think I'd miss all the excitement, did you?"

"Captain," I said, recovering enough to step forward and clasp Yisra's arm. "You made it. I feared—"

"Takes more than zealots to sink my ship. Got most of my crew out, thanks to him." She nodded reluctantly toward Tariq, who preened visibly at the acknowledgment.

"The Mirage happened to be in the perfect position to provide," Tariq paused dramatically, "creative naval support." He stroked Bash's head, prompting a pleased chirp from the little dragon. "Though I must say, brother, you have a remarkable talent for finding trouble. First Saltmire, now civil war in D'thallanar itself."

"It seems we can't stop running into each other," I observed, unable to keep a wry smile from my face.

"Fate has a sense of humor," Tariq agreed with a wink. "And I've never been one to ignore her invitations." His golden eyes moved to the boys, who were staring at him—or more precisely, at Bash—with undisguised fascination. "And who are these fine young gentlemen? Don't tell me you've started collecting children now?"

"These are our sons," Ruith said. "Leif and Torsten Starfall.”

“Captain Tariq Al'Sharif of the Mirage at your service,” Tariq said, making a bow to the boys. Of course he would leave off the fact that he was a prince .

Bash let out a smokey snort.

Tariq rolled his eyes. “And this is Bashqara.”

"Is that a real dragon?" Torsten blurted, unable to contain himself any longer.

Tariq's face lit with delight. "Indeed it is, young prince!" He crouched slightly, allowing Bash to creep down his arm toward the boys. "She's very gentle with children, I assure you."

As the boys cautiously approached the miniature dragon, Taelyn moved to stand beside Yisra, their shoulders touching. "Captain Yisra and Prince Tariq returned together a few hours ago," she explained. "They've been coordinating our naval forces since then."

"Your Majesty," Yisra greeted Ruith with a respectful nod. "Lord Consort. The preparations outside continue apace, but I would not miss this moment for all the chaos in D'thallanar."

"We're grateful for your witness," Ruith replied, genuine warmth in his voice. "All of you."

Tariq straightened from his crouch, flashing his most charming smile. "I am, of course, delighted to witness this touching family moment. Though you've been holding out on me. Nephews? And you didn't even send a message."

"There wasn't exactly time for family announcements," I replied dryly. "What with escaping Homeshore, infiltrating D'thallanar, and breaking Ruith out of prison."

"Details, details," Tariq waved a dismissive hand, though his eyes held genuine warmth as they moved between me and the boys. "Family finds a way, does it not?"

The five of us stood together—Ruith and me, Taelyn and Yisra, and now Tariq with his miniature dragon—an unlikely family forged through war and shared purpose. The closeness between the two women mirrored our own bond, while Tariq brought his own peculiar energy to our circle, expanding it in unexpected but not unwelcome ways.

Ruith moved to the table where the documents awaited. Unlike the elaborate ceremonies that typically accompanied royal adoptions, with their processionals and public declarations, this would be simple. Private. Perfect.

Taelyn stepped forward, her composure intact despite the loss she carried. "The documents are properly executed," she confirmed, her fingers tracing the official seals. "They need only your signatures to make them binding."

"And the boys'," I added, meeting her gaze with silent understanding. This wasn't just about us claiming them; it was about their choice to join our family. Their agency mattered, especially after having it stolen from them for so long.

Ruith gestured for the boys to approach. They stood before the table, suddenly solemn as the moment's importance settled over them. Even Torsten's boundless energy stilled as Ruith knelt before them, bringing himself to their level.

"Leif, Torsten," he began, his voice soft. "By signing these documents, you become our sons by law, as you have already been in our hearts. You'll be princes of House Starfall, with all the responsibilities and privileges that entails. But more importantly, you'll be family. No matter what happens in the days ahead, no matter what battles we face or challenges arise, that bond cannot be broken."

"Not by distance," I added, joining Ruith before them. "Not by conflict. Not by any power in this realm."

Ruith nodded. "The documents ensure you would remain princes of House Starfall, under Taelyn and Captain Yisra's guardianship, until we return."

"And under mine as well, naturally," Tariq interjected smoothly. "As their uncle, I have certain responsibilities to ensure they grow up with the proper appreciation for adventure, questionable decision-making, and exquisite taste." He winked at the boys. "Every prince needs at least one disreputable relative to teach them the things their fathers won't."

Ruith sighed, but stood without further comment. He took up the quill, dipping it in ink before signing his name. I followed, the simple act of writing my name beside his on a document that would forever link our lives feeling both momentous and entirely natural.

Then it was the boys' turn. Leif took the quill, his small hand steady as he formed each letter with concentration. When he finished, he offered the quill to Torsten, who approached the task with characteristic enthusiasm, nearly upsetting the inkwell in his eagerness.

"Is that it?" Torsten asked. "Are we a family now? Officially?"

"It is done," Taelyn declared, a genuine smile briefly lightening her grief-shadowed features. "The realm has two new princes. May they grow in wisdom and strength under your guidance."

Ruith knelt again, opening his arms. Both boys moved into his embrace without hesitation, their small arms wrapping around his neck. I joined them, this family we had created against all odds, this improbable constellation forged from the chaos of war and revolution.

Captain Yisra took charge of the documents, handling them with the same careful respect she showed her ship's most precious cargo. "These will be recorded in the clan archives immediately," she assured us.

"And I shall draft additional copies for Savarran records," Tariq added with surprising formality. "As their uncle, I must ensure their status is recognized beyond elven lands." He winked at the boys. "Princes of House Starfall and honorary princes of Savarra. You'll have your choice of kingdoms to scandalize when you're older."

Leif tugged at my sleeve, his expression troubled. "Do we have to stay behind?" he asked. "While you go to fight?"

I knelt before him, meeting his eyes directly. "Yes," I said, refusing to soften the truth. "The battlefield is no place for you, no matter how brave you are—and you are among the bravest I've ever known."

His jaw tightened. "But we could help. We're small, we could carry messages or—"

"You help most by staying safe," Ruith interrupted gently, joining us. "Every warrior fights better knowing those they love are protected. Knowing you're here, waiting for our return, gives us strength."

Torsten appeared at Leif's shoulder, unusually serious. "We'll take care of each other," he promised. "Like always."

"Like always," I agreed, my throat tight. "That's what family does."

"I've assigned my most trusted sailors to guard these chambers," Yisra informed us. "Men who would die before allowing harm to come to your sons."

"And I'll remain with them when not needed at the command post," Taelyn added, her hand finding Yisra's.

“They could ask for no better defenders,” I acknowledged with a dip of my head. I had seen Taelyn fight before, and she was a skilled warrior.

T wilight descended over the Craiggybottom compound, turning the sky to deepening indigo as torches flared to life along the walls. A solemn procession wound through the central courtyard toward a stone platform that had been hastily prepared for the funeral rites. Four Wolfheart warriors carried Lord Klaus's body on a simple wooden bier, his armor cleaned of tunnel grime and arranged with care, his silver-white hair combed in the traditional braids of his clan. The warriors who had recovered his body from the tunnels had performed this task with reverence, despite the dangers they'd faced from Tarathiel's patrols.

Behind the bier walked Taelyn, her storm-gray eyes—so like her father's—dry but hollow with grief. She wore the ceremonial black and silver of Wolfheart mourning, her usual elaborate braids replaced by a single tight plait woven with silver wire. At her side walked Captain Yisra, close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed, offering silent support.

I stood with Ruith and our newly formalized sons, watching as the procession passed. Leif's small hand found mine, squeezing with surprising strength as he whispered, "Why do they have to cut off his head?"

"In elven tradition," Ruith explained softly, kneeling beside the boys, "the head contains the soul's wisdom, while the body holds its strength. To separate them in death ensures both parts return properly to the elements—the mind to the stars above, the body to the earth below."

Torsten's eyes widened. "Does it hurt?"

"No," I assured him, my hand resting on his shoulder. "Lord Klaus's spirit has already departed. This is just a way to honor his memory, to help his soul find peace."

The bier reached the platform where three priests waited, their robes bearing the spiral patterns of those who tended to the dead. Ancient tradition held that only those who had survived three seasons of mourning could wear such patterns, having proven their souls strong enough to witness grief without breaking.

"We should join the procession," Ruith murmured. "She shouldn't face this alone."

We moved forward, taking our place behind Captain Yisra. The boys followed, unusually subdued as they sensed the gravity of the moment. All around us, the compound had fallen silent. Commerce and preparations for battle had been temporarily suspended as elves of every clan gathered to witness the funeral of a hero.

"Hear us, ancient ones," the priest said, his voice carrying despite its softer tone. "We return to you Klaus of House Wolfheart, hero of the northern campaigns, defender of the Assembly, father to Queen Taelyn, faithful ally to the true king."

The formal recitation of Klaus's titles and deeds followed, each carefully enunciated to ensure the ancestors would recognize him when his spirit joined them among the stars. Throughout, Taelyn stood without wavering, her spine straight as a blade despite the weight she carried.

When the priests finished their chant, they turned to her, extending the ceremonial sword reserved for this most solemn duty. The blade was a curved length of steel that caught the torchlight with an almost hungry gleam, its hilt wrapped in leather worn smooth by generations of grieving hands, heavy enough to sever bone with a single stroke.

Taelyn stepped forward, accepting the blade with a formal bow. For the first time, her composure wavered slightly as she approached her father's body. Captain Yisra moved as if to follow her, then stopped, respecting the tradition that dictated this final act must be performed alone.

Taelyn looked down at her father's face for a long moment. Then she spoke, her voice clear and steady despite the emotion it carried: "Father, I send your wisdom to the stars and your strength to the earth. May the ancestors welcome you among them, brave warrior, wise counselor, beloved father."

She positioned the sword at her father's neck, her hands steady as she performed the ritual cut with swift precision. The blade sliced through with a single powerful stroke—no hesitation, no wavering—a warrior's daughter to the end. The priests moved forward immediately, receiving Klaus' head with reverent hands. They wrapped it in silk embroidered with silver thread, preparing it for the separate burial that would follow.

As the priests carried Klaus's head to the smaller stone altar prepared for it, the remaining warriors covered his body with fragrant oils and herbs, wrapping it in a shroud of Wolfheart blue. Throughout these preparations, Captain Yisra never moved from her position at Taelyn's side.

When the preparations were complete, the elder priest approached Taelyn once more, extending a torch. "The light to guide him home," he said softly.

She took the torch, standing at the edge of the pyre where her father's body now rested. The assembled clans had formed a circle around the platform, each holding small silver bells that would ring to guide Klaus's spirit upward when the flames began their work.

Taelyn raised her voice, addressing not just the gathered witnesses but the stars themselves: "Lord Klaus Wolfheart died as he lived—with honor, protecting those he called family. He died so that hope might live. So that the vision of a better world might continue. So that his grandchildren might never know the war that robbed him of his sons…That took my brothers. Honor his memory.”

With those words, she lowered the torch to the pyre. Flames caught quickly, rising in a bright curtain around Klaus's shrouded form. The silver bells began to ring, their sweet tones rising above the crackle of fire, calling his spirit upward toward the stars now visible in the deepening night.

As tradition dictated, the priests began the burial of Klaus' head while his body burned. They placed it in the prepared alcove facing upward, so his eyes might eternally watch the stars where his wisdom would dwell. Sacred oils were poured, prayers whispered, and finally, the stone sealed with silver mortar that caught the firelight like trapped stars.

Throughout it all, Taelyn stood unwavering, her grief contained behind the mask of queenly dignity. Only those who stood closest might have noticed the tear that traced a single path down her cheek, or the way Captain Yisra's hand briefly found hers in the shadows between them.

As the formal rites ended, the gathered witnesses began to disperse, returning to the preparations for tomorrow's battle. War would not wait, even for grief. But Taelyn remained by the pyre, watching as the flames gradually subsided.

Ruith approached her, our boys following close behind. "He died a hero's death," he said softly. "The songs will remember his name for generations."

Taelyn nodded once, her composure intact despite the raw pain in her eyes. "He believed in what you're building," she said. "Even when it cost him alliances, even when it meant standing against traditions he'd upheld his entire life."

"We know," I said, stepping closer. "Without his intervention in the Assembly, we wouldn't be standing here now."

"In the north," she continued, her gaze returning to the flames, "we believe that those who die for something greater than themselves become stars of particular brightness." She pointed to the night sky, where the first evening stars now gleamed with cold fire. "He will watch over us tonight. Over all of us."

"The hour grows late," Captain Yisra said quietly. "Dawn comes early, and with it, battle."

"Yes," Taelyn straightened, queen once more rather than grieving daughter. "The time for mourning will come after victory. My father would expect nothing less."

She turned to Ruith, all business now despite the funeral fires still burning behind her. "Your armor awaits in your chambers. The armies move into position at first light."

"We'll be ready," Ruith promised, his hand finding mine.