Page 94 of Wings of Ice and Steel

As the bell tolled seven, the entire castle turned out. The funeral was to be a celebration befitting the most decorated of generals. Servants and knights alike gathered in the main training yard, waiting as the wooden palanquin bearing Melixanthe’s body was brought out, borne by six pallbearers.

A hush fell across those assembled as necks turned to watch the sombre sight. Following close on their heels were the seven Councillors in dark blue robes of mourning.

Ariadnne’s place was beside them. Taking a deep breath, she held up her head and strode across the sands, skirts fluttering. Her barefoot visage drew many looks, and she ignored the prickle on the back of her neck as the other varanyen stepped in behind, handlers at their sides, each dressed in their finest ceremonial garb.

Sol stood beside Lucius, smiling softly with a crinkled strain that deepened as the haunting voice of pipes lifted, signalling the start of the procession.

It was a short walk to the burial grounds along the cliffs edge, to where a series of stone chambers stood facing the ocean: resting places for those important enough to earn them. In the grandest chambers, the remains of dragons lay in eternal rest, decorated handlers and Generals spread out amongst the surrounding smaller chambers.

Behind them were the marked graves of those not important enough to spend eternity with an ocean view.

The chamber that had been chosen for Melixanthe was decorated with garlands of flowers, the path winding through the graveyard similarly strewn with white lilies. It was beautiful, but the sight tore Ariadnne in half. While part of her was glad to see that no expense had been spared, the other wept that she would eternally rest in the grounds of those who’d killed her, her funeral soiled by the faces of the Council. One, or all, could have ordered her death.

She ground her teeth as the pallbearers reached the arched doorway, watching as Melixanthe was set down with care. Her body was shrouded in white flowers, precious gems scattered amongst the petals to symbolise wealth for the afterlife and pay for her passage. Ariadnne stood to the side as her company gathered, forming smart rows. Each knight looked heartbroken. Josef, especially, was quite pale with grief, and she searched the lines for Kayla, finding her absent.

‘Josef, where’s Kayla?’ she muttered under her breath.

His brows knitted and he shrugged.

Ariadnne frowned and turned back to the front, feeling a prickle of concern as a priest of Ra’Tel slowly climbed the steps of his podium, clearing his throat with a wet, watery sound. He began to speak, lauding Melixanthe’s life; her glories and strengths, and how those strengths would see her carried safely across the river of souls to the afterlife.

They were lovely words, but they weren’t actually of her. Not the real Melixanthe Ariadnne knew. She thought that at least she could be with Zolif now. She hoped they could find peace together.

The priest invited fae to pay their last respects. Ariadnne stepped forward to look on her mother for the last time.

She looked so peaceful, frozen in time as Ariadnne tried to commit every line of her face to memory.

‘I’ll miss you.’

She closed her eyes, the salty brine of the sea merging with the sweet fragrance of lilies, gooseflesh pebbling in the chilled breeze as she stepped back. Gooseflesh that pricked harder as the Councillors moved to pay their respects, the irony disturbing.

Eventually, the queue of people waiting slowed, faces both familiar and foreign approaching the General to take their turn staring or muttering words. Sol made his approach; head bowed in grief. He brushed Melixanthe’s hand, uttering words too low for Ariadnne’s ears, the small, sad smile he offered enough to break her heart all over again.

When the last person had returned to their place, the priest signalled the pallbearers to move Melixanthe inside. Turning, he thanked everyone for their presence and assured them that she would be interred with the utmost respect.

Slowly, the silence that had held the crowd at the cliff’s edge lifted and voices rose in conversation, people turning to make their way back toward the castle.

It didn’t feel like enough as Ariadnne lingered, watching her mother disappear into the dark.

Forty-two

Ariadnne

Ariadnne’s company trudged past with heavy feet as they made their way back down the path. Ariadnne’s eyes settled on Josef, reminding her that Kayla was absent and that she was running out of chances to talk to someone she trusted.

Thinking of her friend helped steady her. Melixanthe was gone. Nieve had been taken, but Kayla was someone she could turn to for help and hells did she need a familiar face.

She made up her mind.

As they passed through the main gate, Sascha hurried to her side and took her hand, her face crumpled in her own grief.

‘Let me take you back, your guard is waiting over—'

‘Not yet, Sascha.’ Ariadnne stopped her. Tomorrow she might be shackled with another handler; she certainly wouldn’t be free the way she was for the next few moments. This might be her last chance to speak freely with someone she trusted.

‘Oh?’ Sascha’s eyebrows rose. ‘The cooks have prepared you a special meal…’ She wrung her hands together.

Ariadnne gave her a tight-lipped smile. ‘Probably best you say I gave you the slip, then. Just in case.’