Page 269 of Because the Gods Left

The old water village elder had taken charge of Midmarket, now with her own council and military force. The territory that once belonged to the 18th and the River Brigades was now divided into individual cities, various leaders stepping up to help rebuild and resettle. The Omisold Clan had partnered with the River Brigades similarly to how the Kleesolds partnered with the 18th.

“That’s good,” Iryana remarked. That made all the 18th’s strongholds settled.

Pyetar nodded, the relief he undoubtedly felt about one more city being off his hands clear on his face. He had told Iryana he was close to knowing his next path, but for the time being he was getting everyone settled. There was more peace in his eyes every day.

They went through the rest of the reports, making sure things were all moving forward in a way that satisfied them all. When they were almost finished, Pyetar caught her eye, raising a brow. Iryana nodded.

“There’s one more thing,” he announced. “I will be retiring as general, and I’d like to promote Major Vaneshta Frankola to replace me.”

Pyetar turned to Vaneshta, who stared at him in surprise. “What do you think?”

Slowly, Vaneshta straightened. “I’d be honored.”

Iryana grinned at her friend.

“You seem happy,” Iryana said with a sigh as she lay on her stomach across Pyetar’s bed, his blanket draped over her lower half.

“I am,” Pyetar agreed, trailing his fingers over her back, tracing her tattoos and scars. “I’m finally free of the military.”

She looked back at him, lounging naked against his headboard. She smiled, happy and content.

“You may be the youngest retired general in Istrin history. What are you going to do now?”

“I think marrying a brilliant clan leader would be a good use of my skills and will allow me to do what I’m meant to do.”

“Protect people?” she asked, breathless.

“That.” He kissed her cheek. “And love you.”

“I love you too.”

He leaned forward, kissing the worst of her scars, the claw marks over her right shoulder.

Her life was so full of love now that she feared it would all disappear. Every day she trusted it more. Trusted herself more.

Iryana stared up at the mourning bundles of black-dyed pine branches and early spring flowers that hung above the threshold of her clan’s new home. She took a slow, heavy breath and crossed beneath them.

Her boots thudded against the new wood floors, her armor clanked and rustled.

The entire Kleesold clan waited in the hall, which was decorated with the tapestries, hangings, and paintings they’d salvaged from the post. It felt like home.

Iryana crossed the room, head held high as her clan watched, toward her uncle, who she’d asked to stand for her that day. He gave her an encouraging nod as she knelt before him. It was hard to bear the grief that weighed down this moment, but a First’s oaths were always coupled with mourning. With loss.

He held the helm, the single spear rising from the front. She could not drag her eyes away as he spoke.

“To accept this helm is to accept this duty which can never be forsaken. To belong to this clan for the rest of your days. Until the air has left your body. Until the purifying water has been poured over you. Until the cut has been made at your neck to sever your soul from the confines of the body. Until your soul bursts into the flame of death, rising up like smoke. Until your mortal body once more returns to the dirt.”

Iryana stood, let her uncle place the helm in her hands, and faced her clan.

The weight of her grandmother’s helm, the helm of a First, was the heaviest weight ever placed on her shoulders. But now Iryana knew she was enough to bear it. And if it ever got to be too much, she had a whole clan to help her.

“Iryana Kleesolda, First of our clan!” her Uncle Dinhal declared with a roar.

She looked out across the hall, her eyes trailing over Pyetar, her sisters, and every one of her kin. There was so much smoke and light from the candles that the room was slightly hazy. And within that glow, she could feel her grandmother and all the Firsts that came before her.

It was a heavy mantle to bear, but she was enough.