Page 22 of Of Monsters Of Kings

Something inside begged me not to fill in the grave. I brushed at my dirt-covered lace gown, dislodging a few clods. I scooped dirt from the towering pile beside me and sprinkled the handful over her legs. Her face… there was just something sinister and ugly about covering her face with dirt.

I scooped more and more dirt. Each scoop became easier, and soon there was no option but to cover her face.

You’re the fiftieth daughter.

I was the fiftieth daughter in our line to bury her mother while knowing she’d be next to endure such a fate. Fifty daughters joined me with their aching hearts as I stood there, and fifty resolves shackled to mine. I was alone, and yet those fifty daughters stood with me, some touching my shoulders and arms as I finally dropped dirt onto my mother’s face.

I filled the grave as dusk settled in, and continued into night.

I didn’t replace the cobblestones. Sealing her under them felt wrong. I wouldn’t like that. Perhaps I could find some seeds to scatter here and turn dirt to soil in time.

I had nothing else to do.

My lips curved. How terribly unset and directionless of me. What would Kingsie say? Unfortunately, I really was unset with too much possible now.

The night chaffed at my skin—or maybe that was the thick layer of dirt covering me from head to toe. I’d slept all day, and now I’d be up all night. The hour of day didn’t matter, really. There was much I could do to get a gauge on what my future would be, to secure items of value, or to form a plan. But instead, I dug my toes into the dirt of my mother’s grave and peered at the moon, imagining howls and thinking of twisted, yawning statues.

“And are you well, Lady Patch?” a man spoke from the dark corner beside reception.

I squinted but couldn’t make out a form in the deep shadows. Perhaps just a towering height. No matter, the voice was familiar.

Iz—Stag, though I shouldn’t keep calling him so—had come to visit. “Iz,” I greeted. “I am well.” I bit my lip, accidentally thinking of how impossibly well I was without the claw marks on my cheek and the fracture in my collarbone.

“You’re covered in dirt.”

“Yes.”

“You have buried your mother.”

“Yes.”

“With a broken cobblestone.”

“I did not look for a spade.”

“Sometimes, broken cobblestones feel better to dig with.”

I nodded and drove my gaze to the darkness between the stars again. What was it made of? “Is Kingsie okay after I blinded him?”

“Who is Kingsie?”

“Kingsie, your skull. The man who roared and ballooned me into the wall.”

A chuckle. His chuckle seemed bland without Willboughy and Hasbin to chime with him. “You have a delightful way of speaking, lady.”

“Thank you. Kingsie, did he see possibilities again?”

“He did, lady.”

I smiled. “That’s good. He’ll be happy about that.”

“Happiness is of no matter to my liege.”

Wasn’t happiness a matter for every person? “Neither is supposing.”

“No, my liege certainly doesn’t do that.”

I sighed. “Where are Willboughy and Hasbin?”

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