Page 107 of The War of Four Winters

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.

Dawnbrokebloodredover D'thallanar as we pressed through the narrow streets of the merchant quarter. I rolled my shoulders beneath unfamiliar armor, the weight of it somehow both comforting and restrictive. The breastplate bore Starfall blue with gold trim, a statement of allegiance rather than mere protection. My throat felt naked without the phantom weight of a collar, the absence of that restriction still strange even after all these months of freedom.

"Eastern approach clear," reported a Wolfheart scout, materializing from a side alley. "Tarathiel's forces are concentrated on the bridge itself, as expected."

I nodded, tightening the straps on my vambraces. "And the other teams?"

"In position. Awaiting your signal."

The plan was simple in its brutality. A coordinated dual frontal assault at the eastern and western bridges. Captain Yisra's ships would engage Tarathiel's navy on the wide Thallan River, preventing reinforcements from crossing. Meanwhile, Tariq's Mirage would sweep in from the blind side, a ghost ship navigating the treacherous currents where other vessels dared not sail.

Simple. And yet my heart hammered against my ribs as if trying to escape what was to come.

Our forces gathered in a small square where the broad avenue leading to the Eastern Bridge began. Two hundred warriors in total—a mixture of freed slaves, Wolfheart infantry, Stoneriver archers, and the remnants of Katyr's battle mages. Not a large force, but we didn't need to win the entire war today. We just needed to secure a foothold on the Assembly island.

An order from Aryn had most of our forces take cover in the surrounding buildings. Before they dispersed, I caught a rare moment between him and Daraith in the shadow of a doorway. The normally stoic Aryn gripped the front of Daraith's robes, pulling him close for a fierce kiss. The necromancer's silver tattoos flared briefly at the contact.

When they separated, Aryn noticed several warriors staring in surprise.

"What are you staring at?" he growled, a flush rising on his pale cheeks. "Get back to work! The enemy won't wait for you to finish gawking."

The warriors scattered immediately. Daraith's lips curved in the barest hint of a smile before his expression settled back into its usual grave composure.

"Stay alive," Aryn told him, his voice low and rough. "I won't lose you to this battle."

Daraith's fingers briefly touched Aryn's face. "Death and I have an understanding." Then he, too, was gone, melting into the shadows to take his position.

"We don't move until we get the signal," Aryn reminded everyone, his voice once again the cool, professional tone of a commander. "Don't waste the advantage of surprise."

I found myself alone with Niro for a moment, the general checking his weapons.

"It's been a while since I faced a true battle," I admitted, checking the edge of my sword. "Not since Homeshore."

Niro's face betrayed nothing. "Combat is like breathing. The body remembers even when the mind forgets."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?"

A rare smile flickered across his features. "Consider it a promise. When steel meets steel, you won't have time to worry about whether you remember how to fight."

---