Page 26 of Wrath of the Dragons
She ignores me as it’s ripped open and the scent of rosemary, yarrow, and freshly brewed tea wafts down the steps. A woman with warm brown skin and shoulder-length raven hair cries out, pulling Elowen into her arms. Elowen stiffens at first, but soon melts into the quick embrace as she’s ushered inside. I take another quick glance around before shutting the door behind me.
“My girl,” Nyrinn says, her tone almost motherly. “I knew you’d be back.”
Elowen brushes her fingers down one of the posts jutting from floor to ceiling. “You’re our first stop.”
Nyrinn whips her head toward the door with the realization that someone else is present, and she keeps her chin raised as she drops to a curtsy. “Apologies, Your Highness. I had assumed you were a guard.”
“No formalities necessary, and I do serve as Elowen’s guard.” I stick my hand out, despite never doing this when meeting new people. “Cayden.”
She clasps a calloused, much smaller hand around mine. “Nyrinn. If you haven’t heard of me, I’ll be gravely offended.”
I manage a half smile. “What you taught Elowen has aided me on several occasions, and she’s always spoken highly of you.”
Nyrinn seems pleased by the response and turns to Elowen again. “Do commanders and kings often serve as guards over their women or are you still hell-bent on death finding you before it’s ready?”
“I am not hell-bent on death.” Elowen rolls her eyes, staring at the woman with a warmth I desperately miss. The memories sink claws into my mind, making me long for the past in a way I never have. I lament over the loss of her laughter, the softening of her eyes when she looks at me, the way she melts into my body because she feels safe in my arms. “Cayden is hell-bent on keeping me alive. There’s a difference.”
“Smart man,” she huffs, her dark gaze pinging between the two of us. “However, it appears you left out quite a few details in your letter a few weeks ago.”
“Can’t seem to recall anything noteworthy.” Elowen claps her hands. “Where is Lycus? I assume he’ll be in one of the spare rooms?”
Nyrinn pulls out a chair at her table, her expression becoming remorseful while gesturing for Elowen to take the one beside her. She hesitates for only a moment, but does as Nyrinn wishes. Her fingers tug her moonstone pendant along the gold chain, and she whispers the words I already know. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“The guards cut him deep. There was too much damage, and too much blood loss. All I could do was make him comfortable.” Nyrinn shakes her head. “However, he wanted me to pass on his last words to you. He said, ‘It is an honor to die for the dragon queen.’”
Elowen releases her necklace, planting her elbows on the table and dropping her head into her hands. I push off the wall and kneel beside her, pulling the chair out enough to make her face me. “His blood is not on your hands. He did his duty as a loyal soldier and stood against those who betrayed you. You’ve already executed the guilty.”
Elowen rubs at her arms like she’s trying to clean some invisible filth from her skin. “He should’ve let them go.”
“Loyalty and betrayal are old friends. One can’t exist without the other, and we wouldn’t know the value of the former without the presence of the latter,” I say. “Death during wartime is unavoidable, but we will honor his sacrifice by winning.”
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, tormented eyes latching on to mine. I know she has a hard time accepting comfort, but it doesn’t stop me from trying. Sometimes I think she takes on the pain around her and internalizes it so that when she looks for someone to blame, it’ll always be herself. “When is the funeral?” Elowen asks.
“Today,” Nyrinn answers. “After news of Ailliard reached us, and the mutiny of the guards, we knew you’d return. It didn’t feel right to burn him without you present. We also suspect you have a plan for how to handle the situation.”
“I do.” Elowen breathes deeply, turning to face Nyrinn as I get to my feet and slide my hand along her shoulders. “Aestilian must be evacuated for the safety of the people. As queen of Vareveth, I offer refuge to anyone willing to make the journey. Housing will be provided as well as funds for those who need it to help them get on their feet in a new kingdom.”
Nyrinn looks around her shop, standing from the chair and trailing her fingers along the glass vials on the shelves, the bundled flowers hanging from the ceiling, taking her time as Elowen’s knuckles become white while she grips the chair. “Please don’t stay here, Nyrinn. It isn’t safe. Cayden gifted me a healing shop and you’re more than welcome to use it.”
“Has he?” The woman turns toward us, curiosity lighting her eyes as she notes the hands I rest on Elowen’s shoulders. “That sounds far more generous than the rumors report him to be.”
“The rumors are correct,” I state.
Nyrinn snorts as she opens the lid of an empty trunk pressed against the wall. Her hands grip the sides as she bows her head and takes a deep breath. “Inform me of the shop’s inventory and start grabbing jars of whatever you lack.”
More people than I thought possible fill the place Elowen referred to as Mourning Meadow. Lycus rests on a grand pyre, his sword clasped between his sickly gray hands. The brown leathers he wears match the hair neatly braided down his skull.
“I don’t know much about the afterlife,” Elowen murmurs. “Ailliard usually spoke during the funerals.”
“I know a bit.”
“Do you know anything I can say to him as a final blessing?”
The memory slams into me: dirt-and-blood-caked hands clutching a token of the past as metal bars pressed into my back. I haven’t said the words since, never had a reason. “May your soul cross the river and find peace.”
It’s said there are many layers to hell, and the closer to the top you are, the better you were in life, but there are rivers throughout. A soul can’t find rest until they accept death and cross. Some are reincarnated if the God of Death thinks they deserve another chance to prove themselves, but he’s known to be ruthless. I’ll have to find a way to climb the mountains of the underworld after I die because Elowen will definitely be at the top, and my wretched soul will find a way to hers no matter the distance.
Elowen swipes a stray tear off her cheek and squeezes Lycus’s hands. “May your soul cross the river and find peace, Lycus.”
