Page 131 of House of Embers
“I met with Clover before the assault. She sends her regards to the king of the Wastes.”
Dozan took the amulet in his hand and rubbed his thumb along the face of it, over theRfor his name. “To war we go.”
“To war,” Wynter agreed.
Chapter Forty-Six
The Funeral
It was raining the day of Kivrin’s funeral. The clouds opened and poured big, fat drops onto the parade of attendees dressed in the traditional black. Words were spoken about his heroics, his bravery, his fearlessness, about how Gelryn had chosen him and died in battle—about how they were the best of them.
Kerrigan didn’t utter a word. She hadn’t said anything since she’d returned. She just stared up at the funeral pyre and the lifeless look of her father. He appeared to be made of wax. All the bright and vibrant things that made him Kivrin Argon were gone.
Just like Lyam.
Just like when she had snuck down into the catacombs beneath the mountain and looked upon her friend’s face and saw none of the light that made him alive. It was all gone in her father as well.
His soul gone from this world.
His spirit returned to the plane.
His life a part of the great beyond.
None of the words the men spoke over his body really made any sense. They had tried to convince Kerrigan to speak for her father, but what could she even say? What could encompass all that he was toher, all that he had ever been? How could she begin to reconcile her hatred of him for so many years and the stolen lifetimes she’d never get back because of this tragedy?
So she said nothing.
Dragon fire rained down on his body. A great honor. A sign of a revered leader. They had lit Lyam up as well since he was a Dragon Blessed at the time of his murder.
Death. So much death. All of it senseless.
She hadn’t even gotten to go to Helly’s funeral. They probably hadn’t even had one for her mentor. Prescott’s had been short. Fordham had said a few words about his cousin. It had felt like a blip. She hated that it had felt like so much less than what this felt like.
Now, she felt hollowed out, as if someone had taken a scoop to her insides. She had to remain standing and fighting and winning this war. And yet she was empty. There was nothing to be done about it. This was all she was now.
The fire burned hot enough that the crowd stepped back. Kerrigan remained where she was, Fordham at her side. He shot her another worried glance, but she kept her gaze determinedly forward, let the fire dance in her irises as the white of her father’s clothes began to burn and his skin sizzled and his hair disappeared.
Time seemed to slow as the rest of the funeral attendees trickled away. Darby grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Dozan’s expression was grim as he gave his condolences. Wynter and Amond and Delle and Adelaide and even Viviana—they all came and went.
Kerrigan sank into the wet ground. She would sit vigil just as she had for Lyam’s death. Fordham still hadn’t said anything to her and was drawn away by his kingly duties sometime as the sun disappeared over the horizon.
Still Kivrin’s body burned.
Still she remained.
Her fingers were freezing, her lips so cold that she couldn’t feelthem. Her body was trapped in stasis in that moment. She couldn’t move her limbs to walk away. Even as the fire died down over hours and what was once her father turned to ash.
“Kerrigan,” Fordham said. He wrapped a heavy wool cloak around her shoulders. “You can’t stay out here all night.”
She couldn’t move her neck. She said nothing.
“It’s almost done. You should let someone else collect the ashes. We can inter him in my family crypt until we reclaim Waisley.”
A bubbled, indignant scoff came out of her disused throat.
“We will get Bryonica back,” Fordham said. “Audria returned with a contingent of their dragons. More are trickling in after they heard that we went up against the Society and won.”
“Won?” she croaked. It was the first word she’d said in days, and it hurt. “We didn’t win.”
