Page 81 of Rise of the Phoenix King (Crown and Crest 4)

Ayan walks into the group slowly, his face blank. He drops to a figure in the grass, partially hidden behind a bush.

“It’s not,” I murmur.

But it is. He lifts his grandmother into his arms, pulling her against his chest and bending his head over her still frame. Sobs rack his body, silent. Pranmore joins him, falling to his knees. The Woodmore places his hand on Daphne’s heart, searching for a sign of life.

Ayan turns to him, his grief-contorted face awash in the pale moonlight. Pranmore looks down, shaking his head. Gently, Ayan hands Daphne to Pranmore, and he stands, turning away as if he can’t bear any more.

I look down, choking back emotion I must not show in front of my men.

“Are you going to ignore this?” Ayan suddenly yells, his voice carrying over the Woodmores’ cries as he addresses them. “Are you going to turn a blind eye and claim this, too, was Pranmore’s fault?”

I turn back, watching him. I’ve never seen him like this. Someone should go to him, but we all stand motionless, letting him grieve.

“If this is what your peace looks like, I don’t want it!” he yells, jerking his hand toward his grandmother. “Because it looks like apathy. It looks like FEAR.”

His voice breaks, spurring me into action. I walk to him, avoiding the dead. He turns to me, broken. I clasp his shoulder and nod, clenching my teeth as he hangs his head and weeps.

“She’s gone,” he says through sobs.

I tighten my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, stoically trying to gain control of himself.

The people are stricken as they stare at us, silence heavy in the night. I turn to the Woodmores. They watch me, waiting for me to make some declaration. Say something that will ease their suffering.

But what am I supposed to say?

I look down at Pranmore. He closes Daphne’s eyes, tenderly holding this woman he’s never met, mourning her loss simply because she was alive, and now she is not.

Collecting my thoughts, I look up. “A friend once told me we must protect our people because that is our duty as citizens of the kingdom. You don’t have to wield a blade or a bow to help us. Use your magic as it was intended—snuff out darkness and nurture life. Camellia shouldn’t be here anymore. She’s a wraith, a monster… and you’re the only ones who can defeat her.”

I sigh, suddenly weary.

Turning to my waiting soldiers, I say, “I need several volunteers to return to Cabaranth for carts. We must collect the fallen.”

19

CLOVER

My heart achesas I watch the scene unfold—Ayan, filled with anger and pain. Pranmore, helpless and devastated.

And Henrik, shining like a lighthouse. He doesn’t know what a pillar of hope he is. He is honor; he is responsibility. His heartache is almost tangible in his words, but his strength doesn’t waver when he speaks.

Even if I weren’t in love, I’d follow him into Camellia’s oblivion, trusting him every step of the way. And I’m not the only one. In the depths of their grief, the Woodmores exchange looks.

I have no doubt—they are with us now.

* * *

A small crowd waits for us at the castle’s grand entry steps, their faces etched with worry in the flickering torchlight. My eyes fall on my father. He spots me as well, and then Colter. Once we’re both accounted for, his tense expression eases. Denny remained with Lawrence, and Gavriel stands nearby with a group of knights. My eldest brother must have returned from Ladora, where he’s been commanding a golem hunt. At least tonight, Father can rest easy knowing his children are safe.

I gratefully accept a groom’s assistance and slide from my horse, weary despite the short time I spent in the saddle. It’s late—well after midnight. I assisted Pranmore as he and the other elves gifted with healing tended the wounded, trying not to look too closely at the ones who would no longer benefit from his care.

I want nothing more than a trip to the bathhouse and then a bed. And the bed in my quarters will have to do, even though I haven’t stepped foot in there since the incident with Camellia last night. I try not to think of Henrik. I wasn’t supposed to sleep alone tonight, or ever again.

But at least we’re alive.

Feeling every muscle, I walk up the steps, keeping my eyes low so I won’t make eye contact with anyone. My fingers slide over the leather-wrapped hilt of the dagger I wear at my hip, a comfort. I haven’t admitted it to a soul, but I’ve been spooked since the attack. Too jumpy, too quick to assume everyone unknown is staring at me with Camellia’s eyes.

---