king did not abate. City folk and farmers from the countryside, minor nobility and merchants, laborers and off-duty soldiers, okui and hikui alike; all stood united in their collective grief. All believed the king had died of the plague- Raidan decided it served no purpose to allow the people to know the truth of Keizo’s death.
As for the fate of Sonoe, the King’s Companion, the official version of events stated she had perished while taking part in the magical defense of Alasiri, and that her body had not been recovered.
When Jelena learned of Sonoe’s betrayal and the circumstances of her death, she cried, not for the betrayal itself, but for the lost soul of the woman she called her friend. Even though she knew everyone else involved disagreed, Jelena chose to believe the friendship she had shared with her father’s consort had been genuine, at least on some level. Sonoe had fallen under the control of an entity whose corrupting power had proven impossible to resist. Jelena remained convinced her friend had been a victim of the Nameless One, just as she, herself had almost been.
Jelena chose to forgive Sonoe, and in doing so, she let go of the terrible hurt Sonoe’s betrayal had caused.
On the morning of the nineteenth day of Monzen, Raidan lit the sacred fire and Keizo’s body burned atop a magnificent funeral pyre in the center of the vast parade ground fronting Sendai Castle.
To Jelena, it seemed as if the entire population of the city had crammed itself into the castle grounds, shoulder to shoulder, to witness the final rites for their king. As the flames shot higher and dense black smoke roiled into the sky, the wailing of the crowd grew louder. The castle guards struggled to keep the people back from the searing heat of the pyre, but finally, one man broke through.
Jelena gasped as the man raced up to the fire, clutching something in his hands. He halted then flung the object high into the air. The sunlight glinted off the blade of a dagger. It disappeared into the roaring inferno and after bowing to the pyre, the man turned and staggered back into the crowd.
Another man followed the first, then a woman, then another man, each one flinging some object onto the pyre. Finally, the guards melted aside and the people surged forward.
“Each person throws a possession of value on the pyre of the king, as a way to show his or her devotion,” Ashinji explained. “Now, the king’s soul can travel to heaven with tokens of love from his people.”
“Should we do the same, Ashi?”
“No. It’s a rite for the common people. It belongs to them.”
Jelena watched the hail of objects hit the pyre and the tear-stained faces of the people, and for the first time since she had come to Alasiri, she felt like a part of the larger nation, an outsider no longer.
The next day, the King’s Guard accompanied the royal family as they bore the urn of the king down to his grave. Jelena walked behind her uncle and aunt, leaning on Ashinji for support. She felt as if the weight of her grief would crush her.
Just before Raidan placed the simple ceramic urn into the magnificent carved marble casket prepared for it, Jelena touched her fingers to her lips, brushed them against the cool clay, then turned and laid her head on Ashinji’s chest. As the heavy casket lid settled into place with grinding finality, Jelena wept.
Raidan and Taya ascended their thrones three days after Keizo’s official funeral. The new king, as one of his first official acts, granted Ashinji a promotion, then released him from his service to the regular army. As Sen’s Heir, Ashinji’s principle duty now lay with Kerala.
Sen and Amara were anxious to return home, not just to lay their eldest son to rest, but because they had been away for so long. Jelena, too, found herself longing to escape the bustle of Sendai for the peace of Kerala. She missed its verdant landscape of rolling hills and dense forest. Returning to the place where her life had changed for the better felt like the closest thing to a real homecoming. Before she could leave, though, she had one final thing she needed to do.
In the little garden known as the Dolphin Bower, so named for the fountain at its center, Jelena waited on a stone bench for a man whose heart she knew she had broken. As she sat clasping and unclasping her hands, she tried to summon up words that might take some of the hurt away, but in her own heart, she knew it was futile. Only time would ease the pain she had inflicted on so undeserving a man.
“Jelena.”
Jelena looked into the dark eyes of Mai Nohe and her breath caught in her throat. She had not seen Mai since the day they had said goodbye, just before the army marched south to Tono. On that day, Jelena had hoped and prayed her future would include a life with Mai.
Mai sat beside her and for several heartbeats, neither spoke. Overhead, amid the spreading branches of a fruitless cherry tree, a mourning dove cooed. The scent of lilacs hung heavy in the air. The stone dolphin poised in the fountain spat a stream of water from its mouth that glittered like a string of diamonds in the sun.
Jelena took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Mai,” she whispered.
“You have nothing to feel sorry for, Jelena,” he replied, looking at his hands. “You believed, as did we all, that your husband had died and you were free to give your heart to another. I knew full well you still loved him just as much as ever, but I counted myself lucky I had even a small piece of your heart.”
Jelena reached up to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. “Mai, I…” she began, but fell silent as Mai turned on the bench to face her. Pain and sadness filled his brown eyes, but she saw no reproach.
“I know now what true love is, Jelena, and I know only a fool would stand in its way. I am no fool.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m truly happy for you.” He stood up. “May you have all the joy and peace you deserve, Jelena.”
“And you as well, Mai.”
As she watched Mai walk away, Jelena fought the urge to get up and run after him, to beg again for his forgiveness. She knew with certainty the pain of this parting would haunt her until the end of her days.
“Goodbye, Uncle.”
Raidan took Jelena’s left hand and raised it to eye level. The thing that had kept strong her resolve, her father’s ring, sized now to fit her finger, flashed in the sun.
“You wear the White Griffin,” Raidan stated, tapping the ring with a forefinger. “The symbol of our House. Never forget that you are a true Onjara.”
“I won’t, Uncle,” Jelena replied.
Raidan let go of her hand, then gripped her shoulders. He stared into her eyes. “I can’t promise you things will change overnight, Niece. Okui prejudice is a fiendishly stubborn thing, but I can promise you this. I will work hard to win over the council in order to get their approval for full rights for all persons born in Alasiri, be they okui or hikui.”
“I know you will, Uncle. Thank you.” Raidan bent to kiss her cheek.
The king and queen, Prince Kaisik, and a small group of retainers had gathered before the main entrance of the castle to bid Lord Sen and his entourage farewell. Raidan had provided a large, comfortable carriage for
