“She’s a martyr,” Thalia was whispering.
“What?” Not a smart question, but he was so fucking tired and hungry that his brain wasn’t working its best, and even in peak conditions, it wouldn’t be his strong point.
Rage boiled up to the point that it was getting hard to be gentle. Raff wanted to go wolf and bite somebody’s face off over this. Their wedding might not have been romantic or born of mutual love, but he’d meant those promises, and some asshole had the nerve, the fucking nerve—
“In our faith, it’s said that if someone dies with a pure heart, pure sacrifice, she will take her place at the Mother’s side for all time. Blood tears are one sign of martyrdom.”
“She’ll become a goddess or something?” He wasn’t clear at all on Eldritch theology.
“A saint, perhaps, if other portents appear. She’d laugh at the notion.”
The line flattened out completely on the medical machine and the tone of the alarm changed, dropping from a klaxon’s blare to a mournful drone. No mistaking what it meant. Thalia collapsed against him, sobbing so hard he feared she might be sick. She gave him all her weight, and it was no burden to hold her. Her body was so slim and light that her bones might be hollow, like the bird-kin Animari up in the Aerie.
Raff barely heard the doctor call time of death. He looked away as the nurse drew the sheet over Lileth’s face. The blood on her cheeks soaked through, lending her death linens the grim look of abstract painting done in blood.
“Go,” he said sharply. “Give us some privacy.”
The medical staff left, making him think he had some authority here. Unexpected. Looks like I’m not entirely a paper tiger.
With his right arm, he supported Thalia and with his left, he held onto her hand, otherwise, she would be tearing at her own skin. He’d never seen grief like this, never imagined the icily contained Eldritch princess had that much fire below the skin, like a molten river running beneath snowy tundra. He didn’t tell her to calm down or hold it in. It felt like it meant something that she was breaking down in front of him. Even when she screamed and scratched him, he let her rake those welts and shrugged off the blood she scraped from his skin. The wounds healed so swiftly that it hardly mattered.
A courier knocked on the infirmary door, and Raff took the tablet he proffered with an impatient gesture, guarding Thalia with his body. Her people shouldn’t see her like this. He played the message because she couldn’t.
Only a few words from that bastard Gilbraith: “I told you you’d be sorry.”
Eventually, Thalia cried herself out and pulled out her phone with trembling hands. He didn’t know who she was calling, but her steady words sent chills down his spine. “Lileth d’Aquitane of House Talfayen, last of her name, has passed from this world. Begin the funeral rites. Her death anniversary is also my wedding day, and as the All-Mother is my witness, I will not rest until Ruark Gilbraith’s head is mounted on a pike.”
11.
Thalia couldn’t remember the last time someone else had washed her face. Painted it, certainly. She routinely sat so that Madu could render her suitable for some formal occasion. Afterward, she was always alone in wiping her skin clean, alone to see the vulnerability reappear as if by magic. Cosmetics were like armor in a sense, or perhaps more of a mask that permitted her to reveal only what she chose.
Not today.
Today, Raff lathered her face with one clumsy hand, splashing her clothes and scrubbing with an enthusiasm that could double as an exfoliant. Afterward, he patted her face dry, and she wondered why she hadn’t protested. Numbness only went so far as an explanation; she needed to step up, demand answers. Somebody had to pay. If she didn’t take swift action, it would undercut her ability to lead. The people would remember this crisis and the way she’d folded like a paper flower.
“I should—”
“Ferith is on top of things,” Raff cut in. “You haven’t slept well since I’ve been here, and you just lost someone dear to you. Part of being an effective leader is knowing when to delegate, so you have the strength to carry on long-term. If there’s any new information, they’ll notify us.”
“I wish we had the kind of surveillance tech here that they used in Ash Valley.” After she said it, she realized the futility. Didn’t Gavriel have the ability to circumvent such equipment? If his gift had manifested so, someone else’s might have, too.
“That would help, but your Noxblades know how to get answers. Trust in them and rest. Tomorrow, the funeral will be taxing enough.”
Thalia sighed and gave in. She lacked the fortitude to drag him along to question the kitchen staff, who would be more likely to offer honest answers to Ferith. Thalia’s presence tended to end in stuttered answers and hasty, repeated obeisance. Few of her people knew her as more than a symbol of resistance to her father’s adherence to the old ways, where bigotry and isolationism prospered.
“We haven’t talked about where we’ll sleep while you’re here,” she said.
“Tavros is packing my things. I’ll vacate the rooms you set aside for me, so Janek and Tavros can share it. Magda’s quarters are empty now, so Skylett and Bibi are moving there. That should provide some relief from the tension between your guards and my people.”
“Nicely resolved. Was there a lot of friction?” she asked.
“Some, but that’s to be expected. It’s late, let’s get ready for bed.” Raff punctuated that comment by turning down the covers and leading her over to the light switch. The room was plunged into darkness.
She had no idea what time it was, but they’d sat for hours on Lileth’s death watch, so it was probably getting on toward midnight. “I hope you’re not offended but I’d rather…” There was no polite
