“Yeah,” Tissa said. “I can’t believe someone cut her head off. It’s just so …”
“It’s brutal,” I said. “The way she was killed makes me sick. And what’s with the groundskeeper who told the police a swarm of bees had killed Lordin? That’s really weird.”
I sighed and gave my head a shake. “Anyway, Lordin’s a martyr now. The people of Geniverd are furious, especially here in Gaard. She’s been elevated far beyond what she was in life. I’ve heard the Gurnots are cycling rumors through the capital that Lordin was killed by the upper class to stop her from meddling with Decens-Lenitas. I mean, she was highly versed in the teachings, but I know she opposed some of the more controversial aspects regarding the monarchy. The rumors have sparked outrage. I know that there was some serious division between the classes before, but this has incited some real trouble. Have you guys seen the riots?”
“Yeah,” Tissa said. “People are throwing themselves from roofs. They’re marching in the streets and demanding justice. The higher-ups still won’t give out any information on who killed Lordin, or why.”
“They should,” Nnati said with a peculiar edge in his voice. “I was never one of Lordin’s followers, but she was still a human being, and people deserve answers. I’ll be the first to admit she seemed genuinely benevolent, like she really helped people. It’s not right to cover up what happened. Why won’t they tell us anything?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “That sort of thing is way beyond the station of a mere heiress. Papa hasn’t said anything to me about it.”
“It’s suspicious,” Nnati said. “And it’s causing problems. I’ve heard the Surrvul are vying for the throne now. Word on the street is that they have six heirs going to the coronation next year. They’re hoping to steal the seat. It’s been two hundred years since the last Surrvul rulers, and they’re peeved about it. It’s funny, actually, maybe even ironic, that the richest continent is the most desperate for the throne.”
Tissa nodded in agreement. “With Veeln-Co in their territory, Surrvul has enough money to fund a war.”
“Hush,” I snapped, not meaning to. I hated hearing about wars. I hated hearing about how viciously Lordin had been killed. What kind of monster could harm such a perfectly radiant being? And what would happen now at the coronation? Poor Zawne. He must have been in tatters.
“Sorry.” I hung my head. “I’m just upset—maybe because I had thought I could never be as morally upright as Lordin; then she came into my life and showed me I could try. She trusted me.” I sighed, fighting back tears. “Then someone cut her freaking head off! She handed me the torch and died the next day. Who’s going to change the world now?”
Tissa and Nnati remained quiet, sullen. The mood was bleak. Thousands of mourners talked in quiet whispers all around us. We had all come to bid Lordin a final farewell, people from every continent. It was one of the greatest pilgrimages Geniverd had ever seen. I had known she was popular and loved, but this was crazy. It seemed like the whole world had come to say goodbye.
“Death is a thief,” I said. “It steals hopes, dreams, experiences. Death is the robber of life, happiness, family. Death takes everything and gives nothing. Death is the most unjust sentence ever passed.”
The procession began. We joined in the thousands of people marching slowly through the fields of Lordin’s mother’s estate. Lordin was to be cremated and placed inside a newly constructed mausoleum.
As we marched, drummers beat on their drums, and the Ava-Gaard sang out in painful bellows. Nnati and Tissa joined in as best they could, since they were Ava-Nurlie and didn’t know the words. I belted out the words as loud as I could, danced the dance of the dead, and surrendered my body, swaying to the beating of the drum as we marched through the field. By dancing, the Ava-Gaard promised Lordin a peaceful rest with our ancestors in the afterlife.
We danced and chanted and marched all the way to the cremation site, to the mausoleum Raad had helped construct, since he was the soon-to-be clan leader. He had been practicing the duties, and he stood near the front of the crowd, wearing full Gaard-Elder garb. It made my heart swell to see my brother looking so regal.
And I wasn’t the only one. Tissa couldn’t keep her eyes off Raad. Or was she looking at Zawne? The two men stood beside each other, roughly the same age. Zawne was thinner beside Raad. He had suffered a month of grief, and it showed in his baggy clothing, his dark eyes, his sunken cheeks. Zawne looked half-dead. I supposed he was less alive without Lordin, his shining light.
Zawne stepped forward onto the podium and took the microphone in his hands. The hundreds of P2 camera drones buzzed around him like locusts, transmitting the tragic event to the whole kingdom. Zawne didn’t seem to mind. He was probably used to them in his life of royalty and fame. It made me glad to be away from that boring life, constantly swarmed by cameras and press. Before Zawne spoke, he turned to look at a veiled woman standing alone at the back of the stage. Lordin’s mother, I guessed. Her skin glowed the same pale white as Lordin’s had, the porcelain complexion so rare for an Ava-Gaard.
“I’d like to recite a poem,” Zawne said, his voice shattered by loss. “I loved Lordin more than words can describe, and I have written this poem to try to commemorate her. Maybe in death she will hear my words.”
The crowd melted. I could feel them soften and whisper. Who could blame them? Zawne was the perfect model of a bereaved lover. Even Tissa said, “He’s so romantic. I wish I had a man like him.”
Zawne cleared his throat, then read his poem from a scrap of paper. “My love. Our love. I
