Today's Reading
Long fingers of lavender beckoned them toward a small crowd seated before a platform, where Damien's sister, Shira, waited for them in a suit of dark navy. There was something starkly unsettling about seeing her there without all her knives, her usually braided hair gathered into a neat bun at the nape of her neck.
Like her brother, Shira hid her grief behind a practiced mask.
The city of Veradell's elite occupied their chairs like an opposing army, a sea of flowing gowns and gemstone-lined jackets turning hungry eyes toward them. The attention reminded Ari so much of her Saba's funeral that she nearly faltered. Memories of the Sage's recitation of prayers, of tearing her clothes in grief and her sister's piercing cries, came surging back to her.
Everyone had stared then too.
Struck by the urge to disappear beneath their assessing gazes, she burned the verillion she'd consumed on reflex. The warmth of the plant's magic spiraled through her in a familiar buzz. She'd used it sparingly the last few days, suspecting that it made her connection with the Heretic stronger. But she could not relinquish her power entirely, unable to deny how reassuring it felt each time she had it back.
She charmed herself for calm using the ruby ring on her finger, now nestled beside the emerald one Damien had given her. She would let the enchantment settle her, then release it.
Damien squeezed her arm, and she looked up into his questioning gaze. For so much of her life, she had been taught not to draw attention to herself, to remain hidden. Entering a battleground of Veradell's elite flew in the face of that, and he wanted to ensure she was ready.
Ari thought of Mikira, who had walked among these wolves and dared them to bite her, and lifted her chin.
She would not be afraid.
* * *
Ari stood as the ceremony concluded, the crowd trailing Reid back toward the house, where the wake would be held in the main courtyard. She'd never witnessed a Celairen funeral, where the casket was open for all to see, Galan's pale body dressed in a suit of silver and black. It felt disrespectful to stare at him, and she kept her eyes averted.
Damien and Shira descended the stage, joining Ari in the front row as the pallbearers lifted the casket.
"We don't follow them?" Ari asked.
Shira shook her head. "Our father was very clear that he didn't want his actual burial made a spectacle. I'll handle his interment while Damien attends our guests."
It felt like such a sudden conclusion to a process Ari knew was endless. Grief was not a quick thing. She and her sister had sat in mourning with their parents for seven days after their Saba's funeral, receiving neighbors and friends in their home, and that was only the beginning. But Damien had told her death was not so solemn in Celair, a kingdom that had learned to live alongside it beneath Enderlain's endless conquest.
Tonight would be as much a celebration of their father's life as a mourning of its loss.
"Will you be returning to the party?" Damien asked Shira with a practiced disinterest.
Her mouth curved in an indication that she recognized it too. "No, little brother. I'll let you have your night." She looked for a moment as if she might hug him, but refrained, laying a hand instead on Ari's shoulder. "Don't let him glower at anyone too intently."
"I make no promises," Ari replied, enjoying the way Damien's jaw clenched.
Shira departed after the pallbearers, and Ari hooked her arm through Damien's, escorting him toward the house. "Are you ready?" she asked as they entered the inner corridor.
Damien straightened the cuffs of his jacket. "Let's go."
The arched corridor opened into a spacious courtyard bedecked in silver and white, the melody of an enchanted piano rising on the air. A massive white lion statue towered above the crowd in honor of Aslir, now House Adair's patron Harbinger. Even the signet ring on Damien's right hand had been born anew, made of diamonds shaped in a lion's fang.
They descended into the milling crowd, greeting people as they passed. The head of the Anthir, Inspector Elrihan, shook Damien's hand, offering his condolences. Others stopped them with a kind word or a wistful memory of Galan, and Damien accepted them all graciously, though Ari knew they weren't what he sought.
He had already identified a list of important guests, and it was those that he spent extra time with, forging connections he might later need. Everyone here wanted something of him, and he of them, and through the course of the night they would lay the groundwork for House Adair's future, just as Galan would have wanted. All the while she kept her verillion simmering, telling herself just one moment more, and then she would stop.
...
