The ghosts stood behind the living. A small army of ghosts, just over two hundred. Men and women garbed in ceremonial armor, bearing weapons from a time before living memory.

Yet each one’s head was bowed. Some wept, or knelt, but they had no tears to give. They were ghosts, but Cara saw one of them standing next to the [Paladin], kneeling with his head almost pressed to the ground. They were ghosts, but they were people.

They had come too late. Just in time and far too late. Of all of them, the dead wore their guilt hardest.

The living grieved. Violetta clung to her father. The people of Landsmecht stood together. Each village represented, for they had all come.

Afiele’s folk, and Duchess Grishen’s people. The Duchess did not weep. She stood behind Culin and Sasi, head held high, back straight. At first, Cara had wondered if she cared. Then she saw every tense line of grieving, terrible pride.

Pride. Grief. Guilt.

It was nothing compared to the two silent figures standing before the coffins.

Culin and Sasi.

[Lord] and [Lady] of Afiele. It was not kind, this last. It was terribly harsh. Too cruel.

It was their duty to lay their parents to rest. They stood there, lost. Alive.

One because of his sister’s sacrifice. The other—because of some shred of humanity the [Necromancer]

had possessed.

No one would mourn him. No one had buried him. They had torched the field until naught but ash remained. No one would ever speak his name again. No one would mourn him, and that field would lie fallow forever. An unmarked grave for the monster who had called all this.

Yet Sasi lived. That was true, but not even Cara would mourn him.

The hill was quiet and cold. Culin was shivering in his pale, white clothing, but no one spoke a word.

Here lay tombstones. Lord Lantal’s father and mother lay here, and many generations of Afiele’s rulers.

Cara waited for a speech. She waited for words and knew they would never be enough. Her eyes were locked on the two children, but when one of them eventually raised her head, Sasi said nothing. Afiele’s folk were cleverer than that. She raised her head, looked around. Took Culin’s hand. He started, then clung to her.

Sasi took a quavering breath in the last days of fall and began to sing. Cara was surprised as the first uncertain notes of the girl’s voice rose into the air. A heartbeat later, Culin joined in.

It was like a hymn from her world. A slow, melancholy song like the ones Violetta played in the fields.

Yet…joyful? Cara closed her eyes and listened.

“As I walked among a meadow weary,

In a land of clouded skies

Each step I took was not so heavy

As I lay my burdens down.”