For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the sea crashing against the rocks and the wind whistling through the crumbled ruins of the lighthouse.

“Do we trust it?” Hassan asked, breaking the silence. “Her? What if she’s just going to finish what the god started?”

Anton’s gaze flickered to the sea. It was Beru’s voice that had spoken. Not the god’s. And if what she’d said was true, then the god was dead.

“I trust her,” Anton said firmly.

Ephyra was strangely quiet, staring at the place where Beru had disappeared. Khepri, who was closest to her, stepped forward, laying a hand on her shoulder gently. Ephyra startled under the touch.

Jude, too, was quiet. He knelt several paces away from where Hector’s body lay, staring at him, unmoving. Anton let the others’ voices wash over him and went to Jude’s side. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around him, letting Jude’s head fall against his shoulder as Jude wept.

“It should have been me,” Jude whispered. “If I’d just gone through with it—” He cut himself off with a wet sob.

Anton didn’t say anything. He had no doubt that they had done the right thing. That Hector had believed it, too. And later, when the dust had settled and they’d laid Hector to rest, Anton would tell him so. He would sear the words into Jude’s skin with his lips and his hands.

But for now, he just held him and didn’t let go.

Jude and Hassan prepared Hector’s body. They cut a lock of his hair and put it inside a reliquary of chrism oil. Jude said the blessing, and Hassan, Khepri, and Anton lit the pyre. The smoke spiraled against the blaze of the dying sun.

As the fire dwindled down to embers and the sky grew dark, they departed. Hassan and Khepri first, with an invitation to return to the palace to rest. Then Illya and Ephyra. And finally, only Jude and Anton remained.

“You should go,” Jude said to Anton. “You look exhausted.”

“I can stay with you,” Anton said at once. “I don’t mind.”

Jude smiled at him faintly, and then cupped a hand around his face and kissed his forehead. “Go. I … I want to be alone. For a little while.”

Anton bit his lip and then nodded shakily. His heart ached. But instead of turning away, he stepped toward the pyre and laid a hand on a charred piece of wood, still warm from the fire.

“I’ll take care of him. I promise,” Anton said.

Only then did he turn and walk away, following the path back to the palace.