Bri glanced over to her friend. Carys would have made a good Queen—never dragging on long ceremonies, kind, fair—nothing like Bri . . . or Lina. She thought back to the vengeance meted out the night before. The Princess seemed just as confident leading this ceremony as she did raining blows down upon Meson, and Lina did it all with grace, power, and heart. Bri hated the feeling stirring in her chest, like each moment spent with the Princess placed another hook within her soul.

Lina lifted three fingers to her lips, her forehead, and then the sky. As she did, the crowd mirrored her actions, mumbling an Ific prayer that Bri didn’t know.

She and Carys whispered their own: “May their spirits blow freely through the wind. May we see them in the waving grasses and the falling leaves and the mighty ocean waves. Rest in eternal peace.”

It was an Eastern prayer, uttered at many funerals over the years. Bri’s chest ached and she grabbed the hilt of her amber dagger. . . . Too many. She remembered kneeling at the freshly turned earth below that oak tree. The battles at Falhampton had been bloody and brutal, neither the Northern nor Eastern Kings acknowledging the bloodbath despite having ordered it. Now, Bri wondered if they had been working together this whole time to destroy Hale. Had the hundreds of soldiers lost on both sides been collateral in their plot to kill Norwood’s illegitimate son? It was horrifying, and yet, not surprising coming from either of them.

Carys used to say her Southern prayers when she first joined their retinue, but they swiftly became the Eastern words as soldier after soldier died. Carys was fleeing her own sort of battles when she swore her sword to Hale’s army. It was clear she needed a fight to get lost in, and after the battle of Falhampton, she was able to come out the other side of it.

Darrow stepped up beside Lina, an unlit torch in his hand. He touched it to the flames of Lina’s own and turned to light the corners of the waiting pyre. Delta hobbled up from where she had leaned against Saika. Her weakened gait made Bri want to protest. Delta still looked gaunt and sickly, only a hint of brightness back in her face. Standing for that long had probably drained all of her energy, but Bri knew even if they produced a chair for her, Delta wouldn’t have accepted it.