We came to the forest clearing, where the canopy broke and the clouded moonlight filtered to the grass. The torchlight continued ahead of me, a pathway of light to the pyre.
I walked the lit path, then stepped aside at the pyre’s edge. Rhiannon’s swords lay flat atop it—the very two she had tried to kill me with—their edges gleaming, dancing. A burning torch had been set into the ground, awaiting my hand.
Rhiannon’s body was marched over by four fae servants holding the bier high. They laid her body with her swords flanking her head as hundreds of fae entered the clearing.
When all had congregated, I picked up the waiting torch. Eleyrie had given me the words to say, had put the feather in my hair. And though I might think Rhiannon deserved otherwise, this wasn’t about Eurydice. This was about being a queen.
“May her soul fly far and high.”
I set the torch into the pyre, and it took. The fire burned low, consuming its base. Soon the flames rose,enshrouding Rhiannon’s body in orange and white. Her veil caught and burnt away, and then the rest of her blackened and charred.
Goodbye, sister-killer. Night witch. Queen of thorns.
The fire rose high, higher. As it did, a cry went up from somewhere in the congregation, warbling and echoing back. It was met by another voice, and another. All were invisible to me in the darkness, but the shadows danced on the trees all around.
Haskel had told me this would happen. Sylvanwild funerals brought out Unseelie ferality.
I still shivered, didn’t know what to say or do. No one had given me words for this part. No one had told me how to be a Sylvanwild fae.
Someone appeared from the darkness—Haskel. He approached with crossed arms and came to stand beside me. “It’s a racket, I know.”
“A happy one, seems like.”
“Because it is. And not just because she was a shit queen.” He bumped my shoulder. “It’s an honor to die. Truly die.”
“Trulydie?”
“Die as you are—as a fae. And to stay that way.” His eyes glittered in the firelight. “Even us immortals imagine the way we might die. Perhaps more than humans, since it’s not certain.”
The yelling had broken into dancing; the soft moonlight revealed bodies clutched, moving. I swore I glimpsed Faun in the throng, moving with the rest of them.
“I should think you would want to live forever.”
“Gods no.” Haskel shook his head as though brushing the thought away. “What a tremendous burden that would be. Do you know how many fae I’ve watched die?”
I didn’t dare guess.
“More than a thousand,” he said. “Some I loved. Some I despised. But death is death—every bit of it stays with you.”
“You remember every one of them?”
“Every one I had occasion to see or hear.”
Of the deaths I’d witnessed since that night my kingdom was attacked, I could still pick each of them out with terrible feeling. Those I loved, those I only cared a little for, and even her whose body burned before me. Maybe hers most of all.
Haskel nodded toward the throng. “Ah, the young buck approaches. Of course he skips the stodgy part and appears for the celebration.”
Dorian emerged from the crowd, chin low and eyes dark. The firelight revealed mud on his boots; he’d been riding. I felt his approach in my pulse—would I ever not?—yet he only had eyes for Haskel.
He stepped close to the older fae. “I need to speak with you.”
Haskel shrugged one shoulder. “Then speak.”
Dorian stepped closer. “Elsewhere.” As though I wasn’t standing right there, or worth acknowledging.
“Whatever you have to say to my master-at-arms,” I said, “you can say before me.”
Dorian’s gaze snapped to me; I nearly flinched under the weight of it. “Very well.” His attention flicked back to the other man. “I’ve been to the Killing Fields, Haskel.”