A sad laugh escapes me, and I know how strange and inappropriate the sound is, but I can’t help it. “Really?” I ask in disbelief. “So the Warrior’s Eye is for battle. The Lover’s Eye is for passion. The Reflective Eye for learning. Does The Mourner’s Eye mean death?”
Daed shakes his head, his expression steadfast. Like Solena, he wears a mask of lightness, a façade meant to comfort me, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps.
“It doesn’t mean death. But it does mean it’s a good day to die.”
Tears well in my eyes, and his stoicism ignites my fury. “How can you say that? How can there ever be a good day to die?” My heart pounds painfully against my chest, stealing my breath and tightening my throat. “Arax should be here with us, not alone in the darkness.” I claw at my neck, desperate for release. “Why are you just standing there, staring at me? Do you feel nothing?”
“Amara,” Daed says softly, his brow furrowing as he reaches for me.
“No,” I snap, yanking my hands from his grasp. “You Fae are horrid, heartless creatures. You ruin lives and shatter hearts without a second thought, dancing and drinking while the world crumbles around you.” My voice quivers as I watch him remain silent. “Will you not say anything?”
Daed’s broad shoulders rise and fall with a heavy exhale. “Hold me, wife. I am cold.”
I look at him for a moment, calm and collected despite my assault. When my anger surges, it clouds my vision, building until it erupts in a spray of words I don’t mean. But Daed doesn’t deny me that release; he accepts it as part of who I am, and he loves me still. I step closer, looping my arms around his neck while he encircles my waist, his fingers tracing gentle lines on my back.
We stand like that for a while in the field while Zyphoro and the Blades complete the pyre and the moon rises behind us. When Valorne is blanketed in darkness, with only a scattering of stars and a half moon to light the way, Daed strikes a flint and lights a torch before pacing toward the pyre. He lowers it to the branches, and the flame catches the dry kindling, its first flickers barely visible against the encroaching darkness. Slowly, the flame catches hold, a timid glow that begins to dance. With a soft crackle, it spreads, consuming the kindling with greedy tongues of fire that leap higher and flicker orange and gold.
The heat radiates outward, casting shadows that flicker across Daed's face as he takes a step back. The flames grow bolder, licking the air and crackling as they consume the offerings laid atop the pyre, transforming the wood into a radiant blaze. As the fire roars to life, it sends up spirals of smoke that twist into the night sky, soaring so high it’s as if the moon is breathing it in.
I recall Arax's words, how he hoped they had burned Estra at night, and this is what he meant. Just as The Tenders are returned to the earth, the Mordorin are heralded home in smoke and moonlight. A weight lifts from my chest, allowing me to breathe more easily. This is what Arax wanted—to die here, in this field, and to be consumed by the flames beneath the Pale Eye. Free from his pain and reunited with Estra. I glance over at Daed, and our eyes connect through the flickering fire. In that moment, I finally understand.
For Arax, itwasa good day to die.
Zyphoro appears at my side, arms crossed over her chest, the flames reflecting in her eyes. “You look dreadful,” she remarks, amusement lacing her tone even while Arax burns only a few feet away. But I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.
I grimace, doing my best to manage a frown with half my face swollen. “I’m aware.”
“But you fought like a beast,” she adds, her grin widening. “Couldn’t be prouder, and it’s good for the little one to experience battle early on.”
I gulp, glancing around to ensure no one can hear her. “Be quiet,” I hiss. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”
“I know,” Zyphoro replies, delighting in my frustration. “And I wouldn’t dare ruin this beautiful family moment. But do try to break the news to him before the little demon pops out. Daedalus hates surprises.”
My eyes widen. “…Demon?”
Zyphoro throws her head back and laughs, placing a hand on her chest. “Did I say demon? I meant baby.”
“Well, you said demon,” I reply through clenched teeth.
She shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, when the little bundle of joy is gnawing on your nipple as though it were dried beef, I’m sure you’ll feel the same way.”
With that, Zyphoro slithers away into the night. Despite the new dread twisting in my stomach, she has managed to distract me, if only for a moment.
I stand in silence, watching as the flames engulf the pyre. The flames grow higher, consuming the wood with a ferocity that mirrors the turmoil within me. With a loud crack, the structure begins to collapse, the logs surrendering to the fire's hunger. Burning embers spiral into the air, swirling like lost souls escaping into the night.
Time stretches and the moon climbs higher as the flames dwindle. The once brilliant fire fades to glowing embers, casting a warm flickering light and what’s left of the pyre collapses in on itself, the last of the structure consumed as the flames die down to mere sparks.
He’s gone. Nothing but ash and smoke. I couldn’t save him.
I am the forest, I remind myself. I am the fury of the earth. But without that piece of wood on a leather string, I am practically useless. As my Sisters said, we will have to create a new rune. Find the right tree, seek the blessing of the Souls. My first rune wasn’t finished for months. What do I do until then? How do I make sure I never lose someone again?
Daed returns to my side, intertwining his fingers with mine before lifting my hand to lay a soft kiss on my knuckles. As he does, I can’t help but notice the intricate black runes etched into his skin. The power to void walk. The power to soar through the skies. The power to unleash fury. All at his command, a silent testament to his strength.
My eyes widen, caught between the brilliance and absurdity of my thoughts. “I want my rune of healing on my skin,” I declare boldly, though the look in his eyes leans toward the absurd.
“No,” he replies bluntly, yet he doesn’t release my hand; instead, he grips it tighter.
“Why not?”
