Must be earned.
Take their ash
and take their bones
take their souls
to your thrones.
See our tears
and hear our cries
when you take their souls
beyond the skies.
Remember our love
remember their fate
remember we lose
what we choose to hate.
We sew our souls together
And our stories to skin
To find each other
Again and again.
We remember . . .
We remember . . .”
Many voices joined hers in the last lines, tears glistening on cheeks, including mine. Several men and women clutched colorful, patched scarves to their chests, eyes closed.
Maz let go of my hand to stroke the tree tattoo on his arm. Across the fire, Aiden drained his mug.
“Are all Dag funerals like this?” I whispered to Maz.
He nodded. “That’s why we fight so hard in life. So that when we mourn, we mourn only what we lost, not what we refused to give.”
“No regrets,” I murmured, glancing once more at Aiden.
He was already staring at me. His eyes burned and warmed at once. The intensity made me ache all over. For what, I didn’t know.
His black hair was wild, as if he’d been running his hands through it. Or perhaps it was from his furious ride earlier.
I licked my lips, tasting mead and salt.
His jaw tightened, and his hand that had been dangling over his knee flexed and clenched. He looked angry now.
He beckoned the boy with the pitcher, who filled his mug again. As he drank, I tore my gaze away from his pulsing throat.
The man who had hugged Nikella—Jek—stood and told a story about one of the deceased. His deep, powerful voice had a very soothing effect, and I couldn’t help smiling at the memories he shared.
