Burying the Royal family in the cemetery meant for traitors was a stab in the back I hadn’t been prepared for.
No stone stood at this graveyard, no names remembered at the empty land. The gate screeched with age when Francis pulled on the lock, snow fell on his uncovered hands.
“We will never find them here.” The back of my eyes prickled as I took a step into the cemetery. “Traitors don’t get a memorial.” I turned to Francis. His hands still held the rusty lock; his eyes shot past me, bewilderment filling them.
I followed his gaze, and my heart stumbled as I took a step backwards, my back hitting Francis’ chest.
“What in the Kingdom...” he muttered.
“Ravens.” I swallowed, walking towards an unkindness of ravens that circled the patch of fresh fallen snow.
My legs shook as they carried me forward against my better judgment, yet something pulled me towards the birds no matter my fear.
Onyx eyes met mine when I stood before the birds; their quiet stare pierced into my soul as they crooked their heads at once.
“It’s here,” I whispered to Francis standing beside me.
“I wouldn’t be so certain—”
“They are buried here.” I nodded without breaking my stare with the ravens.
“Cordelia—” Francis trailed off when a deafening croak filled the cemetery. The ravens squawked at once, their strong wings whistled as the unkindness rose to the black sky. Disappearing into the woods, their song rang in my ears.
My lungs ached when I took my next breath; my eyes closed, welcoming the raven's prayer. “It’s here.” I swallowed. “I can feel it.”
“Moon help me,” Fracis muttered, pushing the shovel into the cold soil.
The Moon had faded into the sky by the time Francis’ shovel stuck deep inside the pit: the morning twilight was upon us.
“You should probably go.” Francis glanced up at me when the big wooden box appeared at the bottom of the pit.
“I need to see them.” I swallowed the growing nausea.
“I don’t think that’s wise, Cordelia,” Francis argued. His perfect clothing was now wrinkled and covered in soil as he cleaned the remaining dirt off the box, fidgeting with the cap.
“I need to see them.”
I clenched the ends of my sleeves. Nausea clawed at my weak stomach.
Francis sighed, his lips turned into a thin line, yet he obeyed my wishes, opening the cap to the dishonorable casket.
My legs weakened as an invisible force kneeled me before my fallen family.
My ivory gloves turned the color of dirt.
Their bodies were a bloody mess.
I clenched onto the edge of the grave, my fingers digging into the frozen soil.
If it hadn’t been for Mother’s jewelry that still hung on her broken fingers, if it hadn’t been for the two tiny bodies clutching onto each other, I would’ve never guessed they were my family.
Their limbs rested in the most unnatural of ways, their skin broken apart as long-dried blood sat on every inch of their flesh. Their clothes ripped apart, clinging on their broken ribs, their bruised cheeks shone purple against their pale—covered in blood—skin.
A strong smell of sour-rot and soil hit my nostrils; my jaw clenched shut, nausea making its way through my insides.
Then I saw her.
My dear sister.
