Milonia sank into the shadows of the carriage, throat tight, heart unraveling thread by thread. Only then did she let her tears fall.
Caius lay curled in sleep on the opposite bench, cheeks stained and eyes swollen from too much crying. He’d been furious with her all day. Yelling one minute, and sobbing the next.
It was her fault.
With every day they lingered, he’d imagined a new ending. He’d naively declared Dimitrios’s forgiveness before it was even given. He’d planned tostay.
But he was still just a boy. He didn’t understand what forgiveness really cost. He was still too young to grasp the complex weight of history, politics, and pride.
She had to face her father in person. There was no other way. She had tomake him understand. Dimitrios was a good man. He would do right by Otuvia. He could still make things right—for all of them.
And if she failed?—
The carriage jostled over a bump in the road.
Milonia clutched her belly, fingers splayed protectively.
She couldn’t fail.
Chapter
Fifty-One
Two Weeks After the Collapse
The last time the Yirian clans stood before so many funeral pyres, Kai had been a child, and they’d all sworn it would be the last.
That day, Kai had grieved friends from behind young eyes that couldn’t unsee the damage to their bodies. It hadn’t mattered that they’d been cleaned up and laid upon the stones in their finest leathers and furs. Eyes closed beneath sacred prayer beads.
Through it all, Tse held her small hand in his. His towering body had shielded her from the tundra’s cruel winds. And he’d carried her when her legs refused to move.
“Come, brightest star,” he’d said. “I’ve got you.”
Today, she stood among Silver Wolf, no longer a child. Somehow, she wasn’t a warrior or a wife, either. Only a sister.
A daughter.
Her leathers felt heavier than usual beneath her white ceremonial cloak. Her hands ached to hold something. Anything. A blade. A banner.
Her father’s hand.
But there was nothing left to hold.
Tse lay cold. Pale. Alone. He couldn’t hold or support or carry anyone.
Notanymore.
He’d taken thirteen blades for his wives. That was what it took to stop him. And Kai knew, he would have taken thirteen more. His love was bottomless. His devotion, unshakable.
Someone lit the pyres of the four dead matriarchs first: Bronze Raven, Crimson Wing, Steel Arrow, and finally, Rising Moon. The rest of the dead followed, one by one. They set fire to the old wood and dry moss. Flowers shriveled and burned around the bodies.
Kai couldn’t take her eyes off Tse, his hair combed and braided, hands folded over his chest. Still powerful, even in death.
Beside him, Sitsi lay wrapped in soft linens and warrior leathers. Flowers wreathed her hair. Charms circled her wrists. Twin braids framed her pale, beautiful face.
Flames caught their clothes.
Still, Kai didn’t look away.
