Amir smiled wistfully. “It is power of the likes which my House has held several times in the distant past, but it is a costly crown to keep. I would rather my House live than be eradicated.”
“So you are loyal, but you do not want to rule.”
“The same could be said of you.”
“I’m a warden.”
“Yet here you walk.”
Soren clenched his teeth together and let out a slow breath through his nose.
Here he walked indeed.
The sun was past its zenith when the procession finally wound past the Senate building, aiming for the Imperial palace down the wide boulevard. The trees lining either side were nothing but bare branches from the winter. People had climbed them to sit above the crowd, watching as the caissons with the bodies wrapped in elaborate shrouds rolled past.
The whole ordeal was a precisely choreographed affair that saw the procession be whittled down to only the major Houses by the time they reached the private star temple located on the palace grounds. Legionnaires coordinated everyone else’s removal from the procession with military precision, allowing palace servants to guide them away for much-needed refreshments. A feast for the dead was planned for the afternoon, which was probably where everyone else was headed.
Soren remained to stand witness with those chosen few for the last, intimate affair of laying to rest the dead. He wondered what more prayer needed to be said over the bodies before cremation happened. He wondered if they’d burn on an outdoor pyre, witnessed by the guests. In Soren’s exploration of the palace over the last few years, he’d never once seen any hint of a crematorium on the palace grounds.
The bearers of the dead removed the coffins from the caissons. The flag of Solaria was wrapped around each one, unmoving in the stiff breeze, much how Vanya looked. Soren studied Vanya’s profile while everyone else paid their respects with deep bows as the bearers of the dead walked past.
“I don’t agree to the warden’s presence,” someone behind him said.
“His Imperial Highness has willed it,” Amir replied calmly.
“The warden is not welcome and should not be here.”
“Isay who is welcome here. The warden stays,” Vanya said without looking back.
In the fraught silence that followed his words, the high priestess of the Star Order in Calhames stepped forward. Her face was hidden by an elaborate headdress and mask that extended away from her skull in gold spikes and starbursts. The bottom edges curled like flames, obscuring her features.
“Now, we lay the dead to rest in the arms of Callisto,” she said.
Vanya, Soren, and thevezirsof what major Houses that had presented themselves for the funeral followed the high priestess into the private star temple utilized by the Imperial family.
It was like most other temples in Solaria: intricately carved walls on the outside depicting iconography of the star gods, the constellations, and the country’s guiding star. Inside, the mosaic floor was a riot of color, the windows made of stained glass, and the frescoes on the inside of the dome brilliantly painted.
The bearers of the dead carried the coffins to the center of the temple, and everyone else could only follow. Soren looked back at the sound of the temple doors being closed and locked by acolytes, barring anyone else from entering.
Raiah’s laughter rang through the air, catching Soren’s attention. “Papa!”
Waiting for them in front of the altar, held in a star priest’s arms, was the Imperial crown princess. She made grasping hands at Vanya, who went to her like a moth to a flame. He murmured to her, words too soft to hear, before carrying her to where Soren stood.
“There are rites I must attend to below. I cannot hold her while I do so,” Vanya said.
There were Houses present who should have had the right to guard her more than him. Soren wasn’t Solarian, wanted nothing to do with the games the Houses played, but here he was, playing them.
Raiah was a difficult child to say no to, after all.
Soren took her into his arms, propping her onto his left hip so he could more easily reach his pistol. She was a delightful distraction from the collective attention of thevezirsstanding around, watching the interplay.
“VezirAmir of the House of Vikandir. Will you do me the honor of bearing witness on my daughter’s behalf?” Vanya asked, not looking away from Soren.
Amir bowed over his cane, robes rustling softly about his large frame. “It would be the honor of my House to do so, Your Imperial Highness.”
Vanya leaned in to kiss Raiah on the cheek, using the gesture to shield the words he spoke to Soren. “When we go below, do not say a word.”
Maricol was a harsh mother to love in the poison fields and along the borders wardens guarded. The traditions wardens abided by, and the alchemy that built them, were all geared toward survival. The tradition of a country in mourning was a nuanced dance of prayer Soren didn’t know the steps to.
