My sadness is not for myself. My father had so much life left to live. He deserved to receive the funeral rites. He deserved to be laid to rest as he had laid his father to rest. There seems to be much he hadn’t told me, but he was always clear about the burial procedure for an Oracle.
Antony’s dark form pauses. His voice is sharp, harsh, and even in the darkness, I can tell that his back has stiffened. “You weep at your captivity.”
How did he know I was crying? Was it the change in my breathing?
“No.” My response is equally sharp. “I weep for my father.”
I promised myself I wouldn’t cry until I was alone. I should have known the king would sense my tears even in this dim light.
He responds only with silence, and I can’t stop myself from continuing, my voice hard. “I needed to bury him.”
“Why?”
It’s impossible for me to see Antony’s expression, only to judge his stillness. “Because his visions, those spoken and unspoken, needed to be laid to rest.”
Antony’s hand suddenly closes around my arm, his movements swift. “What are the consequences?”
“Consequences?” I tip my head back, my forehead creasing, wishing I had his eyesight to discern his expression.
“Curses, dark magic, evil portents?—?”
Oh. He wants to know if failing to bury my father means malicious magic will be unleashed.
“There are no magical consequences.” My shoulders slump. “Only my shame that I didn’t give him the respect he deserved in death.”
Antony’s hand drops away from my arm, but his silence continues for another moment, and I’m still not sure how to interpret it.
Damn this darkness.
Although… My eyes must be adjusting a little because I finally make out the top step of a stairwell descending on our left, along with large but indistinct shapes resting against the wall directly ahead. Antony currently stands between me and the objects, and I feel rather than see his gaze on me for another full minute.
“I’ll accept your answer,” he finally says. “For now.”
I suppose it would be wickedly malicious of me to lie about some evil my father’s death could unleash, but the burial rites are purely about respect and closure. They’re an acknowledgement that the Oracle has died, and the next has risen—and accepted the burden of foresight.
Closing my eyes, I brush at my tears, determined to set them aside again. Showing my sadness in front of Antony is fraught, and I need to bury it again now.
“Put this on.” Antony scoops one of the objects off the wall, once again demonstrating by how quickly he moves that the absence of light isn’t a problem for him.
The thing he grabbed makes a flapping sound in the air and swooshes against the floor. His comment about putting it on indicates it’s some sort of garment…
And it’s heavy.
When he pulls it around my shoulders, my legs nearly buckle.
It feels like a type of leathery coat, and it’s so long that it drags on the floor while I try to find the armholes. I finally succeed, only to discover the sleeves are also far too long for my arms.
“Stop,” he says, clearly witnessing my struggle. “I’ll do it.”
I pause, my arms extended awkwardly out from my body, the ends of the sleeves dangling.
A moment later, Antony pushes what must be the coat’s hood up over the back of my head.
Then he begins buttoning the front, starting at my neck and working his way downward.
His hands move slowly, lingering on each button as he tugs it closed, his fingertips sliding beneath the edge of the material, his knuckles grazing the front of my tunic between my breasts, making my breath catch.
Then down my stomach before brushing the front of my pelvis, a tantalizing sweep in its briefness.
