Alarmed and chagrined in turns, Sábria set her glass on the sofa table, hurried to her friend, and clasped her arms. She pulled her in close, staring into her eyes, hoping to convey her concern and love for this woman who meant so much to everyone in the Temple and to her most of all. “Shirin. What’s wrong?”

  With her half-full wine glass still in her hand, Shirin convulsively wrapped her arms around Sábria and pulled her in tight, not realizing she’d spilled her wine down Sábria’s back as her fingers dug for purchase on the smooth, silky robe. She sobbed into her hair as Sábria held her close to her chest.

  Knowing this needed more than a simple hug, without letting go, Sábria walked her into her bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. After pulling off her wine-soaked robe and nightclothes, she climbed in beside Shirin, pulled her in, and intertwined their legs, wanting to convey a sense of safety and comfort where Shirin could cry out her stress and grief for as long as it took for her to regain her equilibrium. Shirin buried her head in Sábria’s chest and let all the emotions she’d bottled up inside come pouring out.

  With the stressful lives they led, it was only natural that life often became too much. While that had happened on more occasions than Sábria cared to count, two specific instances came to mind. The first time had been when Shirin’s patrol partner, Leyva, had been killed in a carriage accident. Shirin had blamed herself, and it had taken Arch Priestess Sandrin several moons to convince her otherwise.

  The second time had been when she’d been convinced Sábria was going to die from the Deathbell disease. Shirin had stepped up and taken charge of the Blades, and to everyone in the Temple, she’d been the tower of strength everyone expected from their Commander. It wasn’t until Sábria had completely recovered that her Second had fallen apart in her arms, just as she was doing now. They tried to be everything the Blades expected of them, but there were times when it all got to be too much.

  Losing a Blade like Mita, a happy, caring woman who’d been their subordinate and friend, was bad enough. Then, for them to find one of Shirin’s former shivs near death in that filthy alley and for her to take charge of the scene as though it was any other crime scene and do it with such strength and leadership had taken its toll.

  As she held her crying friend, Sábria realized she shouldn’t have sent Shirin back into the abattoir. It had been too much piled on what was already an emotionally wrought day. “I’m sorry I sent you back there, Shirin. I wish you’d said something. I know how close you are to Caitir, and I should have realized how difficult the day had already been for you.”

  The crying slowed and eventually stopped. Shirin pulled in a deep breath and rolled onto her back, leaving one arm beneath Sábria and resting her second hand on the pillow next to her head. “Sometimes, it just gets to me, you know? Do you know how many friends I’ve lost to this life of ours? And I don’t mean how many Blades. I grieve for them, too, but I’m talking about women I’ve loved as though they were my sisters.”

  She did know, but Sábria rolled onto her side, rested her head on her hand, and sighed, “Too many.”

  “Seven. I think perhaps that’s why Arlin is so good for me. She’s not a Blade. She doesn’t go out of her way to get into fights, and she’s fun. Did you know she bought Pryor House in the Clayborn District from her gambling winnings?”

  “I did.” There was very little Sábria didn’t know, especially when it concerned someone involved with one of her Blades.

  “Of course you did.” Shirin turned her head to smile at her friend. “Did you know that sometimes I wish I could just leave and move in with her?”

  Sábria watched her for a while and then softly said, “What else did you find inside the abattoir?”

  “Sometimes, when I look at Ghost the way she looked today, standing over a Blade swinging a knife back and forth and daring anyone to come near, it’s so easy to forget she’s only nine turns old. A child, Sábria. Do you know what I was doing when I was nine? I was trying to guess what perfume my oldest sister would choose for all the rest of us to wear to dinner so our perfumes wouldn’t compete.”

  Sábria put her hand on Shirin’s cheek, and gently turned her face so she was looking directly into her eyes. “Shirin. What else did you see?”

  “You don’t think of them as children, do you? The skellis and nints, I mean. I guess, most of the time, they’re maybe not even people, are they?”

  A tear trickled down Shirin’s cheek, and Sábria gently wiped it away with her thumb.

  Shirin stared into those blue eyes while she spoke. “When I saw the bodies, my brain couldn’t understand what I was seeing, you know? I mean, I know they’re children. I know that, but my brain kept saying, “It’s okay, they’re only skellis and nints. If they’d been children, then—” She choked on a sob and couldn’t continue. Swallowing down the emotions threatening to overtake her, she made a stab at changing the subject. “Anyway, we think we found most of the traps.”

  There was no way Sábria would allow her to change the subject. Shirin needed to process what she’d seen, and now was the time to do just that. “If they’d been children in your mind and not skellis, then what?” She hadn’t let go of Shirin’s face, and with her gaze still locked onto Shirin’s eyes, she felt the power of Elyon flowing through their connection.

  Shirin focused on the brightness she saw in those intense, azure eyes. In fact, she doubted she could look away. Her answer came out barely above a whisper. “Then, everything we work for, every day, every candlemark, has failed. We’ve failed.”

  “You still haven’t told me what you found.”

  “Three skellis and two nints, rotting on the floor with holes through their little bodies. The bolts tore straight through their chests, well, through three chests, one gut wound, and one head.”

  “They’d gone in and tripped the crossbow trigger wires?”

  “Yes, probably at different times, judging by the different rates of decay, and no one cared enough to move them. I mean, people move children when they die. They don’t just leave them lying where they fell to rot. So my mind kept saying, ‘They can’t be children because nobody moved them.’” She allowed Sábria to pull her close again and rested her head on her chest.

  “You do realize that’s illogical thinking, right?”

  With a sigh, Shirin acknowledged the point. “I know. But, I think my brain was overloaded and—” She raised her head to look into Sábria’s eyes again, “If I said it felt like, just for that short time I was staring at those little bodies, that it felt like it was winking in and out, like I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing, would you think you needed to find a new second-in-command?”

  A sigh rose from deep in Sábria’s chest. She ran her hand through Shirin’s short, blonde hair several times before answering. “I know how shaken you are, but Shirin, I could never replace you, winking brain or no. You are my right arm, and I don’t want to think about ever leading the Daughters of Elyon without you right by my side.

  With a weary, watery smile, Shirin laid her head down for the third time on her friend’s chest. Listening to the soft beating of her heart reminded her of just how big that heart really was. “I’m just tired, Sábria. I’ll be better in the morning. This is just my exhaustion talking. I’ll be better, I promise. Tomorrow, we’re going back in to retrieve the bodies, and we’ll bring them in and, if it’s okay with you, burn them on the Temple pyre.”

  With a short shake of her head, Sábria knew her answer wasn’t what Shirin wanted to hear. “We’re using the Temple pyre to send Mita to the Goddess tomorrow, and while it may sound callous, I’m afraid it wouldn’t be right to burn them in the same flames that send our warriors into Elyon’s arms. Judging by what you just told me, it sounds like the skellis and nints have been dead for a while. It won’t hurt to leave them for another day, and together, you and I will send them to the Goddess in the city's burial fires the next day.”

  Kissing her friend on the top of her head, Sábria squeezed the arm her hand was resting on and pulled Shirin in as tight as possible. “How often have you told me I’m safe with you, Shirin? Well, my friend, you’re always safe with me. If you need time away from the stresses of the Temple, either with Arlin or even in Tuviste with your family, I’ll arrange it so you can rest. But for tonight, stay here with me in my bed and sleep. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you, and we’ll get through these hard times together.”

  “I’ll be fine in the morning.” Shirin snuggled in closer, thankful for the emotional and physical warmth she always felt when lying in Sábria’s arms. As her eyes grew heavy with sleep, the thought occurred that Sábria had had just as stressful a day as she. Wrapping both arms around her friend, Shirin squeezed her gently to let her know they were in this together, and together, they could get through whatever the world threw at them. She smiled and whispered, “What would our Blades think if they could see us now? Two exhausted and weary people, one questioning everything we stand for, lying in one another's arms?”

  “I’ll let you know in the morning. Right now, all I want is to forget everything except the feeling of your arms wrapped around me, holding me tight.”

  That brought a small smile as Shirin closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 7

  Fire lifted Mita into the embrace of the Goddess’s arms the following day as ten solemn notes rang from both the bell in the clock tower and from the enormous watch bell in the Temple Tower. The watch bell was typically only rung in cases of emergency, but it also announced to the city of Sarlogne that one of the women who guarded them had been cut down before her time.

  The Goddess Circle, a vast circular space in the heart of the fruit grove behind the Temple walls, served as Mita’s last resting place. All the Blades and civilians from the Temple and the Annex were in attendance. Most stood a short distance away as they were well aware that once lit, the wood used in the pyre was of a type that burned fast and extremely hot.

  As the bells rang out, Sábria carried the torch to the pile of dry brush that served as the flashpoint to ignite other strategically placed kindling that would carry the blaze to all sides of the pyre. Before she touched the torch to the brush, everyone in the Circle recited the words that had sent Blades into the arms of their Goddess from the time of the first Blade to die in Elyon’s service. “Blessed Elyon. Your servant, Mita, rises to your loving embrace. As your sword guides us, your love awaits us. We who are left behind continue the battle while our friend and sister lies in the comfort of your loving arms.”

  Sábria held the torch inches above the wood, looked at Mita lying on the bier, and added a personal message to her fallen Blade. “My dear, brave, beloved Mita. We’ll miss your smile and the laughter in those sparkling brown eyes. Take my love with you and give it to all who’ve gone before you.”

  As she listened to the words, Ailith stood back, wondering why people weren’t close enough to let Elyon know Mita deserved her place in the heavens. Her people’s customs were so different from those in the Temple, and she was torn between honoring what was right for her people and what was practiced within the Blades.

  In the Blacktip Mountains, where she was from, warriors honored the dead by standing as close to the flames as they possibly could without getting burned. In that way, the Goddess would know the dead were worthy of their fellow warriors’ respect. When Sábria touched the torch to the flashpoint, the flames raced around the circle and then flew down lines of dried brush toward the bier.

  Watching as the bier began to smoke and burn, Ailith knew that if she wanted to honor Mita, she couldn’t remain at a distance with all the rest. She walked forward and stood with her feet practically in the flames, quietly singing the song praising Mita’s deeds to the Goddess Elyon.

  When Ailith had first arrived at the Temple, through a series of tragic events, she’d been kept away from Maeira’s funeral pyre. Lady Isobel of Drethemere had told Sábria and Shirin about the beliefs of the peasants from the Blacktip Mountains. Because she’d been forewarned, Ailith practically walking into the flames didn’t alarm Sábria as much as it might otherwise have done.

  Jenx, however, hadn’t been told, and she hurried forward to pull her shiv back to safety. Other Blades stared at Ailith, wondering what she was up to now.

  Sábria held up a hand to stop Jenx and despite the heat that had turned Ailith’s face a bright red, stepped beside her shiv and placed an arm around her shoulders.

  Tears of gratitude stung Ailith’s eyes when she looked into Sábria’s face. Unsure whether it was allowed, she chanced the gesture practiced by the peasants who shared the heat from the flames. She put her arm around Sábria’s waist, and when Jenx moved to Ailith’s other side and placed her arm around her shoulders, Ailith circled her waist as well.

  Shirin moved forward then and stood with her arm around Sábria, and before long, Blades moved forward and created a human chain encircling the pyre. For the first time in recorded history, the colors of providence rose in the smoke. Shocked, Sábria watched them swirl around Mita’s body, and as she looked around to gauge her people’s reactions, she saw awe and wonder in their faces as they witnessed their Goddess welcoming Mita home.

  Overwhelming love for her Goddess had her kneeling in worship, creating a cascading effect among the Blades. In addition to the colors, an invisible wall came down, protecting them from the worst of the heat. No one received even the slightest burn, and when the relative coolness hit them, Ailith’s song changed from one of entreaty to a joyful Dreyuthan celebration song. When her last words drifted heavenward, she turned to Sábria with tears streaming down her cheeks. “Did ya feel th’ heat stop, Milady? That’s how th’ Goddess tells me people that their dead are in her arms.”

  There wasn’t a dry eye around the pyre, and with tears falling from her cheeks and chin, Sábria put her forehead down on Ailith’s temple. She spoke so only Ailith would hear, “I think the peasants of the Blacktip Mountains understand more about life and death and the in-between than any society I’ve ever known. You come from an incredible people, Ailith, and I’m so proud that Elyon brought you to our Temple.”

  Ailith was so shocked by Sábria’s words that she could think of nothing to say in response. She’d only done what her heart had told her was right. Wasn’t that what she’d always done? This was no different, but all the same, her chest swelled with pride at the unlooked-for praise.

  They remained until the fire had completely consumed Mita’s body. Some would stay to tend the flames, but most began drifting back to the Temple or Annex to resume their daily activities. Death was a part of life for them, and a funeral didn’t keep them away from their tasks for very long.

  As they returned to the Citadel, Shirin thought about what had happened during the ceremony. Sábria, who was thinking thoughts of her own, walked quietly by her side. They both nodded to the guards as they walked beneath the portcullis and then Shirin brought up what was foremost on her mind. “How were we not burned from the heat of the flames? I mean, it was hot at first, but then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t?”

  “Do you remember Isobel telling us about the burial customs of Ailith’s people?”

  “Yes, that’s why I joined you, to honor her beliefs.”

  “Elyon honored those beliefs, as well. Ailith said that when the coolness comes, that’s when the Goddess takes the dead warrior into her arms.”

  “Do you think Ailith will do that tomorrow when we put the children on the Pyre?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think so. If you remember, Isobel said standing that close to the flames was a warrior’s way of sending a fellow warrior’s spirit into the arms of the Goddess. I think it’s a very special ceremony reserved for that and only that.” She glanced at Shirin. “I’ll be there, Shirin, but don’t be disappointed or upset when there are only a few people at the city pyre tomorrow.”

  A touch of bitter anger crept into Shirin’s voice. “Because they’re not people?”

  “Because they’re not family.” She stopped and put her hand on Shirin’s arm. “We’re working to change societal norms that have existed for millennia. We know they’re people, Shirin, and we’ll keep working to make others realize that as well. I promise. You go on inside. I’m going to check on Caitir and talk to people to see what the general mood is among the Blades.”

  “I’ll tell you what the mood is. They’re out for blood, and no one will rest until the men responsible are brought in, tried in front of Master Fiyori, and executed for their crimes.”

  Sábria nodded. “Who’s organizing the search?”

  “Calit and Rahel Arenda. Obviously, everyone wants to volunteer, but I’ve restricted the search. Blades have to have six candlemarks of rest after getting off shift, and they have to take a three-candlemark break before going on their next shift. That still leaves us with more than enough people trolling the streets and back alleys, talking to people, and bringing back information.”

  “Any news so far?”

  Shirin motioned toward the healer’s hall. “Let’s walk. I’d like to check on Caitir, too. So far, we know there were five men, three of whom were more likely than not of noble birth. No one, so far, has come forward with information that would tell us whether they’re Cibían or not. I’m thinking the other two had to be from the Codpiece. Otherwise, how would they have known about the opening in the alley wall outside of the abattoir?”