Page 170 of The Mercy of Dawn

He knew that meant no.

So Mikael moved in behind Cyril and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He lowered his mouth to her ear and said, “I’ve got you, wrath. No matter what, okay?”

He felt her chest heave with a breath before she nodded.

That was good enough for the moment, and Mikael forced his attention out to the modest crowd that had gathered before them around the lake. Groups of guards mainly, of various ranks and stations, clustered with somber faces across the shore. His father stood with a handful of lords and other court officials. Even some staff from the palace had grouped up along the far edge of the lawn, where the grass just yielded to rocks and gravel.

Ren and Tyr held solemn posts closest to the pyre, watching as Dion set it alight.

Bright, crackling orange flame—not the usual blue preferred in Reykr—engulfed the structure and the lakeshore fell silent.

It persisted for a few long, heavy minutes before Ren cleared his throat, and a soft, whimpering noise left Cyril as he began speaking. Mikael wrapped his arms around her a bit tighter.

The words of passage carried on Ren’s booming voice were unfamiliar to Mikael, as he was sure they were to the predominantly moon-fae mourners, but a ripple of lowered heads still swept across the lakeshore.

“I do not loathe the Lady Death, as she lifts her veil to me. I do not scorn the Lady Death, as I scatter on the winds,” Ren said, his voice a powerful rumble. “I do not fear the Lady Death, as I walk her lands of eternal sun. For alone I do not walk, in the time that lies beyond. For alone, I will never walk, from now and until we meet again.”

When Ren lowered his head, Mikael found himself afraid to breathe, lest he be the one to break the silence saturating the incense-laden air. Eventually, the quiet movement of bodies picked up again.

Mikael eased his hold on Cyril and the sharp, shuddering breath she took kicked every one of his base instincts into motion.

Fuck waiting until they were freed by the mercy of dawn.

He wanted to get Cyril away from there now.

Away from the devastating reality burning away in front of them.

Away from her pathetic excuse of an uncle.

He wanted—no, needed—to get her inside, somewhere quiet and safe and warm where he could hold her and try to convince himself there was anything he could do to fix this.

But his mother put every racing thought to a halt when she reached over and rubbed Cyril’s shoulder.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” she asked.

“I…I need—” Cyril whimpered and wiped at her face. Defeat was heavy in her voice as she said, “Where is Dion?”

“Right over there. See?” His mother eased Cyril away from him, pointing as she encouraged her forward a few steps. “I can walk with you—”

Cyril shook her head and walked towards him on her own.

“She just needs her family,” Runa said quietly as she leaned her head against Mikael’s arm. He was fixated on the uneasy steps Cyril took across the backshore. “Her and Dion might be like oil and water, but they only have each other left.”

Mikael kept his thoughts on that matter to himself.

When Cyril made it to where Dion stood alone, she reached out, touching his arm. Dion flinched away from her, and tension seized Mikael’s body.

He couldn’t hear what she said to her uncle, not from this distance, but it looked tearful. Dion just shook his head at her and looked back at the pyre.

Cyril touched his arm again, a pleading look on her face, and Dion pulled away from her. He squared his shoulders, folding his arms across his chest, and Mikael had never felt as disgusted as he did in that singular moment.

“Dion, no,” his mother breathed in clear disbelief from beside him.

The feeling was mutual then.

Mikael was certain they just witnessed a family bond shatter right in front of them.

Too many minutes passed before Cyril turned and started walking back towards them. She looked hollow, wounded. If it wasn’t for his mother planting herself firmly in Cyril’s path, he was sure she would have just kept walking until she hit a wall.