Page 260 of The Mercy of Dawn

Blue flame, Cyril was told, to wash the souls of the departed anew and cleanse them for safe passage into the otherworld. A last rite, given to every moon-fae without question. The people of Reykr cared for their country folk so unconditionally that, no matter your life’s transgressions, they would see you granted safe passage into whatever lay beyond.

She would have found the tradition admirable, but the lingering reminder of the last time she stood on this backshore left little room in her mind for much else.

Instead of admiration, Cyril’s heart only ached in a profound, unsettling way.

Not for a lack of familiarity with death, either.

Hells, she came into this world delivered on the grim, black wings of it. And growing up at the guild, submersed in the periphery of that sort of work, loss of life was always a factor.

It just never felt so merciless.

The Rogues of Helia made calculated decisions in every contract they took. Decisions that were made by seasoned, well-traveled people who knew the explicit risks they faced in pursuit of their riches. Most made it back, if only a bit battered and bruised.

But for the few who didn’t, retribution came as a swift and ruthless act, and their lives were celebrated, thoroughly. Rowdy and bawdy always, and full of good food and drink.

These last few months were nothing like that.

Bron’s nearly hundred years of vibrant life never saw its celebration.

He was wiped clean out of existence, with no trace left behind.

No parties or toasts, or teary-eyed reminiscing about his antics.

And the three men’s bodies being immolated right before her eyes? Nothing but good, honest men who met horrific and unjust ends. Maimed in a way that still made her stomach turn over in knots.

Not a single one of them asked for this.

Cyril blew out a shaky breath to still her spiraling thoughts.

A side-long glance came from her right, narrowed with concern.

She offered Dion her best reassurance with a tight smile and squeezed the broad hand he rested atop her shoulder.

There was still so much left unaddressed between them.

So many things Cyril wasn’t sure she could ever come to terms with.

So many things Cyril wasn’t sure their relationship would ever overcome.

Or ever should overcome, truthfully.

But now, on this clouded and cool night of mourning, Cyril needed an anchor above all else. Above all sense of right or wrong. Someone to keep her tethered and grounded, when the reality of why they stood here felt a little too fucking heavy.

Dion knew that too, when he showed up at her door just after dinner and found her alone and teary-eyed. He understood, with no exchange of words, that she couldn’t be a burden to Mikael. Not today.

And as the midnight wind swept across the lake, bringing with it the crackling heat from the pyres, her uncle offered just what she needed—his stalwart presence and nothing more.

The breeze should have been refreshing, but it did little to quell the sickly feeling that ebbed and flowed through her ever since their descent down the winding path to the lakefront. The rich, cloying scent of incense and other offerings left to be consumed by the flames didn’t help either.

Pungent sandalwood laced with lavender burned her eyes and lungs.

Cyril wasn’t confident she would last until the first light of dawn ushered in the vigil’s end, but the alternative was not something she allowed herself to consider. She owed it to the grieving families, dotted in groups across the backshore, to ride out her discomforts. Such minute, insignificant things by comparison.

But even for all her determination, it took tremendous effort to hold back a sob of relief when the cool, clean scent of rain wove itself through the air.

Not from the sky, Cyril knew now. She had known since that morning, when she woke utterly bathed in the scent, wrapped in the arms of its bearer. It was a revelation that presented a possibility she wasn’t ready to face.

Dion’s steadying grip left her shoulder, only to be replaced by another’s hand, splayed across the small of her back. She looked up to her left, but Mikael’s attention sat ahead, the three pyres a violent flicker of blue in his eyes.