I gasp, leaning back into my chair. My hands tremble in my lap. No, it wasn't what it looked like. I... That was my body, but it wasn't dead. The magic wouldn't show me that. I wasn't dead.

My eyes drift closed. It's like the world is trying to wipe the memory of the Jacquelines from this castle. And Leavi... "Why was she with me?" I murmur, eyes drifting open. Socializing with her will still seem odd to the castle—anyone that recognizes her as Riszev's servant will think it a scandal for me to have anything more to do with her.

I didn't mean for you to die.

Ollem enters, and I straighten in my seat. He sets the tray in my lap.

"Thank you."

I just won't let Leavi inside the training room. Whatever it is the vision wanted to warn me of, it won't matter. I just won't let Leavi in there.

The rest of the afternoon, Solus doesn't send for me. I send Ollem away and spend the time curled up on my bed, trying to think of some other source of magic to use. I doze off intermittently, but I'm not sure I care. If I did, I would sit up. But everything ought to be over, and I'm so tired.

In the morning, I feel like my half-asleep mind thought of something last night, but I can't quite remember what it was. It was probably nonsense, but I wonder if it would have been a good place to start. All I can remember is half-thoughts of the Meadow and the Void.

Ollem brings in breakfast, and I sit up. He starts setting out my clothes. My hand shakes lightly as I eat.

"Do you want to wear your ceremonial cloak, milord?"

I look at him. "What?"

He shifts. "For this morning... If you want your ceremonial cloak, I need to fetch it from the other room."

Through the morning fog in my mind, it suddenly clicks. Solus said the memorials were today.

"Ahm, yes. The ceremonial one. You set out my mourning clothes?"

He holds up the maroon shirt. "Yes, milord."

"Good. Please." I gesture.

He bows and leaves. I get up slowly, balancing with the edge of the bed. I hope I'll be able to stand throughout both events.

I don't want to go.

The thought hits me hard, but I pull on the mourning clothes. I've never wanted so badly just to hide from the world. But hiding doesn't solve anything, and not going dishonors the woman who was my wife.

I sit down hard on the edge of my bed, throat tight and heavy. My eyes burn, and my hands fist in my lap. I slide down to the floor, and my head leans against my drawn up knees. A silent sob shakes my shoulders.

In my mind's eye, bodies fall at my hands, a whirlwind consumes my uncle, my mother burns, my father dies and I don't know it, my wife dies and I was too busy murdering Kadranians to stop it.

Or maybe I was just sitting against the wall, doing nothing.

I gulp in a breath, and now the tears fall. I'm alone and sick, and we won, but nothing's over, and it's not okay. It's so hard to pretend that everything's okay. I sob into my arms and choke on the air. Eyes closed, I lift my head, coughing past the tears in my throat, and drag in a shuddering, hiccuping breath. I haven't cried like this since the first time Agraund punished me with the casting knife, but I don't care. I just want it all to be over. My head tips back against the bed.

I'm so tired. I miss when my biggest problem was being a poor caster. It feels like a different boy left this castle that night, and I envy him for the fool he was able to be.

My eyes drift open. Stars, how long have I sat here? I need to be going, and how long does it take Ollem to find a cloak?

I have to use the bed to pull myself to my feet. My head aches again, and I feel stupid for crying. I wipe my eyes. I wouldn't have wanted Ollem to see me like that anyway.

I look at the door. A shadow rests under the middle of it, and my eyes close. Opening them, I say, "You can come in, Ollem."

The door opens, and he hands me the cloak. I wonder how long he stood there, waiting for me to get myself together. I feel wrung out, like a washcloth that's been used too many times. The fabric settles over my shoulders. Ollem pulls over my boots, but I pause.

I can don the useful footwear later. This morning is about respect for the dead, not my own little rebellions.

I gesture to the wardrobe. "Can you hand me my slippers?"

He looks mildly surprised, but he sets down the boots and grabs the little-used shoes. I put them on. They don't do much more than keep my toes warm; I couldn't run in them, but I doubt I could run right now anyway.

I intercept Selenia on her way out of her suite. "Sister."

She turns to me and worry overtakes her face. "Astraeus." She comes closer to take my hands. Instead, her arms wrap around me. Surprised and empty, I hug her back. My eyes burn, and I force myself to retain my composure this time.

It's a long moment before she pulls back. She searches my face. "How are you?"

My eyes drop involuntarily. There are so many ways the polite answer is a lie, and I'm tired of lying. I don't speak.

"Can I stand with you?"

A breath that passes for a laugh puffs through my lips. "You can stand wherever you want, Queen."

She frowns.

I force the corner of my mouth to tip up. "But I would be glad if you stood with me. Do you know where Reyan will be?"

She shakes her head, wrapping her hands around my elbow. "Either with us or his soldiers, I'm sure."

I wince. "Maybe I should stand with the wizards."

"You stand wherever you want to."

At this point, as much as part of me says it would be a good gesture, the rest of me says it's not important. Solus will be with them. When I'm gone, that's all that will matter.

As we descend to the first floor, I say, "Sela."

"What is it?"

"Can we stand inside the courtyard? Instead of in the alcove?"

Her voice is soft. "Like for Mother?"

I nod.

"Of course."

We stand among the people.

They carry her body to the center of the courtyard. Again, I'm struck with her exotic beauty, and it feels wrong. This woman wasn't honorable because of the airs she held or the way she looked or how nicely she spoke when you were watching. She was honorable because she stood for saving lives, even if that meant fighting for a people that was not her own, even though that meant dying for someone else's cause.

A couple of low-tier illusionists lay their hands on Shava's shoulders, and she casts, building up fuzzy funeral images for Riszev. Girl Riszev practicing swordplay, teenage Riszev arrayed at her mother's side, the Riszev I knew at our wedding. Then, the last Riszev knocking a Kadranian away from his victim, struggling with him, and being stabbed. I fight the desire to close my eyes, to look away. In the Morineause custom, it finally shows her standing to face us all and waving goodbye a final time.

I swipe at the tears unbidden on my face. This is more than my mother got. But I also didn't have time to mourn her, not really. Somehow, I think in crying here, now, for the woman I kept saying I'd have plenty of time to get to know, I'm crying for all that have been lost.

Somewhere through the service I started leaning on Selenia, but she hasn't stopped me. I make my traitor knees be still and straighten some. Any minute, Sela will have to leave me and give a speech about all the loss of life. I'm sure she'll remind us that they died heroes who gave everything keeping us alive. She'll tell us that we have come through the fire and stand, though mourning, victorious on the other side. And I'm glad. I'm glad we're victorious, and I'm glad that some of my family and the majority of my people live.

But no one stepped through that fire untouched.