Beyond The Shadows (51 page)

Elene’s funeral was simple and small, despite being held in the Hall of Winds. The high king and queen joined Vi and Kylar
and Durzo and Sister Ariel. Dorian sat cross-legged on the ground near the back, oblivious. Thankfully, he was silent. Feir
stood near him, mostly watching Dorian to make sure he didn’t do anything offensive. Amazingly, Elene’s old patr from Cenaria
had accompanied Logan’s army to help with the wounded, and he preached with a simple eloquence that bespoke his long friendship
with her. The walls and dome of the Hall of Winds showed the beautiful spring day outside, ripe and bright with promise.

Vi caught herself glancing at Kylar again and again. After being bonded to him, it was strange to have to read his emotions
from his face. He wept freely, and there was something clean and healing in those tears. The patr finished the final prayer,
and one by one, they made their way to the open coffin.

Kylar and Vi went last. Elene was absolutely stunning. Sister Ariel and Vi had made her gown. It was white silk, like the
one she’d died in, but in line with Elene’s modesty and taste. Her face was radiant. Unscarred, it was the face God had intended
for Elene, but without her gentleness to animate it, it looked too austere. Here was the face of a queen, but Elene’s beauty
had always been warm and comforting, never intimidating. As Vi tried to sketch in the details that this husk couldn’t capture,
the vastness of the loss overwhelmed her. She had to brace herself against the coffin.

Finally, Vi drew a little weave Sister Ariel had taught her around the splay of red tulips Elene held against her chest. It
would preserve the flowers for all time. Then Vi touched her friend’s cold cheek and kissed her forehead. As she touched Elene’s
body while still holding her Talent, Vi was struck by something.

Elene wasn’t pregnant. Vi straightened, her tears forgotten. Had Elene simply been mistaken? Elene had never been pregnant
before, so she wouldn’t know exactly how it felt. Vi joined the departing line of mourners. Her eyes fell on the High Queen,
pregnant with twins, and then on Dorian, sitting by the door. The mad mage grinned at her, and that grin reminded Vi that
Dorian the Mad had held both of the world’s most powerful magical artifacts at the same time. Dorian had been responsible
for guiding the magic that had wiped out all the krul and restored this entire city. Dorian had been magically linked to all
of them. Dorian had been the most Talented Healer in living memory.

Vi’s mouth dropped open. Then the insanity of voicing her wild suspicions made it snap shut. What was she going to do? Challenge
a madman, tell a king his wife was carrying two different men’s sons, and throw an insane hope at Kylar as if it would make
up for Elene’s death?

No, she would say nothing, not until she knew, maybe not for a long time. But if Elene and Kylar’s child somehow lived, Vi
swore—swore!—that no one would hurt him.

As the ceremony ended, Vi looked surreptitiously at Kylar. He stood tall. Even as tears coursed down his face, he seemed unburdened,
more at ease, more confident, more . . .  himself, than Vi had ever seen. She came and stood beside him as the mourners walked
into the glorious spring sunshine to look out over their clean white city. Ten thousand red tulips were a reminder of the
blood that had purchased it. Kylar took Vi’s hand and squeezed.

BRENT WEEKS was born and raised in Montana. After getting his paper keys from Hillsdale College, Brent had brief stints walking
the earth like Caine from Kung Fu, tending bar, and corrupting the youth. (Not at the same time.) He started writing on bar napkins, then on lesson plans, then
full time. Eventually, someone paid him for it. Brent lives in Oregon with his wife, Kristi. He doesn’t own cats or wear a
ponytail. Find out more about the author at
www.brentweeks.com.