Just south of the Plague District lay a plot of land where Vanurians lay their loved ones to rest. Unlike Souran graveyards with their stones, markers, and placards, there were no signs indicated that there were bodies buried here, only grasses, shrubs, trees whose drooping branches brushed the tops of the slightest bumps in the ground. When spring came, the tree would blossom with thousands of white flowers, which would then fall and create the true mark of a Vanurian burial ground, but since winter was approaching, the living Vanurians made up for the missing flowers and wore the brightest cleanest whites they could find.

A praiser of the Sun, their black, waist-length hair-braid quivering in the breeze, turned away from the clouded rising sun and to the people seated on the grass. “Oyebode ze Phons!”

“Oyebode ze Phons!”

Dwayne coughed and earned himself a few dirty looks, but they didn’t hear chains ringing in concert with that prayer. He ignored them.

“Usdanus eki bala runindar la beltita de meastra iola Juanelo.”

“What is she saying?” Lady Pol asked under her breath.

“‘We’re here to mourn the loss of our brother Juanelo.’” Dwayne translated. “‘As our sisters Camila and Ximena and our brother Ignacio complete their vigil,” the faces of Juanelo’s family were blotched with tears and stiff with resolve, “we join them in the final parting. Juanelo, may you body be committed to a greater purpose as your soul becomes the light that grows our food and nourishes our spirits.’”

Lady Pol huffed, earning herself some dirty looks.

“Don’t,” Dwayne said under his breath. “That’s not why we’re here.”

They were here as representatives of the Royal Sorcerer’s Office and to show support for local mages. In the two weeks since the Harvest Ball, Dwayne and Lady Pol, with the very occasional help of Mei and the awkwardly enthusiastic help of Magdala, had been working to put the Tower’s records back in order. During this, Dwayne had discovered a regulation requiring that a representative of the Indigo Tower speak at the funeral of every mage. Obviously whoever had written it didn’t mean Vanurians, but a small speech should have been easy for Lady Pol. Seeing her scowl now, Dwayne wasn’t so sure about that.

“Oyebode ze Phons!”

“Oyebode ze Phons!”

“Now,” the praiser gestured to the gathered, “does anyone wish to speak?”

Lady Pol started to stand up, but Dwayne grabbed her sleeve and pulled her down as Juanelo’s brother Ignacio stood up to stand before the praiser.

“Neighbors, friends, fameyia,” his voice caught on that last word, “my little brother Juanelo Rincón was a good person who attended church, greeted every uduoya he came across, and traveled far and wide to make sure that our lost loved ones made it home.

“My little brother was a good person, who believed we faithful deserve better, who fought his way into the Academy, fought to graduate, and fought for other Blessed to have that same opportunity.”

Dwayne’s mouth went dry. They’d known none of that. Magisterium records only had the grades of its Academy’s students, and Juanelo’s hadn’t been spectacular. Having earned those same lackluster grades, Dwayne should have recognized the same bald-faced prejudice holding back the dead windsong.

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“My brother…” Ignacio paused to take a few shuddering breathes before continuing. “My brother was a good person who was murdered, not because of hate, not because of anything he’d done, but because he was in the way. To them, he was a curtain easily brushed aside with a knife.”

Who Ignacio meant by “them” became clear when more and more eyes flicked to Lady Pol. Dwayne’s heart sank. They shouldn’t have come. When Mei had said she wouldn’t make it, they should have sent an apology and bowed out. Speaking now would be a disaster. Dwayne turned to Lady Pol, ready to tell her exactly that, but she was gone.

“My little brother Juanelo Rincón was a good person. Whenever Mama cooked, he always ate every single awful bit. Whenever Mena complained about how you Renan,” this was directed to a balding man in the front row, “would bang pots and pans before rooster’s crow, Juan would just say that he was thankful for the reminder to wake up.”

“Does that mean I can keep doing it?”

“No, please stop!” When the laughter died down, Ignacio glanced up at the clouded sky, tears streaming down his face. “Whenever I cursed our father for abandoning us, Juan would say he was happy to be alive, and I would hate my father all the more because he did not deserve my brother’s grace.” He wiped his face. “Juan’s going home. Toni’s taking him back to Nuedanollo, where his hands will rest in the soil he worked so hard to return our lost. I pray his light will shine on all of us and bring us closer together. Oyebode ze Phons.”

“Oyebode ze Phons!”

Ignacio stepped down and Lady Pol stepped up. Her dark purple cloak was too strong a contrast against all the white, making the inadequacy of the small white armband all the clearer. None of that occurred to Lady Pol who pulled out a small card to read from. Dwayne groaned at the implied insult. He’d been concerned that Lady Pol’s tendency to improvise would risk offending the Vanurians, but it was clear that the card made a stiff and awkward moment inauthentic.

“Citizens of Bradford,” the crisp autumn air carried the lie of Lady Pol’s words effortlessly, “the death of the windsong Juanelo Ybarra was a tragedy. As a bright student and a talented mage,” they really hadn’t known anything else about him, “his contributions to Souran society were immeasurable.” Great, the crowd’s muttering had morphing into glaring. “I promise as Her Majesty’s Sorcerer to find his killers and bring them to justice. Thank you.”

Dwayne stood up. He had to pull her out before-

“So Her Majesty’s Sorcerer regrets my brother’s death?” Ximena was already on her feet. “How can I know Her Majesty didn’t require it?”

That was a bad question to answer. Dwayne tried to rush forward, but one well-placed foot, and he landed face first into the grass.

“Why would Her Majesty do that?” asked Lady Pol. “That wouldn’t make any sense. Our investigation-”

“Has been going on for weeks and has nothing to show for it,” Ximena reached Lady Pol, “except that you have time to attend funerals you weren’t invited to, just to pretend you’re doing something.”

Lady Pol’s face reddened. “We are doing something!”

“Then who killed my brother?”

Lady Pol blinked. “We’re not at liberty to-”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“We’re working on it.” Covered in wet dead grass, Dwayne stepped between Lady Pol and Ximena. “We can’t say more than that.”

Ximena raised her chin. “Oh, you can’t, alu?”

That word, ‘boy’ in Vanurian, pried lose a wave of heat and fury in Dwayne’s chest. Only three things held it back: his need to hide his Ri magic, the sadness in Ximena’s eyes, and the fear in her mother Camila as she took her daughter’s arm and tried to pull her back.

Even so, Dwayne’s response came through gritted teeth. “No, we can’t, not until Mei’s done.”

Ximena raised her voice. “What-”

“Mei?” Her mother cut her off. “The young woman who told us about Juanelo?”

Dwayne nodded.

“She promised us justice too.” Camila distinctly didn’t look at Lady Pol. “Are you?”

There was the politic response that wouldn’t commit Dwayne or his office to anything, but right here, right now, not committing was the wrong move. “Yes, I am.”

“Good.” Camila turned to Lady Pol. “You are a high-ranking noble, are you not? When he,” she gestured at Dwayne’s dark skin, “speaks, does he speak for you?”

“Yes,” said Lady Pol.

Her lack of hesitation surprised Dwayne and satisfied Camila. “Then I will believe you both. And,” she lowered her voice, “I believe you will learn from this.”

“We will.” Dwayne signal for Lady Pol to leave. “I am sorry for your loss.”

Hopefully, Mei’s investigation was going better.