The Cathedral of the Gods was…

Quilla sighed as she looked behind her at the pews. There were a lot of people, but…

The Cathedral of the Gods was not packed.

Was it petty of her that she cared?

She just wanted Garet to be acknowledged, to get the send-off he deserved. He was a gruff, rambunctious man in life, she knew. He rubbed some people the wrong way. But he was a good man, too, and she was going to make sure everyone knew when she gave her speech.

A hand touched hers, and she looked over at Zandrue beside her, and Rudiger on Zandrue’s other side. “Everything’s going to be fine,” Zandrue said.

“I just…” She couldn’t finish the words. Tears formed in her eyes and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief. She couldn’t let tears mar her appearance. Marna had worked so hard on her hair and make-up. She leaned against Zandrue’s arm.

“I know,” Zandrue said. “Just don’t worry about it.”

The King and Queen arrived soon after that. Their arrival was heralded by a train of armed soldiers who marched into the church and took up positions along the aisles. Only then did the King and Queen themselves enter, followed by Gabriella, Malef, Pastrin, Annai, and Thilin. Behind them came other court nobles like Barnol and Tianna Friaz.

Cerus had sent word from the south that he couldn’t make it. So had most of the ruling lords from across the country. Only Lidda Plavin from Plavin-Tyl had said she would try to make it, but as best Quilla knew, she hadn’t made it in time. She had a long way to travel. Cerus even more. It was understandable they couldn’t make it. But there were closer places, like Aristan, that surely could have had someone here. It was only a couple days’ journey from Beldrum.

The Royal Family settled into the pews on the opposite side of the aisle to Quilla, the King directly across from her. He reached out a hand to her. She took it, clasped it for a moment as he gave her a sad smile. Then he let go and she sat back, catching a glimpse of the Queen glaring at her through tears on her face.

Fuck you, bitch.

She wanted to say that, but she bit her tongue. She suspected the Queen’s tears were more for Sinitïa than Garet. And when she took a moment to think about it, Quilla couldn’t really fault the woman for being upset her daughter was missing.

But it didn’t make up for everything else.

After that, they waited in silence for a while.

Zandrue shuffled beside her. Quilla glanced over to see Zandrue was looking around the church, straining her neck to see over the heads of taller people.

“I thought you said not to worry,” Quilla whispered.

“I told you not to worry. You were just checking for numbers. I’m checking for who.”

“Who?”

“I want to know exactly who has and who hasn’t come to this funeral.”

“How will that help?”

Zandrue shrugged and looked back at Quilla. “I have no idea, but I might see something that gives me an idea.” She went back to straining her neck to see around the church.

At last, the choir appeared at the back of the nave. They marched forward in silence, followed by various priests or deacons or… Quilla had no idea what their titles were, just that they were all robed in clerical attire. At their back came Patriarch Ardon and then the pall-bearers with Garet’s casket.

The funeral was long—at least, it felt long. Quilla had no idea how long it actually took. Minutes or hours, she stopped caring partway through. All she could think about was the fact Garet was gone, that he wasn’t even inside the lavish casket on display here. It was just for show. She also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact Felitïa wasn’t here.

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When she went to the pulpit for her own speech, she pondered tossing out what she had planned to say, and instead say something quick like, “I loved him,” and then get the hell out of there. It would have been easier that way.

But no.

She’d made a promise to herself to make them understand who they had lost, and she was going to keep that promise. So she took a deep breath and did just that.

“Garet had an impact on all our lives. On some of you, he had a greater impact than on others, but I don’t think there’s a single person here who did not experience his influence in some manner or other, even if only indirectly. Nevertheless, there are many of you who never knew who he truly was. To you, he was just a prince that you rarely, if ever, saw. Or he was annoying. He was brash and in your face. He was never afraid to give his opinion, whether it agreed with popular opinion or not. But he was a good man, in a way few of you ever knew. So I want to tell you a little about him. Because I knew him. Better than any of you. There are many of you who don’t like that, who will even deny it. But it’s true whether you like it or not. He loved me and I loved him, and I want to tell you why. I want you to know the man you never knew.”

Once the words started coming out, they poured out—faster than she had practised, but also more easily and passionately. She told them a little of how she and Garet had met, but mostly she focused on their time together. On the little things he did away from the discerning eyes of the court. The gestures of kindness, like the time he’d helped a young girl find her mother. How he had done everything in his power to reunite Quilla and her lost son.

When she finished, the church was silent. She couldn’t tell if she’d had any effect. No one reacted at all as far as she could tell when she gazed over the people and said her final words. Admittedly, the lighting in the Cathedral was dim and her vision was blurred by tears, so maybe people were more affected than she could tell. She hoped so.

“Thank you,” she struggled to say, choking out the words through sobs that threatened to overtake her.

She started to step down from the pulpit when her eyes fell on a figure standing at the corner of the entrance to Power’s transept. Her heart skipped a beat and she nearly stumbled.

Dyle?

The mas was dressed in clerical robes, which she wouldn’t have expected from Dyle, but the man was the same height as Dyle. His hair the same dark blonde. His face… Was his face the same? Her vision was still obscured by tears. Did he have the scar? She couldn’t tell. Maybe her imagination was getting the better of her, her fears taking over. Maybe it wasn’t Dyle, just someone similar.

She gathered her courage back again and proceeded down from the pulpit. Once she was back in her place by Garet’s casket, she could get a better look. It would be an obvious look, but it would be a better look and she was wiling to take it even if he noticed her doing it.

If it was Dyle, maybe Zandrue had noticed him.

Please, gods, let Zandrue notice him.

As she moved to her place, she took out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

She didn’t need to turn to see him after all. She was facing the right direction as she approached the casket. She would only turn her back to him once she was in place.

With slightly clearer vision, she moved to her place, staring right at the man. He was looking right at her, a half-smile on her face. The smile crinkled his scar.

It was him.

Right there. Out in the open.

What would he do if she walked up to him and slapped him?

There was a guard near him. The guard probably assumed he was a priest and would come to his defence. She would look like the provocateur, and it would give some people more reason to hate her.

But fuck it.

She’d already passed her spot anyway.

She walked right up to him and raised her hand, but stopped. She had a better idea.

Dyle tried to look surprised, but that smile was still there. He had wanted her to see him; that much was clear.

“Get the fuck out of here,” she hissed at him. “You have no place here.”

Then she turned around and went back to her place.

Almost all eyes were on her. Most people looked confused at what she had just done. But that didn’t matter. Zandrue’s eyes were on Dyle, and that was what was important.

Ardon cleared his throat. “Thank you, Miss Steranovist, for that very emotional tribute to his Highness. Your Majesty, would you care to say a few words about your son?”

The King rose from his seat and straightened his military uniform. A courtier approached him, carrying a deep purple cape, which the King draped around his shoulders.

While this was happening, Quilla watched Zandrue kiss Rudiger on the forehead, then slide along her pew towards the All-Father transept. Then she dashed down the aisle towards the entrance doors. Rudiger slid over to follow her.

Quilla wasn’t sure why Zandrue was going that direction, but she had to assume Dyle had moved that way. But she wasn’t going to look. She’d already done enough to draw attention to herself; it was up to Zandrue from here.