The guilt churns in my stomach. “He said something in passing the other night. I asked him about why he puts up with your attitude, and he said because he was sorry about something that happened six months ago.”

She goes still. “Six months ago?”

“Yes.”

She makes a soft hum of consideration. “No idea what he means.”

I press on. “I got the impression he regretted not standing up for you in a more general sense.”

Harlow is quiet for a long moment before she turns to face me. “And here I thought the two of you were forever at odds.”

“I sparred with him yesterday afternoon. It’s probably the most he’s spoken to me,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve never met someone who talks so much during a fight. Honestly, he was never working hard enough.” She swallows hard and looks away. “We should light a pyre at dawn. Do you think your father would start it with holy fire? Gaven was particularly devout when it came to Vardek.”

“I’m sure he would.”

“I’d prefer for it to be private if that’s okay,” she says.

“Whatever you want.” In my own ears, I sound too agreeable—too guilty, but Harlow doesn’t notice, and that makes it worse.

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52HARLOW

We burn our dead at dawn to honor Divine Asher. The end of the night is just the start of a new day, and the funeral services are meant as a reminder that life and death are a divine circle, each ending forever giving way to a new start.

Many people find that thought comforting, but to me, death has always felt final. Or it did, until I met Henry.

He shifts beside me, his aura curling around me like a protective cloak. I didn’t ask for that, and I don’t need it, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It’s been that way since the claiming. I’m not sure if it’s more a measure of his possessiveness or his guilt.

He’s expecting me to melt down, but I don’t cry. I get even.

It might take some time, but Stefan Laurence is going to die a spectacularly slow and painful death.

Philip and Evangeline stand off to one side of the pyre. Bryce and Carter stand on the other. The weight of their collective gazes presses in on me.

This is what I have always hated about funerals and what I’m dreading about Dark Star Festival. It’s hard to perform my grief when I feel nothing but the chill of a cold winter morning. I pull my cloak around me tighter.

Of course, I’m sad that Gaven is gone. He has been the steadiest presence in my life. But the sadness is more like the ache of an old injury, a thing that flares to life on cold or rainy days. I’m sure I will feel it when the reminders come, but it’s so fresh, it doesn’t fully feel real even as I’m watching his shrouded body burn.

The blue fire is ravenous, catching instantly and roaring to such a blaze that I resist the urge to take a step back. The one good thing about using holy fire for these ceremonies is that it burns hot and fast, and the whole thing is over in moments instead of an hour.

As the holy fire burns, I think of what Henry told me about Vardek’s blessings.

My father would see anyone with similar magic as a threat to his rule of the city. He’s a man who needs control at any cost. It makes sense that he would not abide teenagers with holy fire showing him up.

I know him enough to be certain of the validity of what Henry shared, the same way I know that my father would never willingly allow the Drained to come into Lunameade. For all his many flaws, my father has a code, and that code begins and ends with him looking good publicly to the people of the city. Sacrificing the fort to protect the city is a clear example of that.

Everyone has an agenda. Henry and his parents, Rochelli, Rafe—all of them want different things, and they are all also constantly making moves against each other. Henry’s family or friends could have orchestrated that run-in with Shane to turn me against my parents. The man was at Bea’s bar—a place Henry and his friends already knew about. He could have mimicked handwriting on that note that looked like Gaven’s to create doubt.

In the absence of a fully trustworthy source, I have to rely on my instincts, and I’m not sure what to do with this new information about my father. I suppose I can ask Kellan about it, but there is a direct correlation between what he expects my response to be and the likelihood that he will share the considerable knowledge granted to him as head of the city guard.

Philip holds up his hand, feeding one last bit of fire into the remaining wood. “May Divine Asher deliver the soul of his servant, Gaven Pomeroy, beyond the veil, and may he find peace with the deeds he has done and all that he’s left unfinished.”

“Divine receive him,” we all say in unison.

Bryce and Carter wander away, along with Henry’s parents, but my husband remains beside me, staring at the charred remnants.

“When you’re finished, a servant will gather the ashes and bring them to you if you’d like,” Henry says softly.

I frown. “Why? What would I do with them?”

Henry steps closer. “I thought you might want to sprinkle them in one of his favorite places. But if you’re too upset, you don’t have to think about it now. I can⁠—”

I turn on him. “I’m not upset. I asked for holy fire because I knew that would be meaningful to him. There’s nothing else I feel compelled to do to honor him, unless I haven’t performed my grief to your satisfaction.”

Henry licks his lips and frowns. “I’ll give you a moment alone to say what you need to.” He turns and leaves me with the pile of ashes.

I wait until I hear the Havenwood House doors close before I speak.

“I know you would urge me to let this go—to not take my chances with a man like Stefan—but it would just be pandering if I listened to you for the first time ever just because you died,” I whisper.

I tip my head back and sigh. This is so stupid. Speaking to Gaven’s remains makes me sadder than watching his body burn.

As much time as I spent trying to evade my bodyguard, it was nice knowing that there was someone behind me when I wanted him to be.

When I turn and walk back to the house, a new day has dawned—one where I’m finished waiting for revenge.

Three days after Gaven’s funeral pyre, a messenger dove arrives from Lunameade.

I look down at the wax seal, expecting it to be broken, the missive already read by Henry. But it’s still intact when he hands it to me. I guess he feels bad enough about Gaven’s death that he’s stopped confiscating or reading my mail.

I stop paging through the heavy book in front of me and hold the note up to the light streaming in through the library windows. My name is written out in Kellan’s messy handwriting. I break the seal and open the letter.

Found the well runoff. It turns into the blood mist just south of the wall, a short way into the Drained Wood. It explains the excessive attacks on South Hold, but the ones on North Hold are still a mystery.

I stare at the words, trying to make sense of them. My theory was right. Whatever is affecting the well seems to also be affecting the Drained. I was not expecting to find the origin of the blood mist.

I think of the story that Nicolina told about how the Deathless became the Drained by drinking the well water to try to gain more power. Maybe it’s the remnants of blood in the water driving them into a frenzy.

“Something wrong in the city?” Henry asks, startling me from my thoughts.

I shake my head, cross the library, and toss the missive into the fire.

The irritation on Henry’s face is delicious. He’s become better at controlling his aura’s reactions since he knows I’m paying attention, but it always gets a little prickly before he wrangles it. I’ve kept my distance from him, and his constant brooding is satisfying.