Left foot, right foot. I focus on my steps, on the crunch of snow beneath my boots. Anything to distract myself.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish the memories of Alvina squeezing the life out of Finn. When I open them again, Cenric glances back at me, his blue eyes filled with concern. I want to reassure him, to say I’m fine, but the words lodge in my throat.
How can I be fine when Finn is dead?
My foot catches on another rock, and I stumble. Instinctively, my eyes drop, and I catch a glimpse of Finn’s lifeless body.
I let out a shuddering breath, wanting everything to be different, needing everything to be different.
“Everly?” Cenric’s voice cuts through my spiral of grief.
I tear my focus away from Finn to meet Cenric’s eyes. The concern there nearly undoes me.
“I’m...” I start to say, but the lie dies on my lips. I’m not all right. None of this is all right.
“This isn’t your fault,” he says, his tone warm, full of empathy—empathy I do not deserve.
“Yes, it is. I brought Finn with me.”
“You couldn’t have known.” Cenric continues. “Alvina’s actions are her own. You’re not responsible for her choices.”
“But I—”
“—no. You didn’t cause this. You’re a victim too.” His words wash over me, forming a crack in the wall of guilt I’ve built around myself.
“You survived,” he says softly. “That’s what matters now. We’ll honor Finn, and we’ll find a way through this.”
As we approach the camp’s edge, Cenric adds, “You’re not alone, Everly. Remember that.”
Chapter
Thirty-Five
CENRIC
The moon peersthrough the clouds as we walk into the camp. Luc, Gabriel, Liam, and Praxis move swiftly to assist me with the litter, their faces somber and their eyes filled with unspoken questions. They know I will provide answers in due time, but for now, we have a more pressing matter to attend to.
My arms ache to comfort Everly, but I must prioritize Finn’s burial. He was a loyal warrior and deserves the utmost respect in death.
We work in silence, gathering wood and meticulously stacking it to construct Finn’s funeral pyre. To my surprise, Everly joins us, her complexion ashen but her resolve unwavering. She stoops to collect fallen branches, adding them to the growing structure with a determination that both impresses and concerns me. Every fiber of my being wants to urge her to rest, to allow us to shoulder this burden, but the steely look in her eyes halts my words.
As the pyre takes shape, a hollowness grows in my chest. Another good man lost. Another life cut short because of my conflict with Alvina.
This wasn’t about the rebellion. This was about her quest for revenge.
Fury simmers beneath my skin—enough fury to track that witch down and end her life.
Liam approaches with strips of cloth soaked in oil. We weave the strips through the pyre, preparing it for the fire that will send Finn on his final journey.
Everly’s hands tremble as she takes a strip from Praxis. She hesitates, then slowly, carefully, tucks it into place. A single tear escapes, trailing down her cheek.
I clear my throat, drawing the attention of the warriors. “Brothers, we stand here tonight to honor one of our own. Finn was more than a warrior. He was a friend, a brother-in-arms, and a true son of the Bloodstone tribe.”
I pause, allowing my gaze to sweep over the men and women. Their eyes are fixed on me as they hang on every word.
“I remember the day Finn first picked up a sword. He was barely tall enough to wield it, yet his determination was unmatched. That same determination carried him through countless battles, always at the forefront, always ready to lay down his life for his brothers.”
A murmur of agreement ripples through the gathering.
