Shadows of Demise (The Warrior Angels Trilogy - Book 3)

Chapter Forty-Four

Beatrice entered the barracks later that evening. She called out for Richard and stiffened when she stumbled upon him and Ailith in the drawing room. Ailith finished muttering foreign words to herself and stepped back, revealing Ashton lying on a table.

"What is this?" Beatrice demanded.

"We are preserving his body," Richard blandly responded.

Ailith turned to her, her eyes red and swollen. "This was... another spell Maribel taught me."

Beatrice's chest tightened.

"She said she hoped I would never have to use it," Ailith continued. "But it could be useful, so she wanted me to know. You can only use it on those who share your blood, and it is only temporary." She sniffled and wiped the corners of her eyes. "It'll be enough time for Mayra to receive the letter we sent and come here."

Beatrice lowered her shoulders. "Mayra?" She looked at Richard. "But she will... she will want to take him with her."

"Yes, we know," Ailith said softly.

"No, she cannot do that." Beatrice stepped up to her. "Ashton is one of us. He is a soldier. He fought in the war! He should be, be laid to, to rest here." She sharply inhaled and faced Richard again.

Richard finally met her eyes. "Mayra is his wife, and they have children back in Salus. They are his family."

"What about his mother? His sisters?"

"I... wrote them as well," Ailith said. "I know they will understand."

Beatrice gaped at her, then at Richard.

"Beatrice, don't," Richard begged. He shook his head as though he was already exhausted of something she hadn't even said yet.

"He belongs here," Beatrice argued. "With us. I am the queen. I have the final say."

"Beatrice, this is what he would want. He wants to be with his family."

"How do you know that? Did you ask him?"

Richard sighed and held up a familiar leather-bound journal. "I never had to. He missed them terribly. You can't betray his wishes—no matter what you believe is right."

Beatrice snatched the journal from Richard's hands and held it against her chest. "She is not taking him, and I do not care what you or anyone says." She could see Ailith gawking at her. Beatrice hurried out there without giving her a chance to speak.

Outside, she glanced down at the journal and held her breath as she skimmed through it. She landed on the sketch of his daughters—the one he showed her before. It was quite beautiful and detailed. Beatrice felt as though she was truly staring right at the girls.

Would they come with Mayra? Perhaps at least the oldest would?

She dreaded the idea of seeing them here. They couldn't take Ashton away from her. No, they couldn't. He died a soldier. He deserved a burial like all the other soldiers here in the capital.

Beatrice began making her way back toward the castle. Although her heart raced with the idea of seeing Mayra again, she put on a brave face. Franco walked toward her—or rather, he limped toward her. He winced each time he put weight down on his bad leg.

"Good evening, Your Majesty," he said, forcing a grin that looked more painful than watching him try to walk.

Beatrice squinted at him. "Pardon me. I have a speech to prepare."

"To address the kingdom and inform them of our glorious victory?"

"Glorious?" she snickered. "Explain to me which part of it is glorious? The part where Ashton lost his life?"