Let us endeavour so to live that when we come to die, even the undertaker will be sorry - Mark Twain
The air felt heavy as myself and the thorn sprite emerged into the Kingdom. This time the portal had brought us straight in front of the main castle doors and they practically groaned at the despair I could feel was contained behind. The very place I was about to walk into to take part in laying my goddaughter to rest. The concept felt outlandish, every step I took towards the doors felt as if they belonged to someone else. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself the growing fear spreading wings inside me was just a fleeting emotional reaction to the unknown and it needed to be suppressed before it could fly.
The thorn sprite that had been accompanying me fluttered off without warning, more than likely to ready itself for the procession. No matter. I knew where to go. The guards at the doors let me by, inclining their heads as I passed. They were dressed in different, darker attire reflecting the solemn atmosphere. It was Court tradition that guards, particularly ones on duty at the main entrances, wore alternate clothing on the day of a funeral. It signalled to others that this was not a day to interrupt the Court in question, unless of course, one was expected for the ceremony. I walked calmly and purposefully down the winding, twisting main hallway made of interwoven branches. The sound of my boots echoed loudly in the solemn quiet.
Trying to ignore how the silence seemed to scream, I continued to stride down the corridor. The throne room was not far ahead and with each footstep I took, members of the Thorn Court emerged from various rooms and little corridors, beginning to converge in the throne room. Instead of joining the crowd however, I slipped elegantly between creatures, Royals and Emissaries, continuing to a filthy, decrepit door that was partially hidden behind a stone column. It led to a chamber that had never been used until today.
Taking a deep breath, I straightened my back and stood tall. A Royal was a creature of strength and what awaited me behind this door required all of it I could gather. Procrastinating no longer, I gently pushed the door open, the thing appeared as though it would collapse if I used anymore force. As much as I didn't want to face this, I could not run from it. To do so would make me more of a coward than the murderer. I detest cowards.
My golden eyes immediately detected the shape of Machivelius, stood in quiet contemplation against the pale sunlight streaking in through the numerous huge but narrow arched windows. He was draped in dark mourning robes and his long hair was pulled back with black ribbon. He did not acknowledge my entrance as I carefully came to stand by his side. The Thorn King's gaze remained fixed on the raised stone alter in the middle of the room, surrounding by scattered sunlight. I cast my sight over the alter, taking in Arella.
She had been cleaned of any blood and the atrocious marks on her neck had been covered with some concealing cosmetic. Her curling red hair had been brushed and cleared of any debris and someone had dressed her in a green velvet gown with golden accents. Arella's face was peaceful and for all intents and purposes, she appeared merely sleeping. As though any moment she'd wake up and ask us what she was doing in the Mourning Chamber. It was a nice illusion and though I knew better, I could understand why Machivelius wanted to cling to it for as long as he could. A bed of thorns encircled her, ready for the procession.
"Velius," I uttered quietly, hating to be the one to break the moment. "It will be time soon."
"Yes, I believe you're right." Velius answered, though still did not look at me.
"Here, I'll carry this end," I murmured softly, moving to stand at Arella's feet and curling my grey fingers safely around the thorn branches. Velius watched me absently before nodding and striding to Arella's head. My cold heart almost shattered as Velius leaned down to kiss Arella's forehead before taking his place at the end. Almost. There was still a killer to be brought to justice and that thought kept me together long enough for me and Machivelius to lift the thorn bed onto our right shoulders and carry Arella towards the throne room.
Katriel was waiting by the large double doors and opened them at our approach. She bowed low as we passed and followed us as we carried Arella to the foot of the thrones. If there had been chattering before, it had quelled instantly and only the sound of sniffling and tears accompanied us as we placed the Thorn Princess at the second alter, that had been set up under the raised dais holding the thrones. Standing one side of Machivelius, I deliberately put my hand on his arm while Katriel stepped forward and did the same on his other side. The Babohan Sith nodded at me as we manoeuvred the Thorn King to our seats.
As we settled, a man with pointed ears and dressed in the attire of a cleric sauntered in to stand by the alter. I did not recognise him as one of the Thorn Court's people, though it was not uncommon for Royals to summon impartial clerics to officiate ceremonies. After all, there was no way of knowing who's pay roll a Court cleric was on and there had been incidents in the past of secrets being traded between clerics in a position of trust. It was why few Royals kept a Court cleric nowadays, though no doubt Cyprian had probably hired one. He had still had much to learn when he had displaced me, but his arrogance had blinded him to that. Subtly, I glanced around expecting to see his face in the crowd. Arella and him had grown up together, and despite his displacement of me and any other feuds, everything was put aside to pay respects to the dead. No matter how much I wanted to strangle the little shit.
My gaze scanned across the crowd, detecting various Royals including the Mist and Night Courts. But there was no "Raven King" to be seen, not even when I had to crane my head to observe those at the back. Curling a fist, I ferociously snapped my attention and blazing eyes back towards the cleric. I had taught him better than to show this kind of outright disrespect. Arella had been like a sister to him and by the Morrigan, he should be here!
"The Jester Queen is not in attendance either," a whispered voice uttered from my left side. Katriel had leaned around Machivelius slightly and it was clear she'd been watching my little observations for some time. "Though not usually surprising," she continued to whisper, "I cannot help but wonder if there is more significance, considering what you suspect of course." With that snippet, she turned her attention back towards the cleric, leaving me to contemplate that information later.
The cleric continued to talk for a few more moments, his words echoing with practiced cadence and inflection. "But now," he intoned solemnly "we will hear of Arella, Princess and Heir to the Thorn Court from her godmother, Orinthea, Corvus Queen and former ruler of the Corvus Court."
With as much decorum as I could muster, I glided towards Arella, making sure to step on the cleric's foot with the heel of my boot as I did. It's a dangerous thing to insult a Royal's pride. If the circumstances had been different, I'd have probably had him ravaged by crows for that little "former" comment. Thankfully, his mouth remained shut as I unfolded, then refolded my paper and began to speak.
"To many, Arella was simply the Thorn Princess. An accepted part of life in the Thorn Court and heir to the throne. But for those of us who knew her, watched her grow up, were a part of her life, she was so much more than her titles." I turned to the alter where she lay before continuing. "She was life, glowing like the sun on a spring day and just as powerful. Arella could charm anyone she met with a smile and her acceptance." A few faces in the crowd smiled and nodded, their expressions reminiscing of times when she did just that. "And I was chosen to be her godmother. Me, godmother to this blooming, confident woman who was prepared to take on the world for her kingdom and family. I couldn't believe it, thought that I was not worthy of such a blessing. But nevertheless, I loved her as if she were my own and I only hope that she is at peace, despite her tragic death." Swallowing deeply, I continued on, never tearing my gaze away from her prone figure on the alter. "And I swear by the gods that I will find Arella and Prythia's killer and when I do, they will be begging to face Court justice by the time I'm finished."
I tore my angry glare away from Arella and directed it at the mourners. For the first time in hundred years, a tear carved a path down my cheek. Hurriedly, I strode back to my seat and as I resumed sitting, Machivelius's hand gently squeezed my shoulder.
The rest of the ceremony was a blur as the cleric hobbled around, performing the sacred rituals. Finally, he anointed Arella's crown with Cassiope oil and spoke the rite of ascension. As the last word left his lips, everyone stood and bowed. I furiously wiped my face before once again making my way to Arella. This time it was Katriel and me who raised the thorn bed onto our shoulders. Machivelius stood in front ready to led us to where she would be entombed, as was the tradition. The mourners remained in their place, still as statues. They would follow after us.
Velius's robes swept the floor of the aisle as he proceeded with grace and poise. They left a dark trail of silk to follow, that was always just out of reach. I couldn't help draw parallels to the case. The murderer, possibly so close, but just out of my grasp. Not for much longer. I was done playing games.
We traversed through the castle and the large glass doors which opened out into the grounds. Velius never broke stride as the procession made its way across the thorn garden and towards the mausoleum. Every Court had one situated in the grounds and they were often grand structures, accompanied by sacred images for the Court. Mausoleums screamed respect and solemnity. The Thorn Court's was no different.
It was again constructed of thick interwoven branches, but all wrapped around grey stone. The branches each had an array of long and thin thorns delicately hugging the building and sticking out at every angle. While my Court had a large crow on the very top of its mausoleum, this one was graced with a rose in full bloom, the huge wooden carving painted a deep red. It would be a fine place for Arella to rest. We came to a halt in front of the doors. Velius took a deep shuddering breath before beginning the incantation to open them. Mausoleums were highly protected, with only the King or Queen of the Court knowing the secrets of how to access them. A brief smirk etched itself on my face as I thought of Cyprian trying and failing to get into ours. Too bad he didn't want to wait for the knowledge to be passed down to him. Good luck trying to seek help from the ancestors, you entitled brat.
Shaking the thoughts away, I stepped forward as Velius moved to the side, extending one arm towards the doorway and placing his other over his heart. I could hear Katriel sniffling as we continued inside, the sound of her hooves lacking their normal rhythm. I couldn't falter. I had to remain strong, for Arella, for Velius and even Katriel. The killer wasn't going to catch themselves either. Finally, we came to a small alter at the end of the room. It was raised in the middle of a small lake of water, but a stone path led right up to it. Arella's name was carved in the side. Gently, we manoeuvred the bed we were carrying onto the alter. I heard a snap behind me and the thorns making up the bed grew to encircle Arella's body, forming a protective coffin.
I turned my gaze away, only to be met with the terrible sight of Machivelius on the path behind us falling to his knees and screaming in grief.