LITMIR.BIZ

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the flight of birds.

      Right then, though, this funeral, his mother’s funeral, was the only thing that mattered.

      Apparently, there were those who didn’t understand that. “Your highness, your highness!”

      Rupert spun toward the man who came running. He wore a soldier’s uniform, bowing low.

      “The correct form of address for a king is ‘your majesty,’” Rupert said.

      “Your majesty, forgive me,” the man said. He rose from his bow. “But I have an urgent message!”

      “What is it?” Rupert demanded. “Can’t you see that I am attending my mother’s funeral?”

      “Forgive me, your… majesty,” the man said, obviously only just catching himself in time. “But our generals request your presence.”

      Of course they did. Fools who had not seen the route to defeating the New Army now wanted to gain his favor by showing how many ideas they had for dealing with the threat that had come to them.

      “I will come, or not, after the funeral,” Rupert said.

      “They said to stress the importance of the threat,” the man said, as if those words would somehow move Rupert to action. To some kind of obedience.

      “I will decide its importance,” Rupert said. At the moment, nothing felt important compared to the funeral that was about to happen. Let Ashton burn for all he cared; he would bury his mother.

      “Yes, your majesty, but—”

      Rupert stopped the man with a look. “The generals want to pretend that everything must happen now,” he said. “That there is no plan without me. That I’m needed if we are to defend the city. I have a reply for them: do your jobs.”

      “Your majesty?” the messenger said, in a tone that made Rupert want to punch him.

      “Do your jobs, soldier,” he said. “These men claim to be our finest generals, but they can’t organize the defense of one city? Tell them that I will come to them when I am ready to. In the meantime, they will see to it. Now go, before I lose my temper.”

      The man hesitated a moment, then bowed again. “Yes, your majesty.”

      He hurried off. Rupert watched him go, then turned back to Angelica.

      “You’re being quiet,” he said. Her expression was perfectly neutral. “You don’t agree with me burying my mother either?”

      Angelica put a hand on his arm. “I think that if you need to do this, you should, but we can’t neglect the dangers, either.”

      “What dangers?” Rupert demanded. “We have generals, don’t we?”

      “Generals from a dozen different forces stitched together to form an army,” Angelica pointed out. “No two of whom will agree on who is in charge without someone there to set an overall strategy. Our fleet sits too close to the city, our walls are relics rather than defenses, and our enemy is a dangerous one.”

      “Be careful,” Rupert warned her. His grief was closing around him like a fist, and the only way Rupert knew to respond to it was with anger.

      Angelica moved forward to kiss him. “I am being careful, my love, my king. We’ll take the time to do this, but soon, you’ll need to give them direction, so that you have a kingdom to rule.”

      “Let it burn,” Rupert said on reflex. “Let it all burn.”

      “You might mean that now,” Angelica said, “but soon, you’ll want it. And then, well, there’s a danger that they won’t let you have it.”

      “Let me have my crown?” Rupert said. “I am king!”

      “You are the heir,” Angelica said, “and we have built you support in the Assembly of Nobles, but that support could fade if you are not careful. The generals you are ignoring will wonder if one of them should rule. The nobles will ask questions about a king who puts his grief before their safety.”

      “And you, Angelica?” Rupert asked. “What do you think? Are you loyal?”

      His fingers went to the hilt of a knife almost automatically, feeling its comforting presence. Angelica’s covered them.

      “I think that I have chosen my place in this,” she said, “and it is alongside you. I’ve sent someone to deal with some of the threat of the fleet. If a death can slow us, it can slow them just as easily. Afterwards, we can do everything that needs to be done, together.”

      “Together,” Rupert said, taking Angelica’s hand.

      “Are you ready?” Angelica asked him.

      Rupert nodded, even though right then the ache inside him was too great to ever be subdued. He would never be ready for the moment to let his mother go.

      They stepped into the temple together. It had been dressed for a state funeral with a haste that was almost unseemly, rich drapes in dark hues filling the space within, cut through here and there by the royal crest. The pews of the temple were full of mourners, every noble in Ashton and for miles around turning out, along with merchants and soldiers, clergy and more. Rupert had made sure of that.

      “They’re all here,” he said, looking around.

      “All who could come,” Angelica replied.

      “The ones who didn’t are traitors,” Rupert snapped back. “I’ll have them killed.”

      “Of course,” Angelica said. “After the invasion, though.”

      It was strange that he’d found someone so ready to agree to all the things that needed doing. She was as ruthless as he was in her way, beautiful and intelligent. She was there for this, too, standing beside him and managing to make even funeral black look exquisite, there to support Rupert as he made his way through the temple, toward the spot where his mother’s coffin sat waiting for interment, her crown set atop it.

      A choir started to sing a requiem as they proceeded, the high priestess droning her prayers to the goddess. None of it would be original. There had been no time for that. Still Rupert would have a composer employed once all this was done. He would raise statues to his mother. He would—

      “We’re here, Rupert,” Angelica said, guiding him to his seat on the front row. There was more than enough space there, in spite of the crowded building. Perhaps the guardsmen standing there to enforce it had something to do with that.

      “We are gathered to bear witness to the passing of a great figure among us,” the high priestess droned as Rupert took his place. “Dowager Queen Mary of the House of Flamberg is gone behind the mask of death, into the arms of the goddess there. We mourn her passing.”

      Rupert mourned it, the grief rising up through him as the priestess spoke about what a great ruler his mother had been, how important her role had been in unifying the kingdom. The old priestess gave a long sermon about the virtues found in the holy texts that his mother had embodied, and then men and women started to come up to speak about her greatness, her kindness, her humility.

      “It’s like they’re talking about someone else,” Rupert whispered across to Angelica.

      “It’s the sort of thing that they’re expected to say at a funeral,” she replied.

      Rupert shook his head. “No, it isn’t right. It isn’t right.”

      He stood, moving to the front of the temple, not caring that some lord was still busy spinning out the one time he’d met the Dowager into a eulogy. The man backed away as Rupert approached, falling silent.

      “You’re all talking nonsense,” Rupert said, his voice carrying easily. “You’re talking about my mother and ignoring the real her! You say that she was good, and kind, and generous? She was none of those things! She was hard. She was ruthless. She could be cruel.” His hand swept around. “Is there anyone here she didn’t hurt? She hurt me often enough. She treated me like I was barely worthy to be her son.”

      He

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