Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(84)

Thom and Wyn were huddled against each other, sobbing in silence. The heavy shudder of Thom’s breathing echoed around us like the ripple of fabric in the wind, ripping him apart. His pain lingered in the sound, cutting into my chest as my own sobs rose to meet his. Our heartbreak wove together as one painful keen.

“This life will be missed. This life met its end, and we will always remember his past as he goes on without us to find the depth of the future his sight has created for him,” Ilyan said over the distressing sounds of our sobs, his own voice continuing to break right alongside ours.

Keeping his palm flat, he shifted his weight, lifting the large bottle as he clamped his teeth around the cork. I could feel his magic surge as he eased it out, and the bright smell of wine swirled through the icy air.

I wrinkled my nose at the scent. While familiar, it reminded me of way too many late nights in the LaRue’s kitchen—Edmund’s kitchen. It was a reminder I didn’t need, not right now.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I pushed it away.

After spitting the cork into the dead grass, Ilyan put the opening of the bottle over the handkerchief, letting it hover there, one slight tip away from spilling over. He froze there, his emotions swirling powerfully through me as his magic began to shake, his hand trembling visibly.

“He taught me patience,” Ilyan gasped out in pain, his hand tipping as he released the bright red fluid from the bottle, splashing it onto the white handkerchief he held. It landed against the cotton, the red against white abrasive as the droplets ran down the side of the fabric, absorbing into the white as he passed the bottle to Thom.

Thom’s hand shook as my face burned and I tried to keep the tears hidden, but they came, anyway, as Thom poured his own amount onto the white cloth. The crimson stain spread over it, seeping into it as it stretched toward the edges until there were only a few spots of white left.

“He taught me how to love after everything was broken,” Thom whispered, his eyes still focused on the red wine that was seeping throughout the fabric.

Without a word, he passed the bottle to Wyn. It was like before the battle, during the first night: a drink, a word, a tribute to those you have lost. No, not a tribute. A memory, a piece of his past.

Memories from each of us poured onto fabric like blood, dripping from our souls as we shared the intimacies of not only ourselves, but of the life we were honoring.

“He forgave me,” was all Wyn said as she splashed a large amount of wine onto the cloth, the brilliant crimson seeping so fast I knew it wouldn’t hold it all. It dripped from the edges onto the ice-coated grass like tears falling to the ground.

Without a word, Wyn handed the bottle to me, and my hand shook as I wrapped it around the neck. Thankfully, I didn’t drop it as she let go. It was heavier than I expected it to be and slippery underneath my fingers.

“He reminded me I had a family,” I said.

My nose tickled, the tears kept coming, and I could barely get the words out. I let them flow while staring at the white of the handkerchief before I poured the wine onto it. Watching the blood red absorb into it, I gasped, feeling the warmth against my hand, pooling in my palm hidden beneath the surface.

I stared at it for a moment too long before Ryland reached for the bottle, reminding me of what my job was.

He grabbed the bottle without hesitation, splashing some onto his own, his lips a tight line as he said, “He was the man his father pretended to be.”

The words struck home, and I gasped, my tears flowing more freely as Ilyan walked around Dramin’s body, grabbing the bottle from Ryland and continuing the process all over.

“He showed me how to laugh.”

“He never gave up on me.”

“He saved me in more ways than he knew.”

On and on, they went until each of our handkerchiefs were soaked with wine and our palms were full of the deep red fluid. Then the bottle was empty and set beside Ilyan’s feet, rattling against dying grass and stone as it rocked in the wind that blew past everything. My emotions by now were so raw and open that I was amazed the wind didn’t pick me up and carry me away.

Ilyan took a step forward and knelt in the dirt beside where my brother lay. Carefully, he placed the handkerchief over his face exactly as he had in the sight. The wine-soaked cloth covered the gray skin, the sunken eyes, and the jaw that looked so broken it didn’t even resemble my brother anymore.

“I will take care of her as you asked,” Ilyan said, his wine-soaked hand grasping my brother’s dead one. His stiff fingers were like rocks underneath Ilyan’s strong grip.

Ilyan did not move as Thom limped forward, Wyn helping him to kneel beside his brother. His hand shook as he, too, placed the cloth over Dramin’s face.

“I will never forget what you have done for me,” Thom whispered, his hand replacing Ilyan’s against the stiffness of Dramin’s.

Without a word, Wyn knelt beside Thom near Dramin’s feet and leaned over both of them to place her handkerchief over Dramin’s face, on top of all the others.

“I will be worthy of your forgiveness,” Wyn whispered, her hand clutching Dramin’s before wrapping around Thom’s. Her head fell onto his shoulder as the tears flowed freely.

Kneel across from me, m?j kamarád, Ilyan prompted inside my mind, his voice quiet as he gave me the needed instruction.

Everything felt weak, numb, and broken. Each step opened up a new agonizing pit in my stomach as I moved toward him then kneeled across from him before I placed my handkerchief over Dramin’s face.