The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(28)
Through it all, her heart beat, though it sent a dull throb of pain through her every time she thought of Papa. Her lungs breathed, though it felt like there was a chain wrapped around her chest, pulling tighter with every passing day.
She’d spent most of those four days sitting at the edge of their property staring at the sea, pretending she hadn’t stayed late at the shop. That Papa hadn’t left to come bring her home. That someone hadn’t torn his life away from him with one vicious choice.
That she hadn’t lied to Papa about the real danger they were in.
Her eyes were dry. Her voice hollow. Somewhere inside her, a howling storm of grief threatened, but she shied away from it. If she didn’t touch it, it couldn’t hurt her. If she didn’t look it in the eye, it wouldn’t rip her apart at the seams.
The day of Papa’s funeral dawned bright and golden. Blue stood on the little hill behind their garden and tried not to stare at the hole in the ground beside Mama’s grave. The priest spoke his words, the bell girl rang her chimes in between homilies, and a crowd gathered behind Blue—a mix of the wealthy, the merchants, and the poor. Even the royal family was in attendance, though Blue couldn’t remember when they’d arrived. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she not look at his grave. Not listen to the words that praised his life of kindness and generosity.
Not let the storm within take control.
A sea hawk circled far overhead, and Blue followed his flight with her eyes. The summer heat was a damp, thick covering on her skin, and she imagined she was in the water. Swimming out to the field of golden sea vines that covered the floor of the Chrysós Sea and gave it its color. She’d swim with strong, sure strokes, farther than she ever had before. She’d dive, grasp the delicate rubbery vines with her fingers, and uproot them with a single tug.
They were good for potions that treated swelling. For hair loss or fatigue. They could even be used to season food if you sprinkled them with ginger and then dried them in the sun. Papa had shown her how.
Her throat closed, sending a sharp pain down her neck, and she hastily found the sea hawk again before tears could prick her eyes and the storm inside her could break free.
The priest finished. The bells fell silent. And then hands were reaching for her. Steering her away from the grave and into the crowd. Face after face.
“How are you?”
“I’m so sorry.”
“He was a good man.”
“Do you need anything?”
Blue couldn’t find the words to respond to any of them. She was standing in front of yet another well-meaning townswoman, listening to yet another stream of platitudes, when a person beside her said, “Have they caught the person who killed him?”
The question wasn’t aimed at Blue, but she turned toward it anyway and found the tall, sharp-nosed haberdasher talking to Normand.
Normand waved a hand to hush the woman, and said, “It was a lovely service, Blue. I’m sure your father would’ve liked it.”
A frown moved slowly across Blue’s brow, her muscles feeling ancient and unused.
“I think he would’ve much rather been alive,” she said, the words sounding brittle and sharp. There was cotton in her throat, a chain around her chest, and as the last word left her lips, her breath caught on something that felt suspiciously like a sob.
“Of course,” Normand said soothingly.
“But who killed him?” the haberdasher said. “Are we safe to walk the streets in our quarter?”
Blue felt something hot and sharp unfurl within her as she started shaking.
“I’m sure you don’t mean to cause more distress to Miss de la Cour with thoughtless questions she can’t possibly answer.” The voice came from behind Blue, and both Normand and the haberdasher blanched as Kellan stepped to Blue’s side.
Normand bowed, and the haberdasher flung herself into a curtsy while she babbled something that sounded like a cross between an apology and more questions.
Kellan simply wrapped his arm around Blue and led her away. He threaded them through the crowd, an easy feat when everyone was busy bowing and doing their best not to get in the crown prince’s way, and then walked her to the far side of the graves until they were at the top of the hill overlooking the orchard and the distant glittering gold ribbon of the sea.
For a long moment, they stood in silence, and Blue was surprised to find herself leaning on the warmth of his presence, the solid strength he offered holding her up while her knees trembled and the hot, sharp thing inside her coiled and churned.
“Remember that time I tried to climb to the top of one of your trees and the branch was too small to hold me?” he said finally.
Blue looked at the orchard, remembering the pale blue flowers on the shirella trees and the shouts of Kellan and his friends daring each other to leap from tree to tree while Blue and Nessa dug in the dirt for worms and interesting roots. “You broke your arm. Papa was furious.”
Kellan laughed quietly. “I’d never heard him raise his voice before. Told me he’d never forgive me if I broke my neck on his property and not to be cheeky when I asked if that meant I could break it somewhere else. I don’t think he actually minded me being cheeky, though, because he laughed after he was done yelling.”
Blue smiled a little, though her lips felt stiff. “He never could stay angry for long.”