He froze and then asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She repeated, “Yes.”
“We will never be parted,” he assured her. “Never.” His voice was soothing, full of a future life that they could only dream about.
Her consciousness fragmented into a dozen separate sensations. She felt as if she were in freefall, her arms wrapped around Gareth's neck as they stepped off the precipice. The soft rolls of the cushion beneath them; the scent of mint on the evening ocean breeze; the cool timber of the settee against her bare thigh; his firm hands across her ribs. Sensations swirled and coalesced behind her eyelids, fading and then surging again.
She would never stop loving him no matter where their paths led them. Never would she have regrets.
ALEXANDRIA WAS SWADDLED in black. Windows, doors, shop fronts, and lampposts were festooned with somber drapery blowing in the wet Mediterranean wind. It was the day of Prince Simon's funeral. Men went about with black armbands, and women wore widow's weeds, or mourning robes and scarves.
The city was heartbroken, but there was also a sense of bottled rage waiting to surge north. Avenge Simon was the watchword of the day. Broadsheets were plastered on the grand avenues and narrow lanes, as well as the back alleys, demanding the manhood of Equatoria rise up and show their mettle.
In the days since the palace had announced the terrible news that shocked the city, volunteers to the army had increased by thousands. Men from all walks of life crowded recruiting stations in Alexandria, but also in Cairo and Mombasa and Ulundi and Damascus and Shiraz and Bombay and Mandalay and in countless towns and villages across the Empire and associated states. They raised their hands, took the oath of loyalty to the empress and the sirdar, and demanded to be armed and dispatched across the Mediterranean to kill vampires.
The front page of The Times brought citizens to tears with a photo of General Anhalt greeting the empress dressed in black. The sirdar was well known to have been a favorite of Simon's, a natural father to both imperial siblings. And there, in a stark candid photograph, was the stern officer and the sister caught in a moment of shared sorrow. Those who had been present at the touching meeting noted how particularly stricken the empress appeared when the crowd began to chant “Death to Gareth.”
The Greyfriar was not in Alexandria. In fact, he had not been seen since the murder of Prince Simon. His disappearance saddened many who were sorry that he was not present to comfort his empress. The overwhelming belief, however, was that the swordsman was in hot pursuit of the murderer Gareth. Only the legendary Greyfriar could track the prince of Scotland to his lair, and kill him.
At the funeral, Empress Adele defied protocol yet again by walking in the funeral cortege. As a woman, she should have ridden in a carriage behind the casket. However, she insisted on walking alone behind Simon's coffin carried on a black ammunition caisson drawn by six massive black horses whose hooves clopped loudly in the dense silence as black feathers bobbed with each horse's steps. Behind her trod General Anhalt, leading an Arabian stallion with a black cloth draped over its riderless saddle. A drum beat slowly in time to the shuffling feet moving out the main gate of Victoria Palace.
The wagon carrying the casket clattered into the narrow streets of Old Town, where onlookers hung out windows and overhanging second stories. Following the sirdar came the Privy Council and General Staff. All members of Commons who were physically capable walked slowly behind, headed by Prime Minister Kemal. More than two hundred official mourners flowed south to the main city, where they reached the great crossroads at Karnak Square. Under watchful but tearful eyes, the parade circled the roundabout and went back toward the palace via a different route.
Prince Simon had been the nation's little brother, and they all needed to see the funeral since he would be interred under Victoria Palace, away from access to the general population. To most, the only pretense in the ceremony was that the prince's body was present in the black-and-silver casket. Simon had been lost at sea after being carried away by Prince Gareth before the eyes of his horrified sister. The thought of that brave boy struggling to stay afloat, sinking exhausted into the water, dying frightened and alone, only added to the rage toward the callous vampire assassin.
The procession wended its way back into Victoria Square, passing the mighty equestrian bronze of Emperor Simon I. Those in the crowd bowed their heads, removed hats, and saluted in honor. The empress placed a hand on the back of the casket as she followed her brother through the mob. Tears flowed from everyone.
The horses and caisson passed through the gate and entered a phalanx of White Guardsmen at attention. The cortege halted before the front portico. The empress stepped back to Sirdar Anhalt's side. She watched, idly stroking the empty horse, as a single drum beat out mournful time. Members of her Harmattan led by Captain Shirazi approached the small coffin with slow, measured paces. They reached up and took hold of the silver handles with white-gloved hands. Then, with each beat, they drew the casket back, taking the burden onto their shoulders. When the weight was fully on the soldiers, they wheeled and marched up the steps, again led by the drummer. Empress Adele fell in behind, followed by Anhalt and the rest of the court mourners. Slowly, the recessional disappeared into Victoria Palace. The great entry doors closed. Soldiers moved into place across the portico.