Kayla nods, but says nothing.
Until she sees something within the ruins of a collapsed and burned building. She cries out and runs into the ash. I stop and wait, my heart heavy when I see her return with a charred body in her hands and tears running down her dirt-smudged face.
"It's Daison," she says. "He's dead."
"I'm sorry, sister." It is all I can say. Ari would know how to comfort her, how to share in her sorrow, but I have had to lock my heart against the cost of war, or I could never do what I do. Still, I understand. Her pain is raw, her grief deep. She raised that boy, trained him as her apprentice in blacksmithing, loved him as family. The wall around my heart cracks a little for her as we walk.
She carries the boy's body all the way back to the castle, and I set about having the city cleared. The vampire remains will be burned in funeral pyres, as is our way. The Fae slaves who died will be buried, as is theirs. The Shade can go either way, depending on their next of kin preference. Tonight, the sky will burn with the fires of sorrow.
I have Kal the Keeper send out six ravens, one for each of my brother's realms, with orders to hold a Council meeting immediately. I'll need their help if I'm to find Ari and pull my realm back together after the Outlander attack.
Waiting is the hardest part. I don't spend a lot of time in the human world, but I do envy their technology and rapid communication methods. A cell phone would be particularly useful right about now.
To stay busy, I make my rounds through the refugee camps that have formed within the castle walls. Funeral pyres have already been constructed, and many have begun the process of burning their dead and whispering goodbyes. Vampires don't much believe in an afterlife. We are immortal. If we die, that's the end. But Fae have different beliefs, of resurrection, of living beyond. The Shade often straddle the fence on what happens after death.
I stop at each ceremony, giving respect to the dead before moving on to the next. I ask myself what would Arianna do to help the people heal, and I try to offer her words, her kindness, through my body. It's not the same. She's so much better at this than I am, but it's the best I can do.
When I reach the pyre for Daison, I stop and stand next to Kayla. I do not touch her, or hold her, because I do not feel she wants those things. Instead, I offer her my strength silently with my presence.
She speaks an old Fae blessing and lights the flames to set Daison's body free. I'm surprised she chose the vampire way rather than Fae, and I tell her so, when it's over.
"He and I lived by the fire of the forge. It seemed fitting he should leave this world by fire as well."
I nod and then finally pull her into an embrace. Baron howls as the fires fade and the ashes are all that remains of Daison. Kayla weeps silently.
There will be many pits of ash this night. Many new graves dotting the landscapes beyond, some marked, others not.
Many empty homes and hearts that once were full.
And in the end, there will be more war. This is what I have wrought. I am the Prince of War. I am the Prince of Death.
Marco and Roco, two of my most trusted soldiers, intercept me as Kayla and I make our way back to the castle under moonlight.
"Sir, we need you in the city," Marco says. He has dark circles under his eyes and looks as if he's aged ten years in the last few days.
"What's the problem?" I ask.
"Lord Salzar is torturing and executing the Fae rebels captured in the battle. He has them strung up in the city center."
I curse under my breath. "By whose orders?" I ask.
Roco scowls. "By his own authority. He says he's supported by your own law."
Kayla and I turn and follow Marco and Roco back to Stonehill. The sounds of shouts and screams grow as we near the city center. A throng of people has gathered around the square, howling for blood. They spread apart before me, and we make our way to the center, where Salzar reigns like a king, his enemies hanging on hooks behind him. His face is red, and spittle flies from his mouth as he shouts to the excited spectators. "And what shall we do with this one?" He slashes a blood soaked whip into the air, and it tears open the back of a woman hanging before him. She is topless and fighting against her restraints. Her long blue hair is matted with blood and dirt.
"Gut her!" Someone screams from the crowd.
"Beheading!" Someone else shouts.
The suggestions become more and more gruesome, more violent and twisted. Kayla sucks in her breath beside me, and I know this sight must shock her.
Next to the woman, another man hangs naked. He is already dead, but it wasn't an easy death. His guts have been torn from him violently, and dangle from his limp body.
"Stop!" I shout in a loud, commanding voice.