A Court of Wind and Song

26: Hashna

Leur

Rhys's hand in mine was a strong, steady presence.

Both of us were clad in funeral attire, him in a pure black jacket, me in a flowing inky gown with a veil over my hair. Dressed for the funeral I never got to attend, standing at the end of a long corridor deep within the catacombs of the Hewn City.

The lowest level within the earth, where the dead slept in a misty haze of tombs.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked.

Right now, I needed my mother more than ever.

I had told Rhys about all I learned from Devlon. We both decided to wait to tell Cassian until Lililth's birthday was a little farther past, trying to lessen the blow. And when we told him, we'd have to mention that Devlon could potentially be his father.

I hadn't told Azriel about seeing his mother either. I wasn't angry that he hadn't told me about her obvious hatred of me. For one, it wasn't surprising that the woman had gone mad in the light of everything that had happened in her life. And it wasn't like I was one to talk- my father hated Azriel so much that he tried to have me killed and sent me to exile.

I probably wouldn't have told him either, if the situation was reversed.

Hopefully, I could pretend it never happened and never have to see the woman again.

And in the aftermath of everything, all I wanted was to talk to my mother. I hadn't wanted to come alone, and Rhys had offered to bring me on his monthly visit.

So, here we were.

Four days into my vacation from hell, and I was about to go visit my mother's grave for the first time in 500 years.

"Just keep holding my hand." I instructed him.

Rhys just nodded, and then we were walking. Both of us, side by side, like two ghosts floating down the hall shrouded in all black. It was musty, soft faelights leading our path through the grey rock, deeper and deeper into the earth.

Rhys never let go, not even when I started shaking as we grew closer. The tunnel opened up into a cavern, intricate carvings of the night sky and constellations of the ceiling. A massive Night Court crest gleaming in silver faelight in the center of the dome. Pillars with histories carved into them in the ancient fae language, shifting closer and closer to our own tongue as we walked deeper and deeper into it. Hundreds of tombs everywhere we looked, our ancestors surrounding us. Long past High Lords and consorts, members of the royal family. Relics placed atop their tombs, their names carved into the rock above their final resting place. Some of the tombs were made of stone, others of gleaming metal, some imbued with jewels or carvings. Each generation was different, unique in their own way.

And then, I was standing next to Rhys in front of two tombs and the remnants of a third cleaved from the wall.

The missing spot for my father, who had been stripped of all titles and valor 500 years after his death.

And on his right, a tomb engraved with Illyrian wildflowers painted in all different hues, wide wings painted in iridescent black on the front, embedded with onyx stones. And carved above it, in beautiful swooped handwriting was my mother's name.

Hashna

Beloved mother.

Rhys had known better than to include our father in those who loved her.

And I wasn't sure what possessed me to do it, as I was standing here with a bunch of forget me nots shaking in one hand and the other clammy in Rhys's, clad in a mourning gown that she had designed long ago. I didn't know why, but I waved a hand and added a new carving beneath the original.