“Surprised you didn’t lose it.” I laugh and then wince when it pulls on the wound, making me hiss out a breath.
He presses closer, uncaring about Maxen, and rests his forehead against mine, his cold, predatory eyes holding mine. There is a gleam there of anger, hurt, and love. The usual Dray.
His hand covers the bandage, leaving a bloody handprint as he presses on it slightly, making me whimper. “Oh, I did. They surrendered, but I killed them all. Every single fucking one, and I carved your name into their chests and sent them back to The Cities in pieces.”
“How romantic,” I grumble, and he smirks as he presses harder.
“You try and leave me again, and I will kill everyone, friend or foe. Understood, soulmate?” he snaps.
I lean into him and kiss him. “Understood,” I murmur.
“Seriously, he isn’t joking. We thought we were going to have to knock him out. It took Bern, Archel, Erik, and us to restrain him,” Maxen murmurs in my ear, making me grin wider.
That’s my crazy man.
I drop a kiss on the brand on his chest above his heart just as I hear a noise. I turn my head to the front of the tent to see Bern there.
Bern ducks as he enters, and when he sees me, he grins. He has a black eye, though, and a busted lip. I narrow my eyes on Dray, but he just winks at me, the crazy bastard. Bern crouches at the entrance. “Ma queen, good to see you awake.”
“Thanks. Death count?”
“Over a thousand, both sides.”
I nod, even as my heart drops. “Who did we lose?”
He winces and glances briefly outside. “Reeves took a bullet to the chest for Nan. Henry is also dead, among a few others you knew.”
“Henry…fuck and shit, Reeves?” I groan as I try to stand. I remember seeing it now, fuck. “How’s Nan?”
“Erm…she’s currently yelling at some mountain man, he looks terrified,” he offers, and then sobers. “We are getting ready to bury the dead.”
“Yeah, we need to before they rot in the sun. Help me up,” I demand, and Maxen sighs. I turn my head and meet his gaze. “I have to be there. These people died for me, with me, I need to help them.”
The burden of those deaths already weighs heavily on me. I can’t be in here lying around when those who fought for me are out there burying their friends. I can’t. He searches my eyes before nodding, and the others help me stand. I have to lean against Thorn. He keeps his arm wrapped around me, especially when agony rips through my stomach, making me grit my teeth.
The pain reminds me I’m alive, but sands below, what I wouldn’t do for some booze right now.
5
The grief cries
Thorn helps me walk out of the tent, and when I do, the heat hits and instantly makes me groan. Grinding my teeth, I walk slowly past the tents, and once we break out into the clearing where the battle took place, I freeze.
There are so many bodies.
The people left behind limp around, their arms, legs, and torsos covered in bandages. Their eyes are wide and grief-filled as they move corpses and dig graves. Sweat pours off them from the sun pounding down on us. The scent of death and blood fills the air, almost making me gag.
So much fucking death.
Each body I see weighs me down further. They died for me, for us, The North. But I led them into it. I will never wash my hands free of that blood, and I refuse to let them die in vain or go without respect. We will bury them all. I will remember every single fucking face and name.
I will learn who sacrificed their lives for us.
Who died for us.
A murmur goes up, and they all turn, some shielding their eyes as they look up at me. It’s silent for a moment, and I feel the heaviness of their stares and judgement, making me stand taller and pull away from Thorn. I am a leader, I am a fucking queen. They are looking at me for leadership in their grief.
But then, suddenly, a cheer goes up, causing me to blink in shock.
They chant my name, pumping their fists into the air. All clans join in, mixed together as one. “Champion! Berserker Queen!”
I can’t do anything but gape as I feel my men spread out behind me. Why are they cheering? “Look at your people, Angel.”
“Mi Alma, you gave them a reason to fight and you won. You did what no other could do. Look at your people, because they are looking to you now more than ever…but we are here. Remember, you don’t need to be strong with us,” Maxen murmurs, and I turn my head to see him next to me. He offers me his hand, and I gladly take it, accepting his strength.
He’s right.
We won, but that was only the beginning. The rest is up to us now, and they are waiting to see how I will respond. I refuse to ignore our dead, however, since this isn’t a case of you lose some, you win some. These people lived and they died, they deserve respect. They deserve grief.
They had lovers. Family. Children.
Whole lives were snuffed away. Now isn’t a time for celebration, so I lift my hand. They slowly grow quiet, their expectant eyes on me. I search the gathered people, noting they are looking for the same—the right to grieve.
“I’ve never been good with words, but I want you to know how fucking grateful I am for all of you. For continuing on, even injured and broken. We won the war, The North is ours.” I shake my head. “But now isn’t the time to celebrate, that will come. Now is the time to bury our dead and mourn the loss of life. We all knew it was a possibility we would die today, but that doesn’t fucking make their loss any easier. I see them, the men and women who died for me… No, not me. Us. For The North, for our freedom. Today, we bury them and fill the sands with the songs of their lives and sacrifice, and tomorrow—tomorrow we celebrate and plan our future, but today? Today, we mourn.” I look to Dray. “Shovel.”
He nods and grabs one from a passerby before handing it to me, his fingers stroking along mine. “My queen,” he murmurs respectfully, which is odd for Dray, but then I realise he’s a leader. His people lie dead down there, and there’s one thing I know for certain about Dray—he might be crazy, he might be rough and insane, but he loves his people. He is grieving, he just doesn’t know how. He’s never been allowed that luxury, none of us have. It is deemed a weakness, but caring for others so much that you embrace your pain and honour their memory when they are gone isn’t a weakness.
It’s the ultimate strength, because even though you knew they could hurt you, you loved them anyway.
I turn back to the onlookers, somber and grieving now that they know it is okay. “We bury our dead. We don’t leave them like The Cities does! We bury them, and we mourn! You have every right to be mad, to be fucking angry and sad. I wish I could change our people lying out on the sand, but I can’t. I will, however, feel this with you. Your pain, our pain.
“This might be our beginning, but it’s their end, and without them, we wouldn’t have this chance. Let’s never fucking forget that!” I lower my head and press my fist to my chest.
When I peek up, everyone is doing the same, paying our respects to the fallen.
After a minute or two, I lift my head and slowly start towards the closest body. Each step sparks agony through my body, and it fills me like fire, but the pain keeps me on my feet, even as my head spins and sweat covers me for a different reason. I refuse to be weak right now, I refuse to lie in a tent and lick my wounds while my people are out here.