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honor her brother and how many of them were just here to watch the show, gathering fuel for the gossip they would spread later?
    Her eyes shifted to the torch. This was it. It was real. Jaron was gone, and she was about to send what was left of him into a cold stone crypt. Breath hitching in waves of emotion she pulled the tags to her lips, kissing them in farewell. A solitary tear streaked down her face as she finally bent across the boundary ropes and touched the torch to the pyre.
    “Sleep well Jaron,” she murmured, the tear lending a salty bitterness to the desolation she felt inside as it slipped past her lips. Instantly flames licked upward to the casket, sending large billows of sickly sweet smelling smoke into the air. Obviously Malinda had chosen to infuse the wood with sweet smelling incense. Not surprising, she supposed. Her mother would have fainted away at the true smell, and she always jumped at any chance to spend money.
    Amiel stood rooted to her spot, watching the flames and smoke carry away what was left of her brother, the heat flowing across her skin in a searing reminder of their purpose. Gentle hands grasped her shoulder’s, urging her away from the heat. She resisted at first, looking angrily over her shoulder. When she realized it was the soldier that gave her the torch, the fight seeped from her muscles. Head bowing in grief she let him lead her to a safer distance from the flames. He quietly took the now useless torch from her hands before moving to stand a few feet away, respectfully giving her space to mourn. Glancing around, she registered the presence of the nurse Cat, real tears dripping onto her black dress. To her left the soldiers stood nearby, hands raised in respectful solute, eyes showing the pain of their loss. Looking at them she knew she wasn’t the only one who had lost a brother with Jaron’s death. She felt a stirring of pride, and peace. In the end, it didn’t matter how many fake mourners put on a show. The only thing of import was the fact that those most dear to Jaron were here to say their final farewells.
    Amiel stiffened as Malinda stepped to her side, arm looping through to link at the elbows, as though they were best friends. Teeth clenched, Amiel ignored the dainty sniffs at her side, eyes staying locked on her brother’s flaming casket.
    “I don’t recall inviting him.” Malinda’s derisive growl tore Amiel’s attention from the fire, eyes tracking to follow her mother’s gaze. Her eyes widened as they fell on a huge man in the distance. His bald head reflected the sunlight, and the large sunglasses and bushy mustache all but concealed any clues to his identity. His leather attire, however, shouted it clearly.
    “Is that…?”
    “The filthy mongrel that owns the hideous motorcycle shop on main? Yes. Apparently I should have drafted a list for the cemetery gates, to keep out the riffraff.”
    “He’s paying his respects Mother! Surely we cannot fault him for showing our family support in this time of need,” Amiel whispered sharply, receiving a raised pencil thin eyebrow in response.
    “He’s not welcome,” Malinda stated plainly, motioning to her henchmen. Geno came forward, ever the eager pet. The biker guy seemed to take this as his cue. His head dipped in a respectful nod, before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Malinda’s eyes narrowed, as though displeased with the loss of opportunity to toss the man out on his backside.
    “Let’s go. We have guests to entertain.”
    “I would like to stay. Just for a few more minutes. Please.” Amiel tacked on the last pleasantry in an attempt to appease Malinda for the time being.
    “Fine. But ten minutes only. Geno, you will stay and ensure she follows my orders.” Malinda stalked away, taking half of her entourage with her. Immediately the guests and press retired to the reception home with her mother. Amiel stared at the ashes floating skyward, lost in her sorrow. When ten minutes had passed