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off his shoulders. She looked closer and realized he wore a mail shirt beneath a tabard of deep blue, trimmed in silver, a hawk -- wings outstretched, and a snake clutched in its talons -- emblazoned across the chest. Polished boots of supple leather hugged his calves to the knee, and his leggings were the same dark blue as the tabard. His sword hung at his hip, the leather scabbard tipped in silver with a single, deep blue stone set near the top.
    His eyes were soft when they met Ciara's. He placed his hand on his chest and bowed his head to her. "She sleeps in the Goddess's embrace now. Are you ready?"
    Ciara shook her head. She wanted more time . Wanted not to feel as though someone had reached through her chest and squeezed her heart into a hard knot that ached with each thudding beat. She had nowhere to go when Bolin came towards her, and no way to hide the pain as she looked up at him. He laid his hand on her arm.
    "If it could have been any other way, she would not have left you," he said, a tenderness in his voice Ciara had never heard before. He turned, lifted Meriol’s body from the bed, and nestled her head against his shoulder, carrying her from the room as though she weighed nothing at all.
    Findley waited by the door, his eyes red-rimmed and moist. He nodded at Ciara as he fell into step beside her.
    The night had gone still, with not even the whisper of a breeze stirring the leaves. The small procession had no need of torches as they made their way around the paddock and across the footbridge over the creek. The moon's colorless glow illuminated their path with a surreal light as though daylight had been covered by the same cloud that wrapped around Ciara's heart.
    Bolin's long, steady strides never faltered. When they reached the grove, he laid Meriol's body on the pyre, and arranged her gown and hair as though those acts were the most important things on the face of the earth. He folded her hands across her chest and placed a flower between them, then brushed a light kiss on her forehead.
    "Safe journey, daughter of the moon," he whispered, and bowed low, as he had to Ciara, his hand on his heart.
    Findley's clear, strong voice lifted in the strains of the song of rebirth. Ciara wished she had words to say, but the only thing that came were curses upon the Goddess. She could feel Bolin’s eyes on her and this time refused to meet them.
    Findley's song rose up into the night as Bolin lit one of the torches lying nearby. He touched it to the dry wood of the pyre and the flames leapt across it. Ciara gasped. She lurched forward, hands outstretched, but Findley caught her around the waist and held her back.
    "It is as it should be, lass," he said.
    "No," Ciara cried. "It's not as it should be. It's as the Goddess wants it."
    The fire reached toward the silver heart lying in its center, and danced around Meriol's body as though it dared not touch her. Overhead, the branches began to sway, their leaves rustling in the draft of the flames. A ragged sob tore from Ciara as the fire brightened and Findley patted her on the shoulder, one arm still holding her.
    "She's at peace," he said.
    Ciara pulled away from him. "Why does everyone keep saying that? Why wasn’t she at peace here?"
    The heat of the blaze drove them back and Ciara watched for a moment longer, before she turned and walked away. Findley called after her, but she ignored him, stumbling along the path, the night a blur behind tear filled eyes.
    Out of the grove and the embrace of the fire the air had gone damp and chill. A mist rose off the creek, spreading ghostly grey tendrils across the fields. Ciara hugged her arms around herself and quickened her pace as her teeth began to chatter. She'd be well on her way before sunrise.
    Before Bolin had a chance to stop her.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    The soft light from a single candle flickered in Ciara’s room as she changed her clothes. She didn’t dare give herself more light than that. If Bolin or Findley had