My hands were blistered from digging a grave for Aldrik. I knew it was a little shallow, but it was the best I could do on my own. Kawan sure as hell wasn’t coming to bury his closest soldier, and I wasn’t about to pull anyone away from work that badly needed doing. Besides, it gave me time to think.
I spent a lot of the time looking toward the graves I visited the most: my father’s and Annika’s mother’s. I’d left the branch I’d taken from the Island for her the day we came back, but I hadn’t stopped to talk. There was so much to say then that I didn’t know where to start. I still didn’t. So, for now, I told her nothing, asked her nothing.
I’d never felt more alone.
Rami wasn’t going to get a grave. Her body had been lost when the hurricane tossed the boats over, and in some ways, it was for the best. We’d barely been able to transport the living back to Vosino. But I knew Griffin was struggling. It felt like the whole affair left us with little in the way of closure, and for him it was a hundred times worse.
When I started the descent down the rocky side of the coast that led to the sea, I found only Griffin waiting at the bottom. He was quietly assembling the wood for the memorial, looping saplings together to make a wreath. Beside it lay a small pile of kindling and what looked to be some of Rami’s clothes. He’d already started a bonfire and looked focused on his task.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” he said when he saw me, his tone surprisingly light. “I know you’ve been busy.”
“I have, but I wanted to be here for you.” I kicked at the ground a little. “I’ve been wanting to tell you I’m sorry. For back on the boat. I would have done something if I could have.”
“There was nothing you could do.” He waved his hand. “Besides, if it wasn’t for you, she might never have talked to me.”
I squinted, coming closer. “What?”
His smile was genuine now. “I was sitting in the mess hall, listening to a group of girls talking at the table behind me. And one particularly melodic voice was complaining, saying that the tall soldier with the black hair was too mean.” He chuckled. “She said you flung a stick at someone and left him with a cut over his eye. With your reputation, she was terrified it might get worse.
“I knew immediately who she was talking about, so I jumped in and told her you were the absolute worst and that she shouldn’t bother giving you a single thought more than she already had,” he admitted, looking up at me. “And then she smiled, and something in me just . . .”
He was lost trying to find the words.
“Yeah. I know.”
He nodded. “So, anyway, thanks for being a giant, irrational oaf. I got to be in love because of it.”
I’d seen him go through the range of emotions in the short time since he’d lost Rami. Despair, rage, and even a dark kind of humor. Seeing him also almost peaceful was strange. Strange but welcome.
I turned at the sound of footsteps and saw Blythe, Inigo, Sherwin, and Andre coming toward us with a handful of others who must have been close to Rami as well. Together, we formed a semicircle around the place where Griffin was building his floating memorial.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “I thought it might be nice if we shared some memories of Rami. We all knew her in different ways, and I’d love to hear what all of you have to say. And then we can send off her memory.”
Blythe raised her hand. “Can I go first?”
Griffin nodded, and Blythe smiled.
“What I loved about Rami was how gentle she was. It seems impossible with our way of life, but Rami still had softness in spades. Seeing how she lived inspires me to do the same. Thank you for that, Rami.”
“She was always so generous,” one of the girls said. “Rami and I came here at the same time, and, while we were both grateful for warm meals, we were still hungry. So she took it upon herself to go wading into the water, and she caught a bunch of tiny crabs.” She laughed to herself. “They were so small! Even if she’d eaten all of them, it wouldn’t have filled her up. But she brought them to the room I share with five other girls, helped start a fire, and cooked them right there to share with us.”
She shook her head. “To this day, that’s the best meal I ever had. It was bland and it was small, but it was made with loving hands and eaten in happy company. I owe that to her.”
As each story, each memory went on, I saw Rami’s life through the prism of a dozen different windows. Each of these people experienced her in a different way, but the common thread of her kind heart was woven through every anecdote.
Before I’d realized it, everyone had spoken but Griffin and me, and it dawned on me that I was going to have to say something about a girl I barely even knew. When all the eyes fell on me, I panicked. And all I could say was the truth.
I cleared my throat, studying the ground. “Honestly, I hardly knew Rami at all. But what I do know is, in the middle of battle, when I got lost for a moment, she brought me back to reality. She encouraged me to fight, to keep going.”
The sniffles that had started a while ago were growing thicker, some turning into sobs.
“If that was all I knew of her, it would be enough for me to mourn her. Like so many of you said, she was brave. Braver than me, that’s for sure. But now, because of you all, I know so much more. And I’m sorry to not have had the chance to know her better.”
I met Griffin’s eyes, and they were full of tears. But something in his face spoke of gratitude. He swallowed a few times and looked out to the sea.
“Rami,” he eked out, inhaling sharply, “there were so many things I wanted to say, and I’m sorry I’ll never get to. But for now, let me tell you goodbye with the one thing I hope you always knew: you are my heart.”
He was quiet for a moment after that. He carefully placed her uniform on the wreath, pulled a torch from the bonfire, and walked the whole thing into the ocean until he was about waist-deep. He lit the kindling and pushed it off into the surf.
Griffin slowly trudged back to land, standing with us as we watched the flames drift into the distance.
He looked at me, and the unspoken question in his eyes was the one everyone had been asking since we’d come back: Lennox, what are you going to do about this?
For years, all I’d wanted was my kingdom. I wanted my freedom. I didn’t want to be under Kawan’s thumb or at my mother’s mercy. I didn’t want anyone to care about me or for me to have to care about them.
But then I got a taste of what it felt like when you were brave enough to lower the drawbridge between your heart and another’s. The fear came accompanied by an unmatched peace. It allowed you to find more space in your lungs for air, sight for new colors. A life without it was hardly worth living.
I’d spent my life full of hate for the Kadierians.
But now I saw how much I loved my people. And that was worth moving mountains for.
“We all agree that there has to be a better way to reclaim our land than what we’ve been trained for,” I started.
“Yes,” Inigo said immediately.
“The problem is, I’m not entirely sure what that is. And there’s the issue of Kawan. If he knew how deeply we doubted him, he’d kill us all.”
I gave them time to take in those words, to really consider that they could lose the chance to see Dahrain.
“But,” I started again, “if our lives are already on the line, I’d rather risk it standing up to him than pointlessly fighting the Kadierians. And if you feel the same way . . . then, when I have a plan, I will lead you.”
