-Octavia-
I was no ordinary grieving widow. There were no ceremonial mourning dresses or traditional two-week isolation for me. No, there was a funeral, and I was armed to the teeth, clad in leather pants, a tight top, and a long black coat, standing under the open sky with Valerio’s pack behind me. We were far from the castle, in a vast, open field.
As I watched the “fake” coffin—weighted with a few rocks to give it a heavy appearance—being carried to a large funeral pyre, I felt a wave of nausea. It was tradition to burn the dead rather than bury them, so their spirit could journey to the Goddess and her hidden kingdom where all souls rested.
It seemed like nonsense, yet it offered a strange comfort. Perhaps my real family was there, and if I failed today, I hoped Valerio would be ca
