Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,100

with her. No one has, except Hardane. He’s always been her favorite, you know.”

Kylene made a vague gesture, not knowing what to say.

“It’s all right,” Morissa said. “I don’t mind. None of us do. Hardane and my mother have always shared a special bond, but Mother’s never given any of us reason to be jealous. I . . .”

Morissa’s words trailed off as her husband came up beside her and slipped an arm around her waist.

“I think you should go upstairs and get some rest,” Eben suggested. “The funeral is set for tomorrow morning.”

Morissa inclined her head in Kylene’s direction. “It was good to meet you at last, Kylene. See if you can’t persuade Hardane to go to bed early. He looks tired.”

Kylene nodded. “I’ll try.”

She watched them out of sight, her thoughts wandering. Lord Kray had passed away, but his daughter would soon give birth to a new life. And in a few months, Hardane’s sons would be born. It was an endless cycle, life and death. She wondered if Morissa was as apprehensive of childbirth as she was.

At length, the last visitor had paid his respects and all the house guests were bedded down for the night.

Sharilyn refused to leave her husband’s side. She stood there, her face wan, her eyes dry, as Hardane and Dubrey closed the lid of the carved oak coffin and covered it with a cloth woven in bloodred and black, the colors of the House of Argone.

“Mother,” Hardane said, “you should go to bed.”

Sharilyn shook her head. “No. I can’t leave him here alone, not tonight.”

“We’ll stay with you, then,” Hardane said, indicating his brothers, who had gathered around.

“No. I want to be alone with him.”

Dace laid a hand on his mother’s. “You shouldn’t be alone now.”

“Leave her,” Hardane said.

Dace immediately lifted his hand from Sharilyn’s arm and, after giving his mother a kiss on the cheek, left the hall. One by one, the other brothers embraced their mother and then followed Dace from the room.

Hardane was the last to embrace Sharilyn. He held her for a long moment, one hand stroking her hair, and then he took Kylene by the hand and led her out of the room, leaving his mother standing beside the casket, alone in the Great Hall.

The morning of the funeral dawned dark and cold. Heavy black clouds lowered in the sky, promising rain before the day was through.

It was fitting, Kylene thought, for the dreary weather matched the mood of everyone in Castle Argone.

The funeral was held in the Church of Alysha, half a league from the keep. Named after the wife of one of Argone’s former rulers, it was an enormous edifice, made of huge blocks of pink-hued stone and black oak. The double doors were ten feet tall. The windows, of every shape and size, were of stained glass.

Inside, beneath an arched window, was an altar three feet high and twelve feet long. Huge candlesticks were set at intervals along the outer aisles.

The Wolffan priest who had officiated at the Temple of Fire stood behind the altar. He was clad in a hooded white robe tied with a crimson sash. Kylene had thought it odd that a Wolffan priest would conduct the service until Hardane told her that Kray had embraced the Wolffan religion in the belief that, if he did so, he would be united with Sharilyn in the afterlife. It was fortunate, Kylene thought, that the people of Argone respected a man’s right to worship as he saw fit.

When everyone was seated, Hardane and his brothers carried the coffin into the chapel and placed it at the foot of the altar.

The service was not overly long. Prayers of consolation were uttered, a choir of monks clad in somber black sang a dirge in a language Kylene did not understand. And then each member of the immediate family went forward and laid a white winter rose upon the casket.

Hardane was the last to approach the altar. Reverently, he placed his rose upon the cloth-covered coffin and then, to Kylene’s horror, he drew a dagger from inside his shirt and cut a shallow gash in the palm of his right hand.

Turning to face the mourners, Hardane held his bleeding hand over the casket. Bright drops of blood splashed over the white roses.

“By my blood here spilt, I vow to avenge my father’s death.”

There was a long silence, and then the priest began to chant softly, and as he did so, he sprinkled Hardane’s head and shoulders