A beautiful woman stood in front of the freshly dug grave, perfectly still except for the strands of silver hair that whipped around her in the breeze. She appeared to be in her late thirties, small and slender with a lovely face marred only by suffering. Her eyes flashed like gold coins, matching the intricate crown set in her gleaming silver hair. The sun was setting behind her, casting a long black shadow and staining her hair pink.
The man stood silently behind her, wondering how to begin. "Micaiah," he said, finally. She did not react, ignoring him completely. "Queen Daein," he said more firmly, though now his tone was laced subtly with sarcasm.
She stirred. "What do you want, Stefan?" Her voice was aged beyond her face, hoarse with grief.
"Come with me." The words landed between them like a challenge.
Her voice was as hard as a rock, unyielding despite its despair. "My place is here."
The man laughed, though there was no amusement in it. "Here, Micaiah? Before the graves of human kings?" He wrapped the word "human" in utter scorn, spitting it at the woman's back. If she noticed, she did not comment.
"Yes," she said simply, still not facing him, staring unblinkingly at the plain tombstone in front of her. King Sothe, it said. Husband to the Priestess of Dawn, A Hero of the Tower of Guidance. So little to express so much.
Stefan's face softened slightly as he read the inscription, but his stance was still angry. "Come away, Micaiah. There is nothing for you here."
"Then there is nothing," she said furiously, whirling on him and facing him for the first time since he had approached her. "Nothing at all."
The man backed away from her fury, holding up his hands defensively. He had forgotten how forceful she could be, how determined. There was silence. Both of her hands were clenched into fists, and Stefan noticed that she no longer wore her gloves. Of course not. There was no reason to, not for her. Her subjects had long accepted her heritage, as they had long accepted her abilities. If only all her kind could be so lucky.
With a broken sob, she turned back to Sothe's grave, her back to Stefan once more. His jaw tightened. "Micaiah. Listen to me. How long can you stand there?"
She did not answer.
"Queen Daein." Now the sarcasm was blatant. She flinched. "Would he want you to waste away before his grave? Would he want-"
"Enough, Stefan." She may have been tired, she may have been grieving to the point of losing herself, but she was still commanding. And beautiful. But then, she had always been beautiful to him.
Stefan was quiet. The silence stretched between them. The red sun slipped under the horizon, like the hand of a drowning man. Shadows faded into night, stars flickered to life above them. He stood silently behind her all night, watching her soundless vigil over the grave of her beloved.
The moon set, and the stars sighed into oblivion, sad that their time to dance was over. The eastern sky brightened. When the edge of the golden sun crept over the horizon, the woman blinked. "Dawn," she whispered bitterly, breaking the silence. She laughed hoarsely, but to Stefan it sounded like a cry of pain.
"Aye," he said slowly, hesitantly. He was afraid of the anger he heard in that laugh, afraid of the pain. "The dawn comes anew."
She turned slowly to him, her body stiff after a long, cold night, her eyes red from crying. "They used to call me that," she said vaguely. "Dawn."
He wondered if grief had broken her mind, but then her golden eyes cleared. She continued in the same wandering tone, but her voice was stronger. "I don't know why. I never had the power to make the sun rise. I was foolish to serve Izuka's rumors. They built me up, higher than I could bear. And now I've fallen, and I don't know who I am."
The green-haired trueblade watched as she carefully untangled the golden crown of Daein from her silver mane. She placed it on the ground by Sothe's grave. Her daughters would find it when they came looking for her; Yune would tell them the crown was theirs, and their mother was gone. They would understand.
"Will you come with me?" Stefan asked.
Micaiah looked at him for a long moment, then spoke. "Yes."