The funeral hall stunk of nightmarish lilies.
Two coffins lay solemnly before her, overflowing with flowers. Merag had already grown tired of fake condolences.
Nasch held his head high. He had to rush over from the temples, and the heavy ceremonial veils still lay draped over his head. Only the priests were allowed to wear white, and Nasch looked as sickly as the lilies packed in the caskets. She had stared at her closet for hours until she finally decided on a dress as gray as sea salt. The opaque fabric clung close to her thin frame, and the layers of dreary tulle hid her scarred, knobby knees.
They looked like decorated corpses. They were only ten years old.
"I can't believe it." Nasch said. His voice was more hollow than she ever wanted to hear.
All Merag could muster was a grim, "I know."
"I," she heard his teeth grind, "I should have just slipped away from prayer for the day! An hour, even! I should have-"
"It's not your fault," she assured him, taking his hands into hers. She didn't have to see his expression to feel his shaking fingers.
The funeralgoers murmured behind them, asking if the high priest in training was all right. The intrusive questions beat on her ears until she couldn't stand it any more and shouted for them all to leave. The guards barred from the outside, leaving the twins alone with stained glass windows and empty caskets.
"There's nobody here now," she told her brother, "You can cry now."
Nasch trembled. He didn't kneel or bow his head, but hastily muttered his prayers. "Come, let us not dwell in emotion. Come, let us not fall to the danger of sorrow. Come, let us be mindful and see the light at the edge of the swamp…" His voice was cracking. "O, I will not hate the causes of my death. Hate not the snake that bites, the blade that cuts, the sea that swallows. The finality is an illusion, and I will not live for the end but of the peace that lies beyond, so says the great gods and those beyond…"
She gripped his hand tighter.
"Death is the most valuable and the greatest of merits, do not weep for the departed, do not, do not—" He finally let out a mournful sob. "I should have been there. I should have given them my blessings. I should've at least seen them off! There were no storms on the sea, how could this have happened—?"
Merag held her brother and let him cry on her shoulder.
There were no bodies recovered from the sunken ship, so she had to imagine her parents in the white caskets.
Her father was between the lilies with his gruff voice caught in his throat, never able to give her advice again. Her hand flashed to the dull blue pendant around her neck. No more days teaching her how to hold a sword. No more meetings sitting eagerly by his side.
Her mother was between the lilies with her lips pulled tightly together, strict even in sleep. No more carriage rides through the city. No more times picking out dresses from the tailors' workshops.
Nasch wept beneath his veils, and she could tears pricking her eyes. He wished he'd been at the docks, but her heart ached whenever she thought of how she stayed up late the night of their parting, throwing pillows at the wall and crying into her bedsheets. She was their daughter, not their political pawn! She sulked whenever they taunted her with talk of the greater good and cursed them before she slept. She stood at the docks to bid them farewell, but her goodbyes were cold and bitter. She had prayed and prayed that something would go wrong, and her parents had returned in dismal reports and scattered rumors.
They were gone, and the crown hung on her head now.
"I don't know how," she said, "but I'll find out the truth. For them. For us."
"Can you?"
She scoffed and put on a brave face. "Are you doubting me, brother dear?"
Nasch broke his tears with a snort. "It doesn't matter whether I do or don't, you'll do it anyway." His voice was still cracked, but he sounded a bit like his old self. He turned wordlessly to the caskets, then to the doors and the people beyond it. "Are you ready?"
"Of course I am." She'd spent hours practicing her public eulogy to the mirror until every pause was smoothed over.
"I meant for the Conference. Father and Mother died before they could finalize with the peace agreement with R'lyeh," his words made her lips turn down a bit, "so you're going to have to discuss what's next with the nobles. You don't think R'lyeh would just give up and turn their ships away from the border, do you?"
"No, I don't." She frowned, turning her gaze away. "It was a horrible idea, anyway."
If Nasch had noticed, he decided not to say anything. "It's time," he said, and she hardened her expression again.
The morticians shuffled in, lifted the caskets up on their shoulders, and carried the them to the shore. She held Nasch's hand in hers again, and together they watched the boats bearing the nauseous lilies float out to the sea.
She set her lips tightly together, and didn't look away until the boats floated out of sight to be claimed by the sea.