Chapter 15: A Funeral Without a Face - The Obsidian Seal

The news reached the imperial palace before the hunting party returned.

Elara was carrying a basket of folded linen through the eastern corridor when she heard the first shout from the courtyard. A stable boy came running through the servants' entrance, followed by two guards who appeared to be arguing over which officer should be informed first. Within minutes, doors began opening along the passage, and servants abandoned their tasks to discover what had happened. Nobody seemed to know the whole story. Some claimed that the Crown Prince had been attacked by rebels, others said that the hunting party had encountered bandits on the road, and one kitchen servant insisted that General Ronan had been wounded while shielding the heir from an assassin.

Elara stopped beside the linen cupboard, listening.

The story changed with every person who repeated it, but one detail remained the same: Ronan had not returned with the Crown Prince.

She set down the basket and approached a pair of maids who were speaking near the stairway. They had heard the news from a palace guard whose brother served at the southern gate. According to him, Caelan had arrived under heavy escort shortly before noon, his clothes stained with dirt and blood. He had been taken directly to his private chambers, where the imperial physician examined him. The guards accompanying him had been ordered to remain available for questioning, and the royal household had been instructed to prepare a formal announcement concerning the death of General Ronan.

Elara felt the corridor tilt around her.

For a moment, she was back in the Ash District, watching flames climb the walls of the only home she had known. She remembered how quickly the men who had destroyed it had disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a story that was supposed to explain everything. A terrible event had occurred, a convenient account had been prepared, and ordinary people had been expected to accept it because the alternative was too frightening to consider.

She forced herself to breathe slowly.

Ronan had been alive when she saw him the previous day. He had spoken to her in the administrative office, questioned the evidence surrounding the poisoned wine, and instructed his officers to continue searching for the missing clerk. He had been alert, physically capable, and cautious about the dangers inside the palace. Whatever had happened during the hunt, Elara could not yet conclude that the report was false. An ambush could kill even an experienced commander.

But the speed with which the palace had begun preparing his funeral made her uneasy.

By midafternoon, the official announcement was delivered to the household staff. It stated that General Ronan had died while defending the Crown Prince during an attack by unidentified assailants near the northern ridge of the royal hunting estate. Caelan had survived with minor injuries, while several members of the escort had been wounded or separated during the confusion. The General's body had been recovered from the scene and would be returned to the capital under military escort. No further details would be released until the investigation had been completed.

The announcement praised Ronan's courage, his years of service, and his unwavering devotion to the empire. It described him as a soldier who had placed his life between the Crown and its enemies, sacrificing himself to protect the future ruler of Veyr. By the time the household bells sounded, the account was already being repeated as though every detail had been confirmed by a hundred witnesses.

Elara read the notice twice.

There was no mention of the poisoned wine, the missing clerk, or the investigation that Ronan had insisted should continue. There was no explanation of how the attackers had approached the hunting party or why a group of rebels would risk an assault on the heir in the middle of a guarded estate. Most troubling of all, the statement said that the General had died defending Caelan, but did not explain how the body had been identified.

The omissions might have been the result of a hurried announcement. They might also have been deliberate.

Elara returned to her duties, carrying the news with her through every corridor. She had no opportunity to speak privately with Sabine, who was occupied with preparations for the official mourning period, and no access to Ronan's chambers, which had been sealed by military guards. His personal attendants were being questioned, and the General's belongings were to be inventoried before they could be released to his household. Every ordinary route through which Elara might have learned more about his last hours had suddenly closed.

She needed to see the body.

The thought made her uncomfortable. She had no desire to look upon the remains of a man she had remembered since childhood, but if the report was accurate, the General's face might establish that the palace had not mistaken his identity. If the body had been badly damaged, the manner of its recovery and the condition of the clothing might reveal something about the attack. Even a small inconsistency could be important.

By evening, Elara had found a legitimate reason to enter the western receiving hall. Several servants had been assigned to prepare the room where the General's body would lie before the funeral, and Mistress Halden needed an additional hand to arrange the candles and replace the linen covering the central table. Elara volunteered before anyone else could be assigned, keeping her expression suitably solemn when Mistress Halden explained the importance of the work.

"The General served the empire for many years," the older woman said. "Whatever one thought of his decisions, he deserves to be laid to rest with dignity. You will follow the instructions exactly, and you will not repeat anything you hear from the officers who accompany the body."

"I understand, Mistress."

The receiving hall had been cleared of its usual furniture. A long table stood beneath the central windows, covered in dark cloth, while silver candlesticks had been arranged at each corner. Military banners hung from the walls, and a ceremonial sword rested upon a cushion at the foot of the table. Elara helped position the candles and smooth the cloth, then remained near the side entrance while the household waited for the escort to arrive.

The procession entered shortly before midnight.

Four soldiers carried the covered bier into the hall, followed by Captain Rusk and a physician from the imperial household. The Crown Prince came behind them, dressed entirely in black. His face was pale, and a bandage had been wrapped around his left forearm, though he moved without apparent difficulty. A few courtiers bowed as he passed, while others watched him with expressions of concern that Elara found difficult to interpret.

Caelan stopped beside the table.

"Place him here," he instructed.

The soldiers lowered the bier carefully. When they removed the outer covering, Elara caught sight of a uniform beneath the scorched cloth. It was a general's dark coat, badly burned along one side, with the silver fastenings melted or blackened by heat. The face beneath the damaged fabric was unrecognisable. What remained was covered by a layer of soot and a deep, uneven burn that extended from the forehead to the jaw.

Elara's stomach tightened.

The physician explained that the body had been exposed to intense heat during the attack and that the damage made facial identification impossible. The General had been identified through the remaining uniform, a military signet, and a token recovered from the scene. The body had been found near the wreckage of a small hunting shelter, where the attackers had apparently set fire to the structure before retreating. According to the report, the flames had spread quickly through the dry timber, preventing the escort from reaching the General in time.

The explanation was plausible. It was also remarkably convenient.

Elara looked at the hands visible beneath the edge of the covering. They were badly damaged, but one wrist appeared narrower than she remembered Ronan's. She had seen him only days earlier, standing beside the military office table with his sleeves rolled back while he examined the records. His hands had been broad and strong, with a pale scar running across the base of his right thumb. She could not see that scar now, and there was no way to tell whether the absence meant anything. Fire could destroy even the smallest identifying mark.

She told herself not to reach a conclusion without evidence.

The physician turned toward Captain Rusk. "The identification is consistent with the military records. The body will require further examination before it can be prepared for burial, but there is no indication that the General survived the fire."

"Then we will proceed according to the imperial funeral protocol," Rusk replied.

Caelan stood silently beside the bier. His gaze remained fixed on the covered body, and for a moment he appeared so exhausted that Elara wondered whether the hunting attack had been more violent than the announcement suggested. His expression held grief, but there was something else beneath it—a tension that seemed less like sorrow than fear of what might happen next. When he finally turned toward the gathered officials, his voice was steady.

"General Ronan gave his life protecting the Crown. His service will not be forgotten, and his family will receive every honour due to him. Until the investigation is complete, no one is to speculate about the circumstances of his death."

The words were appropriate for the occasion, and the courtiers bowed their heads. Several soldiers saluted the body, while a young officer near the doorway wiped his face with the back of his hand. Whatever questions the General's death raised, it was clear that many people in the imperial household genuinely mourned him.

Elara could not bring herself to look away from the covered face.

She remembered the young man who had pulled her away from a burning house, the cloak he had wrapped around her shoulders, and the silver coin he had pressed into her palm. She remembered his voice in the receiving chamber when he had insisted that an innocent servant should not be punished without evidence. The man beneath the covering might truly be Ronan, and if he was, the empire had lost someone whose loyalty had been more complicated than the official speeches would ever acknowledge.

Yet the body had not been identified by its face. The death had occurred under circumstances that nobody was permitted to discuss. The report had been issued before a complete examination, and the same officials who had been investigating the General's attempted poisoning were now responsible for confirming his death.

Elara had seen too many convenient explanations to accept this one without question.

The mourners began to leave the receiving hall, and Mistress Halden ordered the servants to remain until the physician had finished his examination. Elara carried a tray of clean cloths toward the side table, where the military signet and a small collection of recovered objects had been placed. An officer stood nearby, checking the inventory against a written report. The objects had been removed from the General's clothing before the body was brought into the hall, and each was to be sealed in a separate packet before the funeral.

One item caught Elara's attention.

It was a plain silver clasp engraved with a hawk above a crescent moon.

Ronan's personal coin bore the same symbol, though the design on the recovered clasp was larger and more elaborate. The resemblance might have meant nothing. Military officers often used similar insignia, and the mark had appeared on the General's uniform, correspondence, and equipment for years. But Elara remembered how carefully Ronan had handled the silver coin when he gave it to her, closing her fingers around it as though the gesture were more important than the object itself.

She stepped closer to the table.

"Is this everything recovered from the General's clothing?" she asked the officer.

He looked at her, surprised by the question. "That is not your concern, girl."

"I was asked to bring the clean cloths, sir. I only wanted to ensure that nothing was left on the table before it was covered."

The officer glanced at the inventory. "The list has been checked. Nothing is to be moved until the marshal arrives."

Elara bowed her head and withdrew. She had not learned anything definite, but the recovered objects had been listed separately from the remains, and the inventory did not mention the small silver ring Ronan had worn on the little finger of his left hand. She remembered seeing it during their conversation in the administrative office, a plain band with a shallow indentation along its inner edge. It could easily have been lost during the attack, and the damage to the body might have concealed it. Still, the absence troubled her.

Before leaving the hall, she glanced once more at the face beneath the covering. The physician had pulled the cloth back far enough to inspect the burns along the jaw, but the features remained impossible to distinguish. Elara had no professional experience identifying bodies after a fire, and she would not pretend that her memories of Ronan were sufficient to establish a discrepancy. What she knew was that the palace had presented a dead General without the one piece of evidence most people would expect to confirm his identity.

She returned to the servants' quarter shortly before dawn, carrying a grief she could not explain to anyone around her. The other maids had already heard the official account and were speaking about the funeral arrangements in hushed voices. Lysa was crying quietly beside the window, remembering how Ronan had once stopped to speak to a group of servants after a military ceremony. Sabine had given up trying to keep everyone focused on their work and was allowing the household to mourn in silence.

Elara sat on her bed and took the silver coin from its hiding place.

For sixteen years, she had treated it as a reminder of a moment when a stranger had offered kindness without asking who she was or what she had done. Now it felt like the last surviving connection to a man the empire had declared dead. If Ronan had truly died, she would have to accept that the person who had shaped the course of her life was gone, and that she might never have the opportunity to understand the choices he had made during the years when she had been searching for the truth.

But if he was alive, the funeral was a lie.

She examined the coin beneath the dim light, then wrapped it in cloth and returned it to her pocket. Grief had made her want to believe that the official story was false, yet she knew that wanting something to be true was not the same as proving it. She had to separate her feelings from the evidence, just as Maelin had taught her years earlier. The burned body, the missing identifying marks, and the hurried announcement were grounds for suspicion, not proof of survival.

The next morning, the palace declared a formal period of mourning. Black banners were raised above the gates, and the imperial household prepared for a military funeral that would take place two days later. Ronan's surviving officers were instructed to attend, and the northern regiment was informed that its commander had died while defending the Crown Prince from an attack by rebels. No detailed report was released, and the names of the attackers remained unknown.

The empire accepted the news with shock and sorrow.

Elara accepted it with questions.

She began by reviewing what she knew about the hunting estate. Ronan had left the capital with a small escort, and Caelan had returned with a minor wound. The attack had occurred near the northern ridge, a place where the trees and uneven ground would have made it difficult for a large group of riders to approach unnoticed. The body had supposedly been recovered from a burned shelter, yet the official report did not mention the condition of the General's horse, the location of his sword, or the identities of the men who had found him.

Those omissions suggested that the report had been written to confirm a conclusion rather than explain an event.

Elara also remembered the missing clerk, Edric Sorn, and the evidence that someone had tampered with the General's wine. The investigation had been interrupted by the hunting expedition, and the palace had not yet announced whether the poisoning had been solved. If Caelan believed Ronan was dead, he might have little reason to continue the inquiry. If he knew that the General was alive, the timing of the death announcement would become a matter of deliberate deception.

She needed to discover which explanation was correct.

That afternoon, she asked Lysa whether the military funeral would be open to the household staff. The other girl shook her head.

"Only the court, the officers, and the General's personal attendants. Mistress Halden says we will be responsible for preparing the outer hall, but we won't be permitted to enter the ceremony."

"Do you know who is handling his belongings?"

"Captain Darius, I think. He arrived this morning and was taken straight to the marshal's office. He looked terrible."

Elara remembered Darius from the first day of Ronan's return, standing beside the general during the receiving ceremony. He had watched the poisoned wine investigation with obvious concern and had insisted on a proper escort for the hunt. If anyone knew what had happened beyond the official report, it would be one of the surviving officers.

She needed a reason to speak to him.

An opportunity presented itself the following evening, when Elara was assigned to carry a bundle of sealed inventory forms to the military administrative office. Captain Darius stood outside the door, speaking to a clerk about the transfer of the General's personal effects. His uniform was unfastened at the collar, and his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. When the clerk departed, Elara approached with the forms held against her chest.

"Captain, I was instructed to deliver these to the marshal's office."

Darius accepted the papers and signed the receipt. He glanced at her name on the delivery list, then looked at her face with an expression that suggested he was trying to place it.

"Nera Vale?"

"Yes, sir."

"You were working in the eastern wing when the poisoning occurred."

Elara's pulse quickened, but she kept her expression neutral. "Yes, Captain. I assisted with the household inventory."

Darius was silent for a moment. "Ronan mentioned you."

The words caught her off guard. "He did?"

"He said a new handmaiden had noticed something the rest of us had missed. A piece of thread near the receiving table, I believe." Darius looked down at the papers in his hands. "He had a habit of remembering people who paid attention to details."

Elara struggled to find an answer that did not reveal too much. "I was only doing my duty, Captain."

"Perhaps." He returned the forms to her. "Still, if you remember anything else about that evening, speak to me. I intend to find out who tried to poison him, even if the palace believes the matter is closed."

The certainty in his voice surprised her. Darius did not sound like a man who had accepted the official report without question. He sounded like someone who had been given a version of events that he could not reconcile with what he knew of his commander.

Elara hesitated before asking, "Captain, may I ask something?"

He regarded her carefully. "You may ask."

"Was the General identified before the body was brought back to the palace?"

Darius's expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment Elara feared she had made a mistake. Then he looked down the corridor to ensure they were alone.

"The body was badly burned," he said. "The physician confirmed that. Identification was based on the uniform, a signet, and the objects recovered from the scene."

"Did you see him yourself?"

"No." The answer came quietly. "I was separated from the hunting party during the attack. By the time I returned to the estate, the body had already been moved."

Elara felt her suspicion sharpen, but she did not allow it to show.

"Thank you, Captain."

Darius studied her face for another moment. "Why do you ask?"

"I wanted to understand why the household was told so little."

"Because the Crown Prince wants the matter contained until the investigation is complete." He looked toward the windows, where the last light of evening had begun to fade. "That may be sensible, or it may be the worst decision he has made in his life. I have not decided which."

Elara returned to the servants' quarter with the delivery forms no longer in her hands and a new piece of information weighing on her mind. Darius had not seen the body before it was returned to the palace. The identity had been established by objects and clothing, not by someone who knew Ronan personally. That did not prove that the body belonged to someone else, but it weakened the certainty with which the palace had announced the death.

She needed a second source.

That night, Elara sent another message through the Ash Network, requesting information about the hunting estate, the military escort, and the body recovered from the fire. She included no accusations, only the details that required verification. If the network could identify the men who had accompanied the Crown Prince, or discover where the General's remains had been examined, it might be possible to establish whether the official account matched the surviving evidence.

She also asked Maelin to look for any record of a prisoner transfer made under unusual circumstances during the day of the hunt.

The request was a gamble. If the palace had arranged the death to conceal a secret, the people responsible might already be monitoring communications between the household and the Ash Network. But Elara could not investigate an apparent murder without following the evidence wherever it led. She had spent sixteen years learning to distinguish between a theory and a fact, and she would not abandon those principles simply because the person involved mattered to her.

Before sleeping, she opened the small compartment beneath her mattress and checked the silver coin once more. It remained wrapped in cloth, its engraved hawk untouched by the years she had carried it. She thought of Ronan's face when he had asked her about the Ash District, and of the way he had looked at her when she reported the thread in the receiving chamber. He had not recognised her, but he had treated her with the same seriousness he offered his officers, listening to the evidence rather than judging the person who presented it.

She had thought that would be enough.

Now, with the palace preparing to bury him, she realised that she had never truly considered the possibility of losing him before understanding what he meant to her. The memory of the burning house had followed her for sixteen years, but Ronan had remained a distant figure associated with the moment she survived. She had never expected to see him again, and she had certainly never expected to discover that her investigation would lead her directly into his life.

His apparent death had made the past feel suddenly unfinished.

She placed the coin back in its wrapping and extinguished the candle. In the darkness, the sounds of the palace continued around her: doors closing, guards changing shifts, and distant footsteps crossing the marble corridors. Somewhere in the western wing, the General's belongings were being catalogued. Somewhere beyond the city walls, the site of the hunting attack remained under military guard.

And somewhere, if Elara's suspicions were correct, a man the empire believed dead was still alive.

She did not yet know how she would prove it, but she had made her decision. Until someone could establish exactly whose body had been brought back from the hunting estate, she would not accept the General's death as a settled fact.

Two days later, the empire would gather to honour a hero.

Elara would attend the funeral as Nera Vale, a quiet handmaiden among hundreds of mourners, and watch carefully for the first sign that the story they had been told was not the story that had happened.

Because she had learned long ago that the most dangerous lies were not the ones people invented.

They were the ones everyone was expected to mourn.