Fate worked in our favor. The mansion behind which our secret tunnel ended was inhabited by more than just the Mara we’d killed the day before, when we first came out. Yet no one had come around searching for him. It was close to noon when we got there, but the back garden was empty.

We could hear pots clanging in the downstairs kitchen, along with various doors opening and closing throughout the building. However, no one was out back, which suited us well. The rest of our crew had ingested invisibility spells and had spread out, taking their positions throughout the city. Rover and Hundurr stayed close, using the forest surrounding the city on all levels of the mountain as cover.

But Jax and I were visible, donning the funeral garb and porcelain masks that Aymon had procured for us. The ceremony for Vincent and Amalia was important and was going to unfold with much more pomp than the last funeral we’d attended in Azure Heights. According to Aymon, the procession was set to start from the sixth level, where the Lords’ funeral house was. The masked clerics and Correction Officers were then going to lead both coffins down the main road all the way to the ground level, then to the burial ground.

The Imen were usually buried, but all Maras were cremated. After the funeral, we knew for a fact that the Lords were going to meet with Shaytan, and that was when all hell would break loose, one way or another.

Our cloaks were black and made of velvet, smoothly concealing our weapons and supply belts. They weren’t loose enough for us to inconspicuously carry our shields, too, but that was something we had to work with. Blending in was more important. The large hoods and porcelain masks made us disappear in the crowd, as the similarly dressed Exiled Maras and Imen gathered on the sixth level.

As expected, Emilian, Rowan, and Farrah were present. They wore gold-threaded cloaks with intricate gemstone patterns embroidered around the head and shoulders. Their masks were painted red, and they wore red velvet gloves. Everybody else—with the exception of the clerics, who wore white robes—was dressed in black. Clearly, Mara nobles had different funeral ceremonies, as opposed to the commoners. I could easily spot the differences from Minah’s burial.

All three Lords stood by the main entrance to the funeral home. All of their family members were here, from what I could tell. They were all waiting for Vincent and Amalia’s caskets to be brought out.

Gasps erupted from the crowd by the main road. Soon enough, Jax and I understood what the fuss was all about, as people made room for Shaytan to come through, accompanied by three of his sons. I recognized Abeles, Garros, and Mammon. Behind them were ten other daemons—large ones, with meranium armor and extra-long rapiers. They looked like they meant business. Their expressions were firm, but clear: make one wrong move against the king or his sons, and your head will fall.

I could almost see the sudden tension gathering in Emilian’s, Rowan’s, and Farrah’s shoulders, especially when Darius emerged from behind Shaytan. He wore his regular bourgeois outfit, all dark green velvet and gold thread beneath a flimsy black hood that shielded him from the sun. But what really caught my eye was the pair of charmed cuffs keeping his hands together.

“I take it Shaytan’s being extra cautious,” I muttered.

Emilian scoffed, then motioned for an Iman servant. “Someone get Lord Xunn his funeral coat!”

His tone was clipped. It quickly put the fear in an Iman maid, who rushed up to the seventh level and came back, two minutes later, with Darius’s special cloak and red mask. The maid helped Darius put them on, as he briefly hissed from the direct sunlight, in the temporary absence of the black hood. Shaytan offered the Lords a polite bow.

“Please accept my sincerest condolences, on behalf of the entire daemon nation,” Shaytan said.

Rowan shook her head slowly. “What is the meaning of this, Your Grace?” she asked the daemon king, pointing at Darius.

Shaytan smirked. “Precautions, milady. These are difficult times, and I completely understand that, but I am no fool. Let us proceed with your funeral ceremony, then discuss the matter of Lord Xunn’s… repatriation.”

The daemon princes snickered behind him but instantly stilled when he gave them a brief over-the-shoulder glance. Shaytan was not to be toyed with—not even by his sons.

My hand instinctively found Jax’s, and we slowly inched closer and settled in the second row of the crowd, with a good view of both the Lords and the daemon king. We were much safer under these cloaks than we would be if we were wearing invisibility spells, since all the daemons on Shaytan’s envoy wore a red garnet lens, and there were plenty of Correction Officers also equipped to spot any unseen hostiles. Shaytan’s scepter also carried its large red garnet gem. However, we’d prepared for this. Our team knew what positions to take in order to stay out of sight.

The clerics finally emerged with the caskets, which were both beautifully sculpted, their lids loaded with flowers. The message didn’t escape me: while life is beautiful, it is fleeting, and it eventually ends. No matter how long different creatures live, the end is still a possibility, and when it comes, it is cause for misery and grief.

Sculptors had worked hard for those caskets, and they were going to watch them burn.

We followed the procession down the main road, keeping an adequate distance from the Correction Officers, the Lords, and the daemons. Two of the clerics played wooden instruments through which they blew, producing a soft but heartbreaking melody.

Emilian and Rowan led the funeral, while Farrah stayed back with Shaytan, his sons, and Darius. The latter kept looking around. “Where’s Rewa?” he asked.

Only then did I understand that she wasn’t with the rest of the noble families, beneath one of the masks. She would’ve been the first to try to get close to Darius, perhaps even protesting a little louder over the charmed cuffs that Shaytan had made him wear. Jax and I looked at each other.

“Do you think something might’ve happened?” I asked him, keeping my voice low.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she got on the dragon’s wrong side,” Jax muttered. “Let’s not forget she’s had quite the obsession brewing for Blaze.”

I stifled a chuckle as we passed by the fifth level. Looking around, and knowing where we’d assigned key positions, I caught glimpses of air rippling. I put my red lens on, beneath the mask, and was relieved to see our people on top of buildings, peeking from behind chimneys and small towers.

“Our people are all in position,” I whispered just as we made it to the ground level, the green fields stretching out before us.

“Good. It’s safe to assume those aren’t the only daemons that Shaytan has brought with him,” Jax replied, nodding at the guards.

“Speaking of which, he’s got three sons with him here. Where would the other two from his Council be?”

“They’re most likely somewhere close and out of sight,” Jax muttered. “I can’t see any through my lens. Did you spot them?”

I shook my head. “They’re probably well-hidden and ready to intervene if things go south.”

“And with plenty of soldiers to back them,” he said. “Either way, we have to stay on course, no matter what. We also have to assume that the other two sons could be trying to get the swamp witch out, for their father’s gain. That means Caspian and the others will have their work cut out for them in the Palisades.”

The crowd gathered around the funeral ground, where thousands of headstones poked out from the dark earth. The clerics positioned the caskets on their platforms, surrounded by large copper bowls filled with what looked like dry wood and oil. They lit them up, and orange flames were soon bursting and licking at the clear sky.

Emilian and Rowan took their positions in front of Amalia and Vincent’s caskets, while the others stayed back. I understood the grief of the parents—even though I detested them both, and their offspring had been just as bad and toxic, I could feel their pain. It was sharp, and it cut through me like a hot knife. I’d buried not one, but six daughters. However, my girls were noble warriors. They never would’ve committed the atrocities Amalia and Vincent had.

It hurt, but there were plenty of creatures in this world who didn’t deserve the gift of life, for they had squandered and soiled it. I blamed the parents here. They’d raised their young to think that the weak deserved to be tortured and killed for no reason. They’d raised Vincent and Amalia to have zero respect for life, so why should they be granted theirs?

“I’m not too worried about Caspian,” I murmured, trying to get my mind off the concept of grief before it closed my throat up. “No one can stand between him and Harper.”

“You’re right about that,” Jax replied. “Caspian’s been a bundle of rage and darkness since Harper was taken. He will destroy everything in his path if that’s what it takes to get her back.”

Emilian cleared his throat, demanding the mumbling crowd’s attention.

“Amalia was a piece of my soul,” he said. I found that to be a little on the nose, given their depravity in eating souls. “The day she was born was the single most important moment in the universe for me. She was so tiny and pale, but her grip on my finger was strong, and… well, she had a pair of lungs on her.” He chuckled softly as he reminisced.

We’re all born innocent.

“Vincent was so soft and chubby,” Rowan chimed in. I understood then that they were doing a joint eulogy. I’d never listened to one like this before, and thus found myself immersed in their stories about Vincent and Amalia. Had we not known the monsters that they really were, I would’ve felt sorrier for Emilian and Rowan. “He was quiet for the first two years of his life. But once he learned to speak, it became impossible to shut him up.”

The crowd murmured softly, amused and charmed by the idea that Vincent and Amalia had been sweet, perfectly normal little Maras. Half of the people in attendance were mind-bent, anyway, and the other half were as savage and as evil as the ones they were about to cremate.

“Today, we lay our children to rest,” Emilian continued, his voice trembling. “Today, we say goodbye to pieces of our souls. Today, we set our very hearts on fire and hope that there’s an afterlife waiting for them, filled with nothing but joy, bliss, and peace. They deserve it.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms beneath my velvet cloak. They were either in denial or just playing a part, though for whom, I wasn’t entirely sure. The jig was up a long time ago. There was no one left for them to impress. It made more sense to assume that Emilian, Rowan, and the rest of their wretched kind genuinely thought they were the actual victims. That they’d done nothing wrong. That their children were epitomes of greatness and perfection.

“Farewell, my beloved Amalia,” Emilian said. “May you join your mother in eternal beauty.”

“Goodbye, my darling Vincent,” Rowan said through a sob. “May your soul be free and roam through the world.”

With their parting words uttered, they both stepped away from the caskets. The clerics came around with torches and set the wooden boxes on fire. The flames swallowed them whole, instantly consuming the flowers and outer layers. The wood crackled as it gave way. Bright orange flames erupted and reached for the sky, their tips extending into swirling threads of black smoke.

The flute-like instruments resumed their mournful songs.

Emilian put his arm around Rowan as they both cried and watched Amalia’s and Vincent’s bodies devoured by fire. Farrah’s shoulders shuddered as she, too, cried for the loss of the Lords’ children. They were literally watching the future of the Exiled Maras going up in flames.

With Sienna and Caspian on our side, all they had were Farrah’s sons, who were too young to rule anything. It dawned on me then, the magnitude of our actions. By killing Vincent and Amalia, we’d crippled the Lords of Azure Heights. What came next was going to obliterate them altogether.

I caught a glimpse of Shaytan, quiet and somber as he watched the funeral ceremony. Yet there was a discreet flicker of amusement in his red eyes—deeply unsettling. That was either his pleasure in watching the Exiled Maras suffer, or a foreshadowing snicker of some kind. Like he had something more in store for them.

It troubled me. But Jax was right. We had to stick to the plan, no matter what.