this might end up being the chapter on Vanessa's mother

            The Queen died in the stillness of the rising sun, with the word, “love,” forever frozen on her lips. Her eyes looking deep into the paladin’s as she grew distant and cold. He stood there lost in his memories of her past and the loss of her future. She lay upon the bed that had been erected for her the night before out on the balcony above the court. He had brought her there in

            Terra, her handmaid, ran screaming from the dusky room. The aura lamps faded with the rise of the sun. The room grew dark as shadows grew and stretched out to blanket the silence. A calm breeze slid in from the open balcony, its chill bringing me back to reality from the shock of her death. I slowly rose from her side to retrieve her sword. Arrymis, the Queen's manservant, stood behind me. His face blank and emotionless as he held the sword out to me. With a nod, I took the sword from him in silence and returned to the Queen and placed the sword in her now cold hands. Arrymis came out of the shadows to stand opposite me across the Queen's body.

            As the first shards of light fell into the room we began the Ra-sheed, the ritual of death according to the Circle of the Code. I placed my left hand on Whisper, the Queen's sword, and clenched the blade as I slid from tang to point drawing out my life's blood. Then with my hand clenched, I anoint her eyes, temple and mouth with droplets of my blood. Fresh blood to aid her passing into the hall of heroes befitting a warrior of her stature.  Arymiss passes me a bandage for the cut. Looking around I quickly find the bowl of perfume on a table by the dais. The perfume smells of roses and wine.

            "Like love and war, so death goes hand in hand with birth." We chant in soft tones. I hand Arrymis the perfume. He pours the perfume on her black silken hair; it runs in rivulets down her long strands onto the dais. He moves down her body slowly pouring the perfume across the serpentine scale tunic, and down her legs to come to rest at her boots. He breathes heavily as if he had held his breath as the last of the perfume drips onto her greaves. The perfume catches the shards of light filling the chamber and making her armor gleam like polished silver.

            "Like honor and wisdom, so does virtue and loyalty bind us together. For together we stand and apart we cannot. We must embrace death as we embrace life without fear if we are to remain strong." I hear myself speaking but the words sound distant as if someone else is speaking them from the other side of the room.

            "Like service and honesty, so does deeds and renown go hand in hand with the sacrifices of those in battle and in peace." Arrymis answers as he hands me the jar of oil. I stand silently holding it as he spreads the ashes of her horse-which had died earlier- across her body. Then I open the oil jar and pour its rich dark mixture out over her body. The dark golden oil pools in and around the ash and perfume. I discard the jar- dropping it by the dais; it shatters with a crash loud as thunder in the empty room. 

            Arrymis holds out her draconian helm to me; I place it beside her head. The smell of perfume and oil is almost intoxicating as I reach down and open the silver canister by the dais. I retrieve a single match, long and thin. I look back at Arrymis to say the final incantation before lighting the match.

            "Good journeys, Ardissa, until the cycle repeats itself." As I say the words, Arrymis retreats back into the shadows leaving the room.. He has probably gone to seek new employment.

            "Better than dying." I hear myself say.

            A shriek then voices in the stairwell. Time to say good-bye.

With an unsteady hand I touch the tip of the match to the cold stone near Ardissa's head, then pull it down along the side of her body. The match moves in slow motion. First one spark, then another and another until the match catches fire and burns. The fire catches the oil and flares. Then the moment passes and the flames race along across her body until she is consumed. Even in death she remains beautiful and powerful.

            I stand back to watch the funeral pyre burn. The black, thick, sweet smoke fills the room and then boils out of the balcony door to drift of into the sky. There is a moaning, but I think it might be the wind. I stand now surrounded by the vapors and smoke. I say good-bye one more time and walk out the door.

She was only three days older than twenty-one.