Chapter 240: The Battle Declared

The city wept in a fine, grey mist, as if the sky itself mourned. The magnificent cathedral, a stone and glass monument, was an oasis of silent solemnity in the midst of the raucous metropolis. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of lilies and old money. The influential and wealthy of a dozen diverse industries packed the pews, their heads lowered not so much in grief, but in strategy. A king's funeral was always a matter of politics.

Davidson stood at the forefront, a lone figure wearing immaculate black. He did not falter. He did not weep. He was a pillar of stone in a sea of swaying, lucent mourning. His pale, set face was a mask. Behind it, his mind was a raw, exposed wound. Each whisper of the sobbing organ, every softened prayer, was a fresh scalpel to the memory of Joe's last, silent breath. The weight of the ring on his finger—Joe's heavy signet ring, cold to the touch—was the only thing in this world that was solid.

He had chosen the readings, the music, the pallbearers.