House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1) Chapter 41 (Clare)

Her mother’s face was the only thing not covered in the coffin, and Clare wanted to touch it, wanted to
feel her mother’s skin for the last time.

She tasted the salt in her mouth, the wretched feeling in her stomach and the lump in her throat. The
hot tears rolling down her eyes, was this really happening. She prayed that it was all just a dream, that
her mother had not been killed so quickly, defeated so easily, but most of all she wished that her
mother hadn’t sacrificed herself to save her.

‘better me than her’

The words killed the rest of the restraint Clare had left in herself and she screamed louder than she
ever had, and dropped to her knees hitting the ground with unsheltered force. Her knees and body
crumbled with pain but nothing was enough to keep her heart from crushing, nothing was enough to
exceed this pain, this unbearable, wretched pain, as it tore from her heart, from her chest, burnt into
her veins.

She didn’t see the descendants staring at her, she didn’t care if they did, she cried, and her stomach
ached, her long curly hair falling around her face and body. Her head throbbed, her body perspired
from the heat of her despair but she couldn’t stop crying, she couldn’t stop the anguish she felt, the fear
that had come with this loss, stolen from her in a matter of seconds, her mother was all she had, all she
knew to be real in her life, it was the one true thing that kept her from destroying herself.

Clare gripped on the coffin, outstretched her fingers to pull herself up, putting her hand to touch her
mother’s head, she was so close, strangely enough, her mother’s body was not cold as it looked, she
was almost certain, she could feel some heat surrounding the body, only an inch away.

A hand gripped tightly at her wrist, it was hard and hurt, she wiggled her wrist free, “What the hell is
your problem.” She yelled, sniffing.



She stood up, her face wet from the tears, hair stuck to her forehead, and no wind to dry it for her but
she didn’t make eye contact with the person, she attempted to put her hand on the body again but was
stopped by a voice,

“NO, you do not touch the dead, her body will be cursed.”

It was a deep voice, she noticed him from earlier, he was the Elvan she saw on the way to the bayou.

He was slightly taller than her, his diamond looking teeth barely showing, which somehow made him
look younger in appearance, black eyes poked her like stab wounds.

She didn’t respond to him, she couldn’t, she wanted to cry more but urged herself not to. She moved
swiftly towards Caidrian who was standing near a fire and talking to a man in brown leather attire, he
met her eyes when she neared him, she was grateful when he didn’t mention her outburst, or try to
console her, she wouldn’t take it,

“What do I do now?”

Caidrian pointed to a chair that was placed a few feet from her mother’s body, “You sit there, Nathan
will sit on the other side.”

She couldn’t put a finger on it, but Caidrian sounded like her mother’s death was a minor implication,
he seemed distressed and worried in his eyes, but no sorrow. She hesitated before she turned and
made her way solemnly to the chair keeping her head to the ground.

She graced the night sky, tranquillity in its stillness, clarity in the stars that decorated it. A thought
occurred to her, she tilted her head to the crowd, catching her brother’s eyes glared at clear spaces, he
was sitting directly opposite her.



The place started to quiet down, there were not many Lightwatcher’s around, the majority were the
other descendants, as Alexa had explained to her, they were all descendants. She wondered what that
meant, the girl had seemed so young but old at the same time.

Clare stared at a fire, a few feet away from her, its blue and orange flames rose and dropped, she
recalled what Alexa said, her mother had more enemies than friends. She looked at the golden coffin
and met her brother’s green eyes glistening in the shadows of the fires, she could see the tear in his
eye as it fell on his right cheek, almost like a forbidden gem.

“The invisible shield is down, a must when these things happen.”

She turned her body, to the deep voice, “Alonso, you startled me.”

“Take this,” He handed her a glass of white thick liquid.

“What is it?”

“Litchi juice, you haven’t eaten, it’ll take the edge off, Nathan said I should give it to you.”

She directed her eyes to her brother for reassurance which she got in a form of a simple nod of his
head, “Thanks.”

She gobbled the juice, it was thick and fresh, too fresh, but it had done the job.

She sat there for what seemed like forever, with eyes on her from all corners. Most of them from other
realms, either dressed in white, or red, except for Alexa who wore blue, and the occasional Caster’s in
their dark robes.

She sat beside her mother, her brother on the other side.



A man with a grey dark robe made his way to the centre, where her mother’s body laid. Gold cloths
draped around his wrist, a stick in his hand which looked like a broken-off branch, but Clare suspected
it probably wasn’t.

She kept her eyes on the stick, at the same time concentrating on what was going on, she wanted to
cry but parts of her inner self willed the outer to be strong. The Caster hit his stick on the ground as he
moved slowly to the casket.He approached the body with caution. Clare’s eyes transfixed on his cane,
his hood up, face covered. The way he walked, hunched in the shoulders, but tall framed, thin, he
must’ve been old.

The man looked down at Franchesca’s body and lifted his stick in the air.

Clare looked past him, over his shoulder. The branches creaked, and the trees moved their roots, and
trunks out of the way, they moved backwards, allowing more space. Something about the act made her
nervous, but at the same time it was incredible, something she would never get used to.

Her eyes darted back to the Caster standing close to her mother’s body as he hit his stick again on the
ground, and a siren noise echoed, coming from the staff.

Clare blocked her ears, the sound rattling in the ground, she saw where the stick knocked the ground.
A firelight, now burned just inches close to her mother, leaving her mother’s coffin surrounded by its
flames.

Clare’s heart sank, with the sound of the stick, realization overcrowding her mind that this was
happening, so soon. They did not mourn their dead, they burnt them as soon as the last light had set,
she hated it, she had not even got a proper goodbye. How was she going to move on from this, live
without her mother, her eyes burned as the anger filled up inside her chest?

The fury in her captivated, when she caught her sights on the Caster, he was a foot away from the fire,
she couldn’t see his face, but when he spoke his voice echoed through the bayou, “Lightwatchers,



Caster’s, Elvan, Shapeshifter’s and descendants of Draiken blood, set your mind.”


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