Page 73 of Onyx Cage: Volume II

Private Memorial for Arran Colin MacKinnon.

There was a note underneath that the family wore green, but little other information. I wondered if that was custom here, to have memorials a year posthumously. I had never read anything about that, so it was more likely specific to this family, or to Mac.

The last wake I had attended had been for Arès’ father. Like all Socairan events, it had been a tedious exercise in pomp and formality. Somehow, I doubted this would be the same.

I couldn’t help but wonder how Rowan would feel about my inclusion when she so rarely let her guard down these days. I was pulled into a memory of a dark room at the undertaker’s, a quiet, resilient hand on my arm. Tears soaking my shirt in a frigid room at an inn.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing if I was there.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Sunlight barely peeked through the window when Davin once again helped himself to my passageway door.

“The main door is just over there, if you have trouble locating it,” I told him, sparing him a sideways glance as I dragged a razorblade along my cheek.

“Where would be the fun in that?” he shot back.

I had already been awake long enough to do my morning conditioning and bathe, but I was vaguely surprised to see him up at the early hour as well. And wearing a skirt.

Gallagher strode in behind him, dressed in a similar fashion and holding a folded bundle of clothes.

“You seem to be having all the fun you can stand,” I said, tilting my head at their choice of outfit while I dried my face with a cloth.

“And soon, so shall you.” Davin gestured to the clothes in Gallagher’s arms, which were, indeed, the same blue-and-green pattern as both of their outfits. “Don’t worry, the ladies die over them.”

“Over plaid skirts?” I raised my eyebrows.

He shrugged, holding mine out. “Kilts. And you’ll see.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t see,” Gallagher said drily. “I doubt it will play into Auntie Jocelyn’s plans if Rowan stabs one of her own citizens today.”

Davin winced. “Well, by ladies, I meant Rowan, but fair point.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I’ll make the sacrifice of distracting Fiona today, then.”

“A noble one, to be sure,” Gallagher nodded sagely.

I shook my head at their ridiculousness before taking the garments from Gallagher. The word kilt was vaguely familiar—Lochlannians wore them ceremonially—but the texts I read had never been accompanied by a picture.

Had they not been wearing them as well, I would have thought it was some giant prank.

“You came just to deliver this?” I narrowed my eyes at the captain’s son.

“And because we assumed you would require assistance in putting it on,” he responded sincerely.

“Don’t worry about his modesty, Gal,” Davin said behind his hand. “Socairans bathe all together.”

Gallagher made a thoughtful face, and I shook my head.

“We definitely do not,” I corrected. “We sauna together.”

“Eh.” Davin shrugged like there was no difference, and I suppressed a sigh. Barely.

There had not been nearly enough coffee in my day for this interaction.

Regardless of the semantics, it did turn out to be fortunate that Socairans were not particularly averse to nudity. I wondered how many more times I would be grateful for that before the day was over, given the general lack of underthings worn with the…kilt.

I did have a belt of sorts to weigh it down, as long as it wasn’t too windy outside. Perhaps Rowan would be feeling graciousenough to give me advance warning of a particularly strong breeze.

Though the way things had been since I arrived, she was more likely to let it knock me on my arse.