Epilogue
Alwyn
One Year Later
The streets of Gennemont were a constant bustle of activity, even in the heart of winter.
After having been here for nearly three months, Alwyn still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the sheer size of the city.
Castle Aefraya was the largest city in the nation of elves; but Gennemont, capital of the human nation of Autreth, was roughly triple its size and perhaps four times as populated.
He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not, and Krujha seemed similarly split.
They had seen some truly splendid sights in their months traveling throughout Autreth, and the city was a wonder in its own way, too.
But Gennemont was also home to the largest institution for the study of magic in the world, the College of the Arcane; and Alwyn, still technically a member of the Library of Aefraya, had access to its full repository of tomes and scrolls.
That was what had kept them here so long—that, and the connections Alwyn had made with fellow mages and researchers within the College’s libraries.
Alwyn had sent a letter to the College in the first month of his and Krujha’s travels, explaining the nature of his injury, as well as his desire to research possible methods of restoration for his stunted magical ability.
A reply had come from a researcher, Cosimo Potts, asking more questions to better understand Alwyn’s inquiry.
Their correspondence with the Library had largely been through Cosimo, and the man had been eager to meet them in person when they finally arrived in Gennemont.
Cosimo’s wife, Poppy, worked in the college library; she had compiled an extensive list of tomes and scrolls Alwyn might be interested in reading.
The four of them had sat together for long hours in the library, researching and discussing.
Alwyn was hesitant to call anyone his friend after so little time, but if he and Krujha had to name any friends in the sprawling city, Cosimo and Poppy would be it.
They had barely batted an eye when being introduced to Krujha, too.
While he still garnered some stares wherever he went, the city was home to such a vast population that Krujha was hardly the only orc to make it their home, though their number was admittedly few.
And with the war between Aefraya and the wildlands being well and truly over now, the sight of an elf and an orc traveling together was hardly remarkable anymore.
Often, while Alwyn and Cosimo studied, Poppy had been teaching Krujha a bit of magic, too.
When he had finally agreed to take some of the aptitude tests Alwyn suggested, they had revealed he had more magical ability than before—but a far cry from what Alwyn had once wielded.
Only a remnant of the flood of magic that had gone through Krujha remained, but the orc seemed pleased enough with his newfound ability.
Though Alwyn had tried to teach Krujha most of what he knew, being unable to give demonstrations for all but the most simple magic meant he was a poorer teacher than he’d hoped.
Poppy, though, proved to be an excellent instructor—it was probably just as well, since she could teach Krujha practical uses for his magic, not just the killing tools that had made up most of Alwyn’s education.
So far, Krujha had mostly been treating it as a party trick, endlessly amused with the little illusions he could conjure.
Once, Alwyn might have been annoyed with his lackadaisical attitude toward his new abilities; now, though, he was just glad Krujha was pleased.
Seeing Poppy help him develop his magical prowess gave Alwyn hope that their efforts might one day see his own abilities restored.
Tonight, the couple had invited them for dinner, so he and Krujha left their home with full bellies and faces warm from more than a few cups of wine.
The residential streets were quiet this late in the evening as they walked; they were renting an attic room in a boarding house on the opposite side of the district, but the walk was pleasant despite the winter chill.
The streets had been cleared of snow, and the night was bright and crisp, stars twinkling above them.
Alwyn was looking up, admiring the view, when movement on the rooftop caught his eye.
All his old instincts came rushing back, sobering his mind in an instant—he froze, eyes locking on the spot. In the past year, Krujha had taught him a bit of his own skill set. He’d gotten much better at moving undetected, the way the orc did, but the lessons came to him too late.
It lasted only a moment: the figure peered out from behind a tall chimney, and in the bright moonlight, Alwyn could make out a familiar face. When Fionia’s eyes met his, she held his gaze for just an instant, before disappearing behind the chimney again.
“Alwyn?” Krujha’s voice called. He had stopped a few steps ahead of him, looking back with concern now. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone on the rooftop,” he whispered, stepping so his back hugged the brick wall of the house behind them. Krujha blinked, his cheerful mood dissipating. “I think—I think it was Fionia. The girl from the Order, the one we helped out of the rebel camp—”
Krujha quickly stepped in front of him, as if blocking him from view would somehow protect him—Alwyn knew better.
“We should go,” Krujha said, his voice a low whisper. “We can grab our things and be out of the city in less than an hour.”
But Alwyn did know better—for Fionia to allow him even that quick glimpse of her, it was because she wanted him to see her. If she wanted to kill him, he’d be dead already. Something else was happening.
“No,” Alwyn said, shaking his head as he pushed past Krujha, looking up at the empty rooftop again. “No, I... I think that was some kind of signal.”
“Alwyn,” Krujha protested, frowning. “You can’t be serious.”
“Krujha, please,” he replied, trying to sound calmer than he felt. “If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be alive to have this conversation right now. I’m telling you, it was Fionia.”
Krujha’s brow furrowed with concern, but he seemed to relent. Alwyn had told him enough about his training with the Order for him to understand.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Be careful,” Krujha urged, his eyes warily scanning the rooftops. “I’ll be very upset if you don’t come back in one piece.”
Alwyn paused, looking at the orc with a softer expression.
It had been just over a year now that they’d been together, and sometimes he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the constant kindness and care that Krujha had shown him.
He hadn’t realized that some part of him had been waiting for the other shoe to drop for so long—so used to his interpersonal relationships being transactional, having to fight for every scrap of affection and affirmation he’d ever received.
But Krujha gave everything to him so willingly, so readily.
He never once had to try to earn his love—it was always there for him.
“I will,” he said, a faint smile on his lips despite the situation. “I love you.”
Krujha grimaced. “I love you, too. And this better not be the last time you say it to me. Don’t make me have to go looking for your body in an alleyway.”
Alwyn fought back a laugh. He hadn’t known that he was capable of so many smiles before Krujha, either, but somehow the orc always knew exactly what he needed to hear.
“I promise,” Alwyn whispered.
He turned into an alley that was entirely empty, save for a few barrels in a cluster along the opposite wall, and a hanging planter beneath a dark window that was full of snow.
Alwyn took a few careful steps into the narrow space between the two brick homes, then turned the corner behind the building where he’d spotted Fionia.
He stood there for a few seconds, his eyes darting in every direction, before landing on the rooftop again.
There was a faint rustling sound, then Fionia came sliding down from the roof to land beside him silently, magic muffling her movement.
She wore a dark tunic and trousers, form-fitting and neutral in color, to help her blend in better in the city—he wondered how long she had been following him.
Her dark hair was longer than he remembered, falling almost to her shoulders.
Her face was entirely emotionless, her eyes cool, as she and Alwyn regarded each other.
He thought he might be terrified to see her, another assassin with the Order—but a strange calm had settled over him now.
He had been waiting for this day to come for over a year.
If this was how he died, he could face it bravely, knowing he’d had a year worth more than everything that came before it.
Each day beyond that morning on the mountaintop was a second chance at life, and he hadn’t wasted a moment of it.
If she was here to kill him, he no longer had the ability to stop her.
Still, he had two regrets: first, that he had never gone to Mistfield to find the orphanage, to learn whether the cottage by the waterfall he still sometimes dreamed about was real after all.
But more than that, he would regret leaving Krujha alone when he’d just promised the opposite.
It would be the only promise between them he’d failed to uphold.
“You know why I’m here,” Fionia finally said, breaking the silence. Alwyn blinked, still trying to read her face, but her expression betrayed nothing.
“I don’t think I do,” he replied, his voice as steady as he could make it. “I’d be dead already if you were here to kill me.”
They both stood there stiffly again, each eyeing the other warily—though Alwyn was unsure what had her so on guard around him, knowing he had so little of his magic left.
Then she lunged at him—he tried to dodge, only for his back to press against the wall of the home behind him. But her hand only rested lightly on his throat, holding him in place, but not injuring him.