Chapter 37
37
“Are you sure?” Laurel asks.
I understand her hesitation. I really do. We stand at the base of the bell tower, which rises into the night sky.
High into the night sky.
“I don’t want to climb ten flights of stairs for you to have gotten the clue wrong,” Laurel explains.
I face my friends. Brit peers up the stone spire with uncertainty. Even Erik massages his duel-weary legs in what looks like reluctant preparation. Only Amelia reserves her practiced neutrality for our scavenger hunting efforts. My questing party needs inspiration. “You don’t have faith in my Elytheum knowledge?” I return.
“I mean…” Laurel draws out the syllable. “After bedtime my faith in anyone’s justifications for climbing a hundred steps diminishes greatly.”
Brit looks to Amelia. “Can’t you let us know if Jen is right?” she pleads.
“Absolutely not,” Amelia says sweetly. Her unhelpfulness is impressive. Despite her disenchantment with organizing the Experience, she’s devoted to ensuring we have an authentic scavenger hunt. Even if it means climbing a hundred wasted stairs.
“It’s here,” I say. I unroll the parchment, to at last reveal to them the final clue. I haven’t yet explained my logic, and my questmates have gone on faith until now. “ From the gates of the city, choose honor over power. Follow my journey and ring in the new day on the hour ,” I recite. “It references Gatekeeper Gravesend. I know it does. Remember his chapter in Risen ? In the start of the series, instead of having him executed for conspiracy, Kethryn has him stripped of his estate and assigned to guard the city gates. He goes from a lord to a foot soldier. A nobody. We don’t hear about the guy for five books —until the forces of Darkness come to invade the city and offer him his old estate if he lets them in.”
Amelia smiles softly. I remind myself it’s probably just from the memory of one of our favorite parts of the series.
“He refuses ,” I continue. “They descend on him, and in the final moments of his life, Gravesend climbs the gate’s bell tower,” I cannot help emphasizing. “He rings the chimes, raising the city’s defenses. Choosing honor over power. He dies unknown—having saved Kethryn and the court and everyone inside.”
Everyone is solemn now.
“The ‘ gates of the city ’ is meant to lead us to the wrong place,” I insist. “Everyone is going to remember the Hollisboro gates we came through when we got here. Instead, we’re supposed to follow the story . The character. From the gates of the city…Follow my journey .”
Honestly, I wouldn’t have figured the clue out instantly without Scott’s departure. In my room, I had character growth and change on my mind. While Gatekeeper Gowan Gravesend isn’t exactly a fan favorite like Val, he represents one of the story’s greatest messages. In an unexpected flourish, Winters devotes one single chapter of The Risen Court to Gravesend’s perspective, where he makes his fatal, fateful decision. In his nine pages, he is the main character. Like anyone can be, the series implies, who experiences kindness and nobility and chooses to reflect it in themselves.
Amelia and the organizers wanted the final clue to resonate with Elytheum readers who understood one of the series’ deeper messages. It’s perfectly poetic. A reminder, in a week designed to make guests feel like intrepid court characters, that everyone has heroism in them.
Hence, the bell tower. Ring in the new day on the hour. Like Elytheum’s unrecognized hero, we’re meant to ring in midnight literally.
“I think she’s right,” Erik finally offers.
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Laurel joins in, her eyes traveling up the tower.
“You’re welcome to stay behind,” Brit replies. “ I want to know what’s up there.”
Laurel looks indignant. “Hell no, I’m not staying behind.”
Her pronouncement rallies the party. Everyone starts for the stairs—everyone, I notice, except Amelia. I pause behind the group. “You have to come,” I implore her.
Amelia rubs her elbow. Yearning and restraint wrestle in her eyes as she stares up into the night. “I’m not sure I should,” she replies.
“No,” I insist firmly. I face her from the doorway to the stairwell. “You need to experience some of this for yourself. You’ve worked incredibly hard for everyone else,” I insist. My friends, paused at the bottom of the steps, nod in agreement, all eyes on Amelia. “You deserve a moment off the clock,” I say.
Amelia hesitates a second more.
With a smile spreading over her face, her gaze sparks. “Let’s do it,” she declares.
I grin. It’s wonderful, witnessing the Amelia I know emerge from her exhaustion. The Amelia who would urge me to stay up one more hour of a readathon, who would spend every lunch for weeks insisting I read whatever she was championing at Parthenon. Amelia isn’t Amelia without fandom-level enthusiasm powering her.
We dash up the stairs. I have to admit, a week of hauling myself up four flights to my suite has prepared me for the challenge. Excitement does the rest.
I reach the top first, where I overlook the campus from the railing while the rest of the group follows. Everyone lines up with me, and we gaze out over the quiet world.
“I have…to say…” Amelia announces, catching her breath, “when I planned this…I did not anticipate…climbing those stairs…myself.”
“It’s worth it,” Erik replies. His voice is hushed with uncharacteristic reverence, and I’m reminded he has his own compelling gravitas when he wants.
Amelia’s gaze softens over the campus.
“Yeah,” she says. “It is.”
We stare out into the night. “It’s magic,” Brit says. “Look at the fireflies.”
“Look at the stars,” Laurel replies.
While we watch, lights dance on the inky expanse of empty lawns in front of us. Above the dark horizon, the stars shine in reply, midnight mirroring the sparkling earth.
I say nothing, emotion welling in my chest. It is magic. Magic lingers in inconspicuous places. It isn’t unreachable. It’s been here the whole time, merely waiting to be found. In a clear night, in a sky that has hung above the world unchanged for years. In middle school teachers, and commercial actors, and those who don’t know what’s next for them. In friendship and fandom, love and loyalty.
Magic and heroism exist in the ordinary as easily as the extraordinary. Something doesn’t need to be untouchable or imaginary or even perfect to be a fantasy. It exists wherever you’re willing to look for it.
“Well, Jennifer,” Erik prompts me softly, “ring in the new day.”
I smile, turning to the bell. With the world at my back—waiting for me, ready—I reach for the cord hanging on the post by the bell.
And with a hard pull, I send the bell ringing into the night, echoing the refrain of our victory.
While my friends cheer, my heart pounds steady and proud. I didn’t need epic heroism to have this moment. I wasn’t a demoness or a queen or fae. Just myself.
The greatest quests never end up where one expects. It’s what makes them something more—it makes them stories.
Eventually, the night is still. Only us and the fireflies. Laurel stands next to me, and when I glance over, I notice she looks sad. “Hey,” I say softly, murmuring too low for the group to hear. “You okay?”
I know I was right to ask when Laurel is quiet for a long pause. “I’m just not looking forward to going home,” she finally admits.
She doesn’t need to explain why. I know what going home really means. A broken heart and a return to reality. Brit was right, and fantasy doesn’t have to be an escape, but sometimes escapes are what help us get through the darkest days.
“That’s the magic of Elytheum, though. You can take it home with you,” I reply. “It sounds to me like you might be due for a reread. I just started one myself. Maybe we can buddy read. I’ll send you reactions at ungodly hours of the night with links to my favorite fics for expansions.”
Laurel smiles. “Yeah? You’re sure?”
“Are you kidding? There’s nothing better than reliving my favorite moments and sharing them with someone new,” I say sincerely.
“Good luck finding a fic I don’t know about,” she replies, her tone playful.
I smile, seeing the hope return to her eyes. “Oh you’re so on. You know I love a challenge.”
As the bell finally stops resounding in the night, Laurel turns to the group. Her voice stronger, she voices the obvious question. “Now what?”
I shrug. I don’t have an answer. Which I’m okay with. Not having all the answers only means a story isn’t finished yet.
The rest of my court, my questing party, is more curious. Everyone looks to Amelia, who rolls her eyes, feeling herself coerced into providing just one hint. “Nowhere to go but back down, right?” she offers.
I eye her, questioning. It’s not what I expected. Did I get the riddle wrong? There’s no way. It’s okay if I did , I remind myself as I follow my friends down the steps. I had this moment, the perfect Elytheum Experience moment, with them, watching the night. Victory looks like sharing wonder with your companions. It looks like new friends and old. It looks like pride in yourself no matter what. Like continuing to find joy even when your heart is shattered.
The realization makes me gasp. I’m okay. I don’t have to fear heartbreak. I can survive it, like I have this week.
This moment was exactly what it was meant to be, and it surpassed any prize. No scavenger hunt victory could match the experience of looking out over the glittering horizon, or the joy and adventure of finding each clue. No heartbreak could wreck sharing this with my friends.
Who, I notice, have gone quiet, congregated at the bottom of the stairs. I join them, following the group’s gaze.
Heather Winters herself waits outside the archway.
The architect of Elytheum wears a smile and a shining crown. Otherwise—apart from her fans and the ceremony of the Experience, and outside the familiar confines of her author photo on dust jackets—I’m struck by how normal she looks. If I didn’t know who she was, I would guess she was clue hunting just like me. I recognize her dress, one of the ones I almost picked out from the fan-made costume store on campus.
I’m reminded Heather Winters has woken up here for the week like the rest of us, and like the rest of us she’ll return home, into a life full of her own ambitions and insecurities. Like heroes and heroines, I suppose storytellers can be anyone.
While the rest of the crew files out into the night, I notice Amelia waiting in the stairwell. She nods me forth, not following, clearly wanting me to win my prize.
When I join my group, we’re all silent, I guess a little awestruck. No one speaks until Heather does. “Only someone who has followed three clues to their destinations knows the ending lies here—and now, at midnight,” she explains. “Who among you claims the victory?”
Erik shoves me lightly forward.
Heather’s smile falls on me. I say nothing. Favorite author puts my appraisal of Heather Winters lightly, and I’ve never had the courage to speak to her, even at the many release events I’ve attended.
I remind myself why I’m here. What I’ve done.
Heroine time .
“I do,” I say.
Silently, Heather removes her crown. She hands the shimmering circlet to me.
While the group watches me, hushed, I stare at it in my hands. It’s lovely, full of Elytheum details. The emblems of every court are interwoven in the metal, reminding me of the first clue. Fogberry sprigs, courtly gates, and majestic horses. “Our very own Lord Valance would love to thank you personally for your valiant efforts over an intimate dinner before the ball,” Heather invites me.
I return her smile. I remember how the Val dinner had me rapt on the first night. How desperate I was to heal wounds and fix problems with imagination.
I’ve realized I don’t need a crown or a book boyfriend. I’ve always had everything in my regular, ordinary, extraordinary life. I look up from the crown. “Can I…give it to someone else?” I ask.
Heather’s eyes widen for a heartbeat. “Of course,” she replies evenly.
I look back into the stairwell, where Amelia peeks out.
I wave her forward. While Amelia reluctantly emerges, I face Heather. “We didn’t cheat, I promise,” I say, noting the author looks intrigued, not indignant. “It’s just, Amelia deserves it more than anyone for everything she’s done this week. And, uh…” I pause. When I started the sentence, I should probably have known how I was going to explain my friend’s love life to our favorite author ever.
Heather smirks.
“And there’s no one our Val would rather spend an evening with,” she finishes for me. “That is”—she eyes Amelia now—“if she feels the same?”
Amelia startles. I do as well.
“How, um…” Amelia fidgets. Admittedly, I don’t know what’s worse, explaining your workplace crush to your favorite author or to your employer . “How did you…?”
Winters’s smugness could rival Val’s himself. “Authors are masters of observation,” she says loftily, her haughtiness not hiding her obvious delight for Amelia. “Where do you think we get our inspiration?”
I grin. Honestly, it’s validating. I’m not the only one who knows Fred is perfect for Amelia. Only the greatest ship designer in literary history agrees with me!
When I hold the crown out for Amelia, cautious light enters my friend’s expression. “Well?” I press her.
And like the first morning after the realm defeated the Darkness— Risen , chapter seventy-one—the light spreads. Amelia’s expression dances with the inimitable promise of future joy. She clasps the crown decisively.
Erik whoops, which makes Heather laugh. Her cheeks red, Amelia perches the crown on her raven tresses. “You’re sure it’s okay?” she asks Heather.
“My dear,” Heather assures her, “Elytheum is my creation. I have always made the rules.”
Amelia’s happiness makes my heart feel full. I look to Heather. “Thank you,” I say spontaneously. It feels easy speaking with her now. Like Everbane has his motto, I now have mine. In joy, courage . “Thank you for everything,” I go on. “Your books have gotten me through so much. Taught me so much.”
Heather smiles. Although I have no doubt she receives the compliment often, her acknowledgment is not perfunctory. “I’m happy they were there for you,” she replies. “I hope they have been mirrors, helping you to see the beauty, strength, and love already within yourself. I like to imagine my characters aren’t merely creations of my own head, nor are they strangers to those who find them.” She nods to me. “May you recognize your own bravery in Kethryn.”
She looks to my gathered friends.
“Your friends’ loyalty in her court,” she says.
Her gaze returns to me with indicative sparkle.
“Your partner’s love in Val,” she finishes.
I say nothing. In her pronouncements, I realize I’ve found something unlikelier than magic, rarer than fae or dragons. If nothing else, I arrived here the ultimate fan, and yet, with Heather’s words, I find I have more to learn about Elytheum. About reading. About fantasy.
My whole life, books were my refuge. I have cherished my favorite stories for their power to enchant and divert me, to carry me away from Oklahoma and New York, from loneliness and heartache, into the company of characters I considered friends and loved ones, and into places I viewed as wondrous escapes from my own world.
And I was…wrong. The purest gift of reading isn’t finding escape. It’s finding yourself.
“I have,” I say with new honesty. “They’ve made me see that life is a fantasy we make real every day.”
The author smiles. “Very well said,” she remarks. “Are you a writer?”
I blush, which is a relief, because I kind of expected my favorite author complimenting my choice of words would make me explode into fireworks or fly one hundred feet into the air.
“I think so,” I say.
“Well”—Heather looks pleased—“like I said, authors are observant. And I was told a very kind and handsome young man turned in his room key earlier this night to depart the Experience.”
Panic grips me. What was I thinking? How could I push Scott away, let him think he’s not enough? I feel like I’m in my own Exile Court , lost in the Realms Past. Which leaves me with only one option.
I have to return from exile.
And I’m ready. With my friends, this magical night, I’ve gathered the confidence to face down anything. If Scott and I don’t work out, I’ll be okay, because my life is rich in dreams of every kind. I have friends. I have professional passions. I have myself .
Heather intuits my resolve. Her smile grows.
“Don’t worry,” she reassures me. “As all storytellers know—there is always time for a grand gesture.”