Epilogue
Ilspeth Triori stepped out of the shadows and smoothed the crimson velvet pooling around her legs. Snow was drifting toward her in slow, white wisps that softly kissed the top of her raven hair. It was cold, she knew, but it had been years since Ilspeth had felt something as mundane as temperature.
Centuries, even.
Her heeled boots left prints in the snow as she made her way toward the mountain. Stopping before the massive gray boulder, she braced her hands on the cool, frosted rock, and with all of her strength, she pushed.
After a few moments, it finally gave way, clearing her path into the tomb.
A dark tunnel stretched before her—darker than night itself.
But she didn’t need light. Because she wasn’t afraid of the dark. She wasn’t afraid of anything.
To be afraid, you had to be able to feel. And Ilspeth Triori could feel nothing at all. In fact, she was even beginning to forget why she felt nothing.
And that was perfectly fine.
The shadows led the way, black on black, coiling around her and sweeping her deeper through the maze within the sacred mountain. With every step, she could feel the vibrations. The energy. The rumble of power so ancient it pre-dated this world.
She had felt the shift the moment it happened, all the way across the sea. And when she fastened her robe around her waist, climbed out of bed, and peered out the window, the constellation was closer to the earth than she’d ever seen. Like a string of jewels in a velvet bed of night.
She had come straightaway.
It had worked. It had taken thousands of years, but finally, she had delivered and made good on her promise of servitude.
There was a faint glow coming from the end of the fork. She followed it, already knowing what to expect when she stepped foot into the tomb.*
He was already awake.
He watched her approach, seated on the piled rock as if it were his throne.
She sank to her knees and bowed her head. The Dowager Queen of Vod bowed.
He stood and strode toward her, taking her shoulders and prompting her to rise.
He kissed her cheeks and smiled.
If Ilspeth could feel anything, she would have been lovestruck at the sight, as was the natural reaction to something so stunning. Had always been. A thousand years or two could not dampen it. Neither would another ten. It was a beauty time itself was not capable of eroding.
He took her hand, and together they stepped out into the blinding white storm.
They had plenty of work to do.
* Cue: Eat Your Young by Hozier