Chapter 35 Rhianelle #2
I push Aelfric’s chair along the path. Svenn helped make this device for me. He has made many more for the healing house. The Hlaryan elves say the chairs have made recovery easier for many patients.
Siofra’s grave is near the center, marked with a beautiful stone carved with her family crest and an inscription that reads, Lady Siofra of Celestria. May she walk in starlight forever.
Beside it, Darstan’s grave is marked with the warrior’s stone. Darstan the Steadfast. Knight of Aelfheim.
I stop the chair beside the graves. Then I kneel and place the flowers I brought between them. White lilies. Siofra’s favorite.
Aelfric is silent beside me, staring at the stones and at the names.
“I miss them,” I whisper. “Every day. I miss them so much.”
“So do I,” Aelfric says, and his voice breaks. “Darstan was like a brother to me. I always knew he had my back.”
Tears stream down my face. I don’t wipe them away.
“He was the best of us.” Aelfric looks down at his hands. “I should have told him that more often.”
I reach out, take his hand, and hold it tight. We sit in silence for a while. There is nothing left to say, so we simply remain with them. With their memory and everything they left behind.
“Darstan would be very disappointed in how much we’re crying right now,” Aelfric says, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.
“Siofra would tell me to stop weeping and go eat something,” I agree with a small laugh.
“I’ll walk again,” Aelfric says suddenly, his voice firm. “Within a week, just as the healers promised. When I can stand on my own, I’m coming back here. I’ll stand before their graves and tell them I survived. I’ll tell them I’m still living for them and for everyone we lost.”
“They’d like that,” I say softly. I squeeze his hand once more, then rise and move behind his chair. Before I can turn us toward the palace, movement near the edge of the gardens catches my attention.
Hrolf walks slowly between the graves with Lady Deirdre beside him. She looks at him and smiles at something he says. The master dwarf tries to hide his answering smile beneath his beard, but he fails.
Hrolf and Deirdre. When did that happen?
I do not remember seeing them together during the war, but I was hardly paying attention to anything beyond survival. Perhaps it began afterward. Two people who lost so much finding comfort in each other.
Then I notice what Lady Deirdre carries in her arms.
A baby wrapped in soft blankets.
Siofra and Darstan’s child. The little boy they left behind.
I watch as Hrolf and Deirdre approach another section of the gardens. They stop before a row of graves and speak softly to the baby, telling him stories about people he will never meet.
I feel tears prick my eyes again.
They notice us. Lady Deirdre smiles and adjusts the baby in her arms.
“Your Highness,” she says with a slight bow. “Sir Aelfric. It’s good to see you out of bed.”
“It’s good to be out,” Aelfric says, shifting in his chair. “I was beginning to think the healers intended to keep me there forever.”
Hrolf nods to us.
“We’re taking the little one for a walk,” Lady Deirdre says. “Thought we’d stop by and pay respects to his parents.”
The baby makes a sound. A soft coo escapes him as he looks around with innocent curiosity.
His eyes are Siofra’s, I realize as pain stabs through me. The same shape and the same clear brightness.
“May I?” I ask, reaching out.
“Of course,” Deirdre says, carefully transferring the baby to my arms. “You’re his godmother, after all.”
I am.
Siofra named me in a letter she left behind. In the same letter, she asked Lady Deirdre to raise her son if neither she nor Darstan returned from the war. She had prepared for the possibility.
I hold the baby close and look down at his perfect little face, at the life that came from love. He survived when his parents didn’t.
“Your father was very brave,” I tell him softly. “He loved your mother so much.”
The baby blinks up at me. Perhaps he is listening. Perhaps he is only fascinated by the movement of my lips.
“Your mother was incredible,” I continue, my voice thick with tears. “She taught me how to fight and never give up.”
I press a kiss to the baby’s forehead.
“They loved you,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry they’re not here to raise you, to watch you grow, to see the amazing person you’re going to become.”
Tears drip onto the baby’s blanket. He doesn’t seem to mind.
“But you’re not alone,” I tell him. “You have Deirdre, Aelfric, and Hrolf. And me. You have so many people who loved your parents and will love you too. You’re going to be all right, I promise. You’re going to be all right.”
I hand him back to Lady Deirdre. She takes him gently, understanding in her eyes.
“I’ll take good care of him,” she promises. “He’ll know his parents and understand their sacrifice.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Deirdre inclines her head while Hrolf places one protective hand against the baby’s back. We exchange our farewells.
Hrolf and Deirdre stand together among the graves with the baby safe between them. Siofra and Darstan should be the ones holding their son. Nothing can make their absence right, and no future happiness can replace everything the war took from us.
But their child is surrounded by people who will tell him their stories. Grief remains, but life continues beside it.
So does hope.
I push Aelfric’s chair back toward the healing house. Before the path curves out of sight, I glance back one last time at the graves, at everything we’ve lost.
“Thank you for protecting us,” I whisper.
Rest well, my friends.
I’m nervous.
More nervous than I’ve been in weeks. Because Prince Finnbheara is coming to visit.
Today. Now.
“Stop fidgeting,” Svenn says, taking my hand.
“I can’t help it,” I say, smoothing my dress for the hundredth time. “What if he changed his mind?”
“He’s not,” Svenn interrupts gently. “He’s coming to sign more peace treaties. That’s all. If he was coming for war, he wouldn’t have sent word ahead.”
I suppose that’s true. But it doesn’t stop the anxiety crawling up my spine.
The last time I saw Finnbheara, we were standing in a circle. I was broken and bleeding and desperate. He had all the power and all the advantage.
Yet he chose mercy.
But what if he regrets it? What if he’s had time to think and realized he made a mistake?
“Breathe,” Svenn says.
I breathe and try to remember I’m safe. The war is over. Finnbheara chose peace. Everything is fine.
Everything is fine.
We chose to receive him in a private room overlooking the palace courtyard rather than the throne room.
No councilors or commanders are present.
Only Svenn and I will meet with Finnbheara, without two courts watching our every move.
It feels less like a confrontation between two kingdoms this way. At least, that was the intention.
I try to distract myself by watching Coral stalk a butterfly among the flowering plants near the open doors. She lowers her pale body close to the ground, creeping forward while her tail sways behind her. The butterfly lands on a flowering shrub. Coral pounces and misses it completely.
She has grown so much in the past three months. Earlier, Coral wandered over to Svenn, lazily dropped onto her hindquarters like a cat, and settled her chin on top of his head as though he were a convenient stand. She stayed there until she noticed the butterfly.
A deep cry rolls across the city.
Coral abandons the butterfly and lifts her head. Svenn moves closer to me as a vast red shape passes over the palace walls.
Sanguisyl descends into the courtyard. His wings drive dust and fallen leaves through the air before his massive claws strike the stone. Two smaller wyverns land behind him, each carrying one member of Finnbheara’s retinue.
The ancient red wyvern lowers himself, allowing Finnbheara to dismount. His companions climb down from their own mounts and remain beside them while Finnbheara crosses the courtyard toward the palace alone.
There he is.
Finnbheara is still every inch the warrior prince. I should call him the Fae King of Avalon now. He enters the room and nods respectfully. “Queen Rhianelle. Thank you for receiving me.”
“King Finnbheara,” I say, and I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds. “Welcome to Aelfheim. We’re honored by your visit.”
“The honor is mine,” he says. His gaze shifts toward the newly constructed Watergates visible beyond the windows. “The statues are remarkable. That is Ksatka at the center, is it not?”
“Yes,” I say. “Ksatka, Nuutka, Katyna, Tekoan, Kothar, Gudryn, and Hayda.”
Seven seadragons carved from pale stone stand along the Watergates of Volundr. Ksatka stands at their center with her head lifted proudly toward the sea.
“My uncle commissioned them,” I explain. “He wanted to make certain the seven who sacrificed their lives defending Volundr would always be remembered.”
Finnbheara studies the statues for a long moment before bowing his head. “He honored them well.”
We go through the formalities, the pleasantries. All the diplomatic dance that politics requires.
Once the formalities are over, we settle around the long table near the windows and turn to the real reason for his visit.
We work through the terms of peace, deciding how trade will reopen between our kingdoms and where each border will be recognized.
Every agreement feels painfully ordinary after a war, yet that is exactly what makes it precious.
We are discussing roads, merchants, and boundaries instead of armies and graves.
It takes hours. My hand cramps from signing documents and my head aches from parsing the fae language. But it’s worth it. Every signature and every promise of peace. We’re building something here. Something that will last. I hope.
Finally, we’re done.
Finnbheara relaxes slightly.
“There is... one more thing,” he says hesitantly. “A personal request, not official. It’s about the wyverns.”
My heart drops. “The wyverns?”
“Sanguisyl,” Finnbheara says. “My bonded companion has been difficult since the battle, when he realized…”