12. Epilogue
Epilogue
O ne year later . . .
Elyse
We must be insane. I have no idea why we’re doing this, but my heart is beating wildly in my chest and after a wonderful year, this feels like it’s going to be a highlight.
We’re back on Planet Paragon for Blessed Peace Week. I booked Wrage and I for an engagement to sing on the mainland. I’m not going near the Bang District this time around. It’s just for tonight, not the whole week, but I’m excited.
I didn’t spring my big surprise on Wrage until a couple hours ago. He was initially shocked, then mildly outraged, then I fell into his arms and we both giggled for long minutes. Yes, Wrage giggled. God, he’s so happy. We both are.
The laughing started again when I showed him our costumes. I had a mental picture of the costumes we saw in that horrid room at Elkin‘s bar on Wryth’N and sketched them for Savannah, our resident clotheshorse/ former marine/ and seamstress. She helped me make these.
When I look down, I can’t help but smile. My dress is flowery and flouncy and oh-so-colorful. I can’t look down too long, or my humongous hat filled with fake fruit is going to fall off my head.
Wrage’s outfit matches mine, flowers, ruffles, and all. I even made him a fruity hat, which he’s refusing to wear. This kind of relieved me. Between the horns and the dreads, it wasn’t a good look.
We practiced for a while, but it wasn’t necessary. He remembered every word, and our harmony is flawless. It always has been.
We’re harmonious in so many ways, it makes sense our singing would just be an extension of that.
I don’t know what I was afraid of when we boarded the Devil’s Playground a year ago. I guess I knew in my heart that we’d be with these people awhile and I wanted them to like me. Turns out there was nothing to worry about. They welcomed us with open arms.
Wrage never really loved fighting, so he just visits the ludus and spars with his friends for fun. Which is fine with me. After the match with Ormek and the bloodbath with the T-Rex I’ll be happy to never have to watch my mate fight again.
He learned how to navigate and is now chief navigator for both ships. He’s so happy and proud that he’s found his place onboard doing something he loves. His scowling face is a thing of the past, especially when he looks at me. Our love just gets brighter every day.
I went to culinary school years ago and really enjoyed it, I just found singing even more fulfilling. Now that I live on a ship and performance opportunities only happen at our community events, I’ve gone back to cooking. It fulfills me in a lot of ways—I love providing for people I care about.
Maddie, who was a sous chef at Spago before her abduction, has taught me some very high-level techniques and I’ve learned about foods I never would have dreamed about back on Earth. My skill may not equal hers, but no one on board the Devil’s Playground ever complains about my cooking.
I peak through the curtains at the side of the stage and see all my friends there, patiently waiting for our set to begin. We’re like a family. A huge, loud, rambunctious family who bickers and loves and supports each other.
Speaking of family, months after we left Rhoid I mentioned his mother to him, wondering if he needed closure, although I couldn’t imagine how he could get it. He told me he has a wonderful family—me, as well as an extended family of everyone on the two gladiator ships. He doesn’t want to go backward, only forward.
Analac walks into the bar, looking as ill-at-ease as a man who spent his professional life hiding in the smallest office in history can look. He catches my eye and waves happily even though I thought I was hidden behind the curtains. I see him do the same to Wrage. He was thrilled when we contacted him from the Devil’s Playground and told him we were happily mated.
His response was short and to the point. “I knew you would be. Don’t worry about returning the completed kit, I don’t think anyone on Paragon actually knows how to read the results.”
What a liar—he certainly had me fooled. After our performance I should thank him again. If he hadn’t forced Wrage and I together, we would never have discovered we’re soulmates.
Callista helped me record music for our whole set, so I don’t have to play the marena at all, although I will for the last number.
I wave at Wrage, who’s on the other side of the stage, waiting to make our entrance at the same time. As our intro plays, we stride onto the stage from opposite directions to absolute pandemonium. I’d sworn Savannah to secrecy, and our wacky, flowery, ruffly over-the-top Lucy and Desi Copacabana outfits are killing it with the crowd.
As we sing, my mind sifts through pictures of our life together thus far. There was the horrendous first meeting, the agony of the branding ceremony, and the desolation of learning we would never be able to part.
Then the worst meet-the-parents episode that could be imagined which was capped only by his mother’s wedding present of an all-expense-paid trip to Rhoid. The lovely visit with Sooma Ryone, and the stay at Casa de Dungeon were among the highlight reel. And, of course, not one but two trips to exciting death-defying matches.
After our harrowing escape, though, it’s been wonderful.
He’s singing his favorite song to me now, “Deepest Part of My Heart.” His eyes are shining and every word he sings is for me.
I told him that would be our last song, but when he moves toward the front of the stage to take a bow, I shake my head and point him toward the merena . After he stands next to it, I sit down to play and sing my song to him.
It’s the song I made up in the bowels of the cave after he slew the T-Rex. I refined it a little and added a few rhymes, but it’s essentially the same as it was a year ago. I pour my heart out to him, expressing my love even as I laud his bravery and skill.
When I’m done, we grab each other’s hands, walk to the front of the stage, and take one quick bow.
We spend a few minutes being attention hogs as we walk from table to table, soaking up the genuine praises of our friends. They all want us to join them, but in unspoken agreement we tell them we have to get out of these ridiculous costumes.
We’re running, not walking to our room in this hotel.
“We’re doing it all tonight,” Wrage promises when we get to our floor—the home stretch.
“What?”
“ Wreathing . Scenting. All of it,” he says, one eyebrow cocked as he unlocks our door.
I’m bowled over by the scent of the night-blooming caralots he bought to fill the room.
“I love the flowers, Wrage,” I look over at him, my eyes brimming with happy tears. Sometimes life is so good I wonder if I deserve it. Then I remind myself I paid for this. “These flowers are gorgeous and smell so sweet, but there’s one I like better than all the rest. Show it to me.”
He unbuttons his funny flowered shirt and tosses it on the floor. The male who married us said it would take up to a year to fully heal, and it did. But his brand is gorgeous now. The caralot in full bloom symbolizes everything that’s right about our union.
“And you, Love,” he coaxes, his gaze warm and filled with love.
I pull off my top and show him the caralot bud on my right deltoid.
“You had no idea what you picked that night, Elyse. You picked a flower that symbolizes one of the only good things about my childhood. And you picked me, Love. It’s fate.”
Fate? Luck? I have no idea how I did it, but I have the best mate and best life I can imagine.
“I love you, my mate,” I tell him as I slide off my skirt. “Let’s join our souls and dance in the stars, then you can scent me, Love. Then claim me.”