Epilogue
LACHLAN
The moon was high and the stars were bright on the night you came back to the Otherworld.
As if the gods were offering a celestial backdrop as celebratory as my mood.
Well, celebratory the instant you pushed open the door of the Macán family tomb, anyway. Before that, I’d been a wreck of shattered nerves and nauseous panic.
What if it hadn’t worked? What if all my traveling back and forth to Farlock’s Edge had all been for naught?
Queen Aowen had sent me there almost immediately after her coronation with enough coin to found my own small nation.
Or to pay the excessive fees charged by the sorcerers who toil in our most ancient magics.
I felt a bit guilty about the expense, but when Wen assured me that the money had come from the LaBeaumont coffers—part of the wealth redistribution program she and Sabre had undertaken to right that family’s many, many wrongs—well, after hearing that, I didn’t feel so bad.
Besides, there is no amount I wouldn’t have paid, nothing I would not have given, to bring you back to me.
Fortunately, we still had the ring. And the novillum seed. Thanks to you.
A masterful sorcerer, an older woman whose knobby fingers moved faster and with more precision than I’d ever seen, was able to extract a small wisp of the novillum’s power—enough to offer you its benefits without delegitimizing Aowen’s crown—and forge it back into the ring.
She also gave it a new engraving. I’m sure it didn’t mean much to you when you read it, but I hoped someday you might appreciate the nod to our origins.
Even with the sorcerer’s skill, it took months of careful spellwork to complete. Months I spent so anxious and desperate that even wearing myself out every day assisting the reconstruction in Campan’s Vale couldn’t help me sleep at night. Garred was worried about me. As were my new people.
Have I forgotten to mention my new title? Aowen has dubbed me Duke of House Smythe, the new sovereign House of the Vale. Co-duke, actually. Garred is much more enamored of our rank than I am.
I argued with Wen and Sabre about it for weeks. Then Garred, the sneaky bastard, arranged a surprise gathering in town where nearly every citizen came to give thanks for our training and service during the occupation. And assured me they wanted no other men to lead them.
As you well know—or I suppose, you used to know—I am not a man of many words. Especially in front of large crowds. I found myself similarly speechless that day.
But I was so, so grateful. To my new queen. To the resilient people of Campan’s Vale.
And to you, for allowing us this peace in the first place.
I had only a few weeks to acclimate myself to my new position—even now, when someone calls me Your Grace, half the time I turn back expecting to find Desmond—and before I knew it, the ring was ready and the spring equinox in the human realm was approaching.
The night before, Aowen and I had dinner together, just the two of us. Well, three if you count the pixie on the wall. We drank, we laughed, we reminisced about the previous Season. After many shared memories and too many bottles of wine, I placed the ring box in her hand as she grabbed mine.
“Get our quarry back, Your Grace,” she said. “Please.” Vesper confirmed with a small hiccup, then refilled her tiny glass.
Words failed me again, but I nodded as Aowen closed her eyes and clasped the small box to her chest, asking Danu to guide the ring to the human realm. To you.
I lived years between the day you left and that night, even though only six months had passed in the Otherworld. It was as if my heart had kept pace with yours the entire time.
And then the tomb opened. And you stepped through the door.
And my heart stopped beating altogether.
You were just as confused, just as beautiful, as you were that night you first arrived. Though this time, a small flare of recognition widened your eyes as they fell upon me.
“Hello.” The sound of your voice nearly brought me to my knees. “I, um … Well, I seem to have lost my way.” You laughed nervously. Another wallop. “Am I in the Otherworld?”
Shock forced a breath from my lungs. Had you retained your memories after all? “Yes. How do you know that?”
“I’ve just read the most incredible letter. My grandmother has been here before, and … ”
You recounted the entire tale, and I hope you’ll forgive that I was only half-listening; I was too busy studying you. You were slightly thinner than the ghost who’d haunted me these past months, and I desperately hoped it was not due to heartbreak or illness.
But there was that cheeky sparkle in your eyes. That effervescent curiosity. That need to consume every bit of the world around you.
I thought I understood grief, the shape and taste of it. But in that moment, I knew it was far more bittersweet than I’d anticipated.
Because as ecstatic as I was to have you back, there still existed a version of you that would be forever lost to me.
My little queen.
At some point, you must have realized you’d been rambling for ten minutes and you stopped abruptly, nervous and hesitant once again.
I knew the answer before the question left my mouth, but couldn’t help asking it.
“Do you know me?”
“No.” Your curls danced in the moonglow.
“But I do know your name. Lachlan Cathal, right?” A smile parted your rosebud lips, and my hands began trembling.
I had not prepared myself very well for the emotional and physical turmoil of your return.
“This may sound ridiculous, but … are you my husband?”
Not yet, I thought to myself even as I shook my head. “A ruse from another lifetime, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” You looked even more confused. “Well, then I … do you know me?”
“I used to. Very well.”
You scrutinized my face, as if you could excavate your memories if you only stared hard enough. As if you’d never wanted anything more.
I stepped toward you and took your hand, your skin soft against my palm. Like coming home after a brutal, centuries-long odyssey.
“I made a promise to you once. That if you ran away, I would hunt you down and return you.” I swallowed as I stared down at you. My Charlotte. My love. “Will you return to me?”
You ran your thumb along the ring, then smiled at me again. “Yes. Yes, I think I’d like that.”
My nerves dissolved and relief pulsed down to my bones. “Good.”
“To where are we returning?”
“A castle not too far from here. There are a few more people waiting to greet you.” I folded your hand into the crook of my elbow and turned us toward the luxbridge where I’d left Tula.
“Along the way, let me tell you a faerie story.”
Read on for a note from the author plus a preview of Hunted by the Fae King’s Shadow by Shaylin Gandhi, the next book in the Immortal Hunters collection!