Epilogue
Six Months Later
The sun was setting as Nocren’s ship approached the harbor in Talihn, the capital of the kingdom of Rhell.
He leaned against the ship’s railing, watching as the grand city grew larger.
A steady churn of movement along the docks resolved from mere specks on the horizon into identifiable shapes of people going about their business.
Clean streets led away from the harbor, disappearing amongst the city’s buildings.
Though the palace was a bit farther inland, the dockside homes and businesses were made in the same vein of white and gray stone with shingle roofs and trim in red or dark gold that seemed more stately than outright colorful.
The architecture gave the impression of age, not unlike the Valley of Sylveren’s Renstown or the University, but with an added sense of elegance.
Of legacy. In Nocren’s head, Talihn had an air of busyness that felt gilded in formality, where Renstown felt busy like work.
And whether the implied fussiness was real or Nocren’s own bias, who could say?
Neither had the comfort of Sylvan, nor the sense of wisdom surrounding the school.
But they were a damn sight better than the clamor that was Grae Port, and Nocren would much rather be chasing after Calya here, surrounded by a people who at least knew they were mildly elitist by default.
Better than the Graelynders, who knew they were brash to an aggravating degree and leaned into it.
Somehow, he’d let his heart be caught by one of them.
Let. Nocren huffed softly to himself, letting his eyes close as he lifted his face to catch the wind whirling around him.
There was no letting when it came to Calya.
Those brief, bitter moments when he’d tried to deny the hold she had on him…
at least they were in the past. He knew better now, and thankfully hadn’t fucked it all up in the process. Thank the Eternal Wind for that.
Nocren opened his eyes, gaze automatically going to the figures moving about the docks, alert for a particular brunette head or a familiar dark red tunic.
She wouldn’t be there, of course; she didn’t even know he was here already, two days earlier than planned, with her coveted documents in hand.
He pressed a hand against the small bag lashed to his shoulder holster, reassuring himself that it—and its contents—were still there: an official copy of the contract granting access along Valley waterways in an exclusive partnership between the Sentinels and Calya’s new company.
Her as yet unnamed company. He wondered if she’d made any progress on that front.
The wind swirled around his head, a phantom caress against his face, before reverting back to the dull roar and haphazard buffeting that characterized the element. No impressions pressed against his mind; his magic remained quiet beneath his skin.
It had been doing that lately. Growing quieter.
Not weakening, but being more… selective, asserting a sense of autonomy and opinion that had only made itself known in small doses until now.
Before Calya had come into his life. Barged in, more like.
Staked her claim and dared him—dared anyone—to resist. To question her decision.
As if he would ever do such a thing. Which was a disquieting thought for a man who’d intentionally been alone for so long, beholden to no one.
Solitude wasn’t something he’d had to grow accustomed to, either; he’d chosen it.
Had felt most comfortable and at ease without any of the anchors that came with relationships.
The camaraderie Nocren had through his Sentinel work had been enough. He’d wanted for nothing.
Perhaps it was fitting, then—was almost like fate—that he’d stumbled into a woman who had been the same. In her, Nocren found he could want more in his life and would rearrange anything to make space for it to work.
Yet, when he thought about it, he’d changed so little in the preceding months.
Certainly, his life had changed. Though he kept a room in the Sentinels’ barracks, he’d moved into a suite of rooms Calya had found in Renstown and more often than not commuted daily via windrunner rather than staying at the barracks—even when Calya was away on business, as she’d been often in the first few months since their adventures at Desmond’s Landing.
Sometimes, he accompanied her, such as when they’d done the final assessment for the Sentinels’ patrol route and established an official headquarters in the Landing.
But he despised the hectic compaction that was Grae Port, so aside from when his testimony was required in the trial against the Coalition and Avenor, Nocren happily stayed home.
He didn’t think he slept any less soundly when they were apart. Didn’t lie awake at night. No anxiety. But on the evenings she came in late, having adjusted her schedule to return a few hours earlier than planned so she could slide into their bed? Always, he felt a quiet relief.
Perhaps Nocren had changed more than he realized. Perhaps he possessed certain depths he’d never known, or that only Calya could bring about. After all, he’d sworn—boasted, even—that he’d love her enough for the both of them.
Hardly a feat when she made it so easy. For if Calya had changed him, Nocren didn’t feel those shifts.
Not so overtly. They were more the kind of thing he noticed in subtle reflections.
That the transition had been mostly seamless felt…
perfect. An affirmation that Calya was right for him.
And if he’d made any such impact on her, well…
He put the thought on hold as he disembarked and made the short trip to the set of rooms Ezzyn Sor’vahl had offered up on his private estate. The wind swirled around Nocren’s hand as he reached for the polished brass door handle. It imparted just a hint of excitement before dissipating.
It did that rather a lot now, giving him no more than a glimpse when it came to Calya, regardless of whether the feeling was good or bad.
She had remained steadfast in her disinterest for his magic.
That brought its own sense of relief. Although Calya had said it with her usual bluntness.
Being told, “I refuse to let myself become reliant on fickle tools,” had a way of making one feel indignant despite it being a favorable outcome.
His magic didn’t share any such contradictory feelings.
When it came to Calya, the wind’s loyalty was abundantly clear.
A whisper of a thrill was all it gave. Otherwise, it was simply a light breeze.
Not that he had ever asked it for more, never tried to analyze Calya or their future.
He had a sneaking suspicion that if he attempted to, the wind wouldn’t answer anyway.
Quietly, he let himself into the foyer. Sor’vahl might live more modestly than other royalty, but he was still a prince, and the “set of rooms” was more like an entire wing of a mansion.
It was smaller than the royal palace but still left Nocren vaguely unsettled by all the space.
Even more so because Sor’vahl and Anadae were away, deploying their updated wards across as much of the kingdom as they could manage.
Despite the late hour, few of the lamps were turned up on the lower level, early summer providing enough light for Nocren to easily make his way up the stairs.
It was quiet, suggesting the staff had already retired for the evening, but it wasn’t so late that Calya would be in bed.
Maybe, if she’d known he was coming tonight.
He’d been greeted in such a manner when they’d traveled separately.
Many times. He lamented his lack of foresight to send a message ahead that he’d arrive a day earlier than expected.
At the time, it had seemed like his arrival would make for a welcome surprise.
The bedroom was empty, the lamps on either side of the bed pleasantly dim.
The magicked lightstones present in so many Rhellian buildings didn’t flicker, their illumination accompanied by a soft hum audible only if one stood very close.
It was a sound easily overridden by the gentle splash drifting from the adjoining washroom’s open door.
Nocren’s pulse sped up as he walked toward the door, but he forced himself to keep a deliberate pace, neither sneaking nor hurried. Which took some discipline after being away from her for the better part of a week.
Gods. A week. He’d been well and thoroughly ruined by Calya Helm.
He wouldn’t want it any other way.
Tapping softly on the washroom door, Nocren pushed it fully open and stuck his head in. Warm air brushed his face.
Calya lounged in the tub, perusing a sheaf of papers. Though a pair of lamps provided ample light, a smattering of candles arranged on the window ledge added their own glow to the room.
“Hello ranger,” she said, smiling and setting the papers down on a low stool next to the tub. “You’re early.”
She reached for the towel on the stool, but Nocren motioned for her to stay. He commandeered the stool for himself, shrugging out of his cloak and shoulder harness.
“Wanted to surprise you,” he said.
Calya leaned against the side of the tub, her arms resting on the edge. “Consider me pleasantly surprised.”
The heated water gave her skin a rosy tinge. A hint of petrichor filled his nose as he bent for a kiss, but she turned her face away, a wickedness to her smile. “Toll. Did you bring me anything with your speedy arrival?”
“Only want me so long as you get something, eh?” Nocren fetched the documents from his bag.
“I’ve never pretended to be coy.”
“Or patient.” He handed her the paperwork. “Malek’ko sends his regards.”
Calya made a delighted sound as she took hold of the exclusivity contract.
Nocren settled back on the stool, kicking off his boots as he eyed the papers she had abandoned. “What were you working on?”