Epilogue
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
DAPHNE
I stand outside the entrance to Cypress Hollow. The trellised arch is decorated in braided wheat, sunflowers, and marigolds for Lughnasadh. For the first time, I’ll have to duck under the archway to enter the village. Because, for the first time, I’m entering it on two legs.
A squeeze to my hand reminds me to have courage. I meet Monty’s gaze and give him an anxious smile, returning the squeeze. His eyes say what his lips don’t—that we don’t have to stay in our seelie forms if we don’t want to. We can shift into our animal forms and fit in with all the other unseelie creatures, just like we did when we came last year, before we were chased out by a homicidal marmot. I didn’t bother coming back for the festival, for I wanted to give Clyde and his mate ample time to work out their problems before I showed my face again. This year, I’m determined to show the face I’ve never shown anyone here, save for Elder Rhisha the day I left with the other chosen girls to debut in society.
That was over a decade ago, and I’ve since come to integrate both sides of myself. I no longer need my hometown as my refuge, for I’m committed to following my dreams to be an illustrator amongst seelie society no matter what comes my way. That commitment has already paid off. I was officially promoted to illustrator at the beginning of this year. Edwina’s brand-new sexy book covers, hidden behind their much more discreet dust jackets, were such a hit, I was immediately contracted to do the next four after the first set was released. I still make mistakes, say the wrong things, or second-guess myself, but I’m no longer tempted to run away and hide.
I can be seen and accepted for who I am. Monty taught me that.
I am the artist and the hunter. The woman and the fae.
So desperately, I want to experience that integration here too, in this village that is my second home.
“Ready, love?” Monty asks.
I exhale a steadying breath and give a sharp nod. “I’m ready.”
“Me too,” Araminta says from my other side, even though no one asked her. In fact, no one invited her on this trip at all. “It’s going to be so nice not being hounded by my fans at every turn.”
I cast a wry look at her. Despite her words, she doesn’t look at all like someone trying not to stand out. She’s dressed in her most extravagant mourning gown yet, with layers upon layers of black silk lined with the most intricate lace I’ve ever seen. The bodice boasts a high neck, leg-of-mutton sleeves, and black jewels for buttons. She wears her tinted spectacles and an oversized bonnet that matches her dress.
I’m not sure if she’s quite as famous as she thinks she is, but she has had a very busy year. The Modesty Committee didn’t negatively impact her modeling career for long. If anything, the Committee’s bill to separate adult publications with explicit content from general-audience media only opened the door for more opportunities. Periodicals now had to either exclude adult content or create a separate alternate volume. And with such high demand for the lewd and scandalous, the latter became the most popular solution. Pinup magazines flourished, and now there is more ad space than ever with such a vast array of adult publications. Ari was unemployed for all of a month before she became inundated with work.
If she’s looking for a place where no one has seen her adverts or centerfolds, it’s here. And even though I didn’t technically invite her on this trip, I am glad to have her. I just won’t tell her that. She’d be insufferable if she knew how much I cherish her.
“Let’s go, then,” Monty says. “And let us hope we don’t get stabbed by marmots today.”
Ari whips her head toward us. “Is that something I should be wary of?”
Monty and I share a secret laugh as we pass under the archway.
As soon as we reach the market square, we find the festival in full swing. Cypress Hollow is never busier than it is during the seasonal holidays when the residents invite friends from other parts of the unseelie forest—or even from seelie cities—to attend. An eclectic blend of musicians form a band, playing a jubilant tune at the edge of a makeshift dance floor. Half of the musicians are fae creatures and residents of Cypress Hollow while the others are humanoid fae. There are several more bipedal figures scattered throughout; some are fae in seelie form, others are unseelie fae with naturally humanoid bodies, and a small few are humans, or maybe human-fae hybrids like Monty. Marigold garlands are draped amongst the strings of lights overhead, enhancing the warm glow of the midday sun that peeks through the dense canopy of trees.
We weave through the fray, circling the dance floor without joining in—I’m going to need a lot of alcohol before I can participate in that—and take in the sights around us. The village looks so different from five feet and some odd inches above ground. It’s a view I’ve never had the pleasure of admiring Cypress Hollow from, and it’s somehow even more charming than it looks from a pine marten’s perspective. The houses are even more quaint than they normally are, especially as heavily decorated as they are with wreaths of sunflowers and apples, ornaments shaped from wheat hanging from windows, roofs, and awnings.
On the other side of the dance floor, countless stalls beckon us with everything from food to wares to activities like fortune telling and games.
“Oooh, matchmaking!” Araminta starts off for a stall featuring stands of braided ribbons in an assortment of different color combinations. At the center of the stall is a miniature archway set with a wooden door that has a hole at the center.
Memories of past booze-addled decision-making flood my mind, and I snag Ari’s sleeve before she can take more than three steps. “No matchmaking,” I say through my teeth. “Trust me.”
She pouts but obeys with only a longing glance. Ari has certainly had more adventures in romance and heartache this past year than she needed. She doesn’t need a yearlong engagement to a stranger.
I link one arm through Monty’s—my other hand still firmly grasped to Ari’s sleeve lest she get any funny ideas—and drag my companions to the selection of stalls I’m already drooling over. Scents of candied meat and hearty bread fill the air, along with sweet wines and bitter ale.
Monty gives a good-natured roll of his eyes. “Yes, yes, dear, let’s get your bacon.”
We sample food from every stall I have my eye on, eating until we’re full to bursting. My mind grows delightfully fuzzy from the bottle of pomegranate cordial I imbibed. Araminta is even more inebriated than I am, guzzling apple wine like it’s water.
“Your hometown is the best!” she says with a wide grin as she cradles her bottle against her chest. Her bonnet hangs down her back now, her tinted spectacles perched on her head and tangled in her lilac hair.
“I’m fucking stuffed,” Monty says, rubbing his belly as if it’s bulging and not perfectly chiseled like always. If anything, he’s only developed more defined musculature, thanks to his new profession. As predicted, the Modesty Committee heavily targeted the Ask Gladys column, which had grown especially salacious during Monty’s tenure. Even though the Committee’s bill opened new opportunities for separate publications, Ask Gladys was such a longtime staple of the Gazette that Monty’s boss feared losing their readership if they moved it to a strictly adult periodical. Monty made the decision easy for the Gazette , turning in his resignation with no hard feelings. They did, however, publish his manuscript, thanks to its relatively tame content. That earned him a decent advance to stay afloat while he figured out what to do next.
It also gave him time to rediscover his love for boxing. Which just so happened to coincide with the introduction of a new variation on the sport. A mixed martial arts fighting style made its way across the ocean from Isola, a country Faerwyvae has had little influence from so far, and it immediately won the hearts of boxing fans. Monty was one of the early adopters of the sport, and he’s begun to make a name for himself.
He was right when he said I’d only ever seen him holding back while fighting. Monty is a beast in the ring, and even though Isolan boxing isn’t much bloodier than the standard kind, it’s a thousand times more thrilling to watch.
Or maybe I just like watching Monty, whatever he does. Whether he’s penning inappropriate articles, managing chaotic book tours, or beating his opponents to a pulp.
He arches a brow at me, and I realize I’m staring adoringly at him. “Did you accidentally drink a love potion instead of cordial, dear?” He is, of course, the only one of our trio who isn’t buzzed on booze. He may not need to be quite as careful about outing his father’s secret, for he’s no longer bound to a bargain, but he maintains his sobriety nonetheless. He’s still quite fond of his herbal cigarillos, which he takes a drag from now.
“I don’t need a potion for that, dummy,” I mutter.
“You say the sweetest things.”
We leave the food stalls and enter the rows reserved for games and activities. I’ve yet to seek out any of my old friends, although I do plan on introducing myself to them in this body. First, I want time alone with my two companions. To experience this first with them. My first time visiting Cypress Hollow in seelie form. My first time bringing friends with me to our Lughnasadh festival.
“Wait…is that…” Monty quickens his pace.
When I finally see what has stolen his attention, I utter an excited squeal. “It’s the shooting game!”
We stop outside the stall, studying the mossy green wall covered in bubbles, the tiny bud that will grow into a vine, the wooden air rifles. The game operator is still calling for contestants to join before the next round begins. Monty and I exchange maniacal grins before we race toward the open seats.
“Oh, God,” Ari says with a groan. “Not this again.”
Tinny music plays as the game starts. Monty immediately hits his first three targets while I take a few messy shots before I familiarize myself with the weight of the gun and the deceptively inaccurate sight. Once I get comfortable, I hit my first target, popping one of the larger bubbles. My little green bud grows to a sprout, a good foot shorter than Monty’s vine. That’s all right. I still have time to catch up.
“Hey, Monty,” I say, keeping my concentration sharp as I pop my next three targets, all smaller ones that are worth more vine growth than the larger ones.
“Yes, dearest?”
“Remember the last time we played this game?”
“How could I forget?” He pops two more bubbles, the absolute smallest on the board. His vine climbs higher.
“You mentioned something then.” Pop. Pop. Pop . “About how you’d wondered about my lips. Particularly how they’d feel on your cock.”
“I remember,” he says with a grin, not missing a single target.
“You know how it feels now, don’t you?”
“Yes, love. I have every pattern of that clever tongue memorized like the back of my cock. You truly don’t need fifteen steps to fantastic fellatio.” He takes his eyes off his target and gives me a smug wink, all the while popping his next target without even looking at it.
I grit my teeth. My methods aren’t working to fluster him at all. So I amp up my efforts, rising from my stool and propping my foot on it. Then I lift the hem of my dress—glad I wore one of my comfortable yet plain day dresses for the festival—and bare my stockinged leg. My garters are extra ruffly, and Monty can’t help but glance at them.
“Those are new.”
“Sure are. Ari took me shopping for undergarments.”
“I did,” she says from behind us, clapping her hands as I pop my next five targets. “It was about time you got a corset.”
That steals Monty’s attention for longer. His eyes go wide. “You got a corset?”
“Yes, but I’m never going to wear it. Outside of the bedroom, that is.” I pop three more targets while Monty clears his throat.
“Interesting choice. I like it.” He pops his next several bubbles, his composure restored.
“There is one new article I decided to wear though. It’s a type of underwear that doesn’t cover one’s butt cheeks. The back goes straight between them.”
He whips his face to me so fast, he nearly drops his rifle. “You’re wearing them? Right now?”
“I am, and I will never wear them again. Extremely uncomfortable. Do not recommend. If you want to tear them off me with your teeth, I’m more than happy to oblige.”
“You sexy, wicked beast,” he says. He licks his lips as if tempted to take me up on my offer then and there, but he begrudgingly returns his attention to his target. He hits five more, but my vine has outgrown his by several inches. Just another foot and it will reach the top.
“Hey Daph,” he says.
“Hmm?” I refuse to look at him. Refuse to take my eyes off my target. Just a few more?—
“Will you marry me?”
My next shot misses, and I blink a few times to process what Monty just said. I hazard the briefest glance, prepared to look away just as quickly, but that’s when he gets down on one knee beside my stool. My stomach flips, and I know this is just a ruse, but…
But that’s not what the ring in his hand says.
My breath catches as he stares up at me with a crooked smile, his dimples on full display.
“Daphne Heartcleaver,” he says, his voice carrying over the tinny music and shots fired, all the way to my heart. “My feral love with the prettiest sharp teeth, the cutest pine marten face, and the meanest growl if awoken before six in the morning. You’ve taught me so much about myself that I never wanted to face. You saw a side of me I tried to hide from everyone. You pulled me out of darkness and loved me for the mangled, broken, hastily-stitched-back-together being I am. I spent my whole life looking for evidence that love was real. That it could last without hurting. That it could stay without changing or leaving.
“But it does hurt, in the best kind of way. And when it changes, it shifts into something new and different. I can’t stop it from leaving, and I don’t need to. I can only give it my heart and cherish it while it’s mine. Will you be mine, Daffy Dear, forever and always? Or until the day you get so sick of me you decide to bite out my throat?” He says the last part with a wink.
I realize now I can either win or set down my rifle and accept the ring.
Tears glaze my eyes, and I know I couldn’t hit my next targets even if I wanted to. Besides, the most important target is before me now, resting on one knee.
I set down my rifle and return to sitting on my stool. Sniffling, I nod and hold out my hand. “Yes,” I manage to croak out. “Yes, I’ll marry you, asshole.”
He slides the ring onto my finger, a rose gold chrysanthemum on a yellow gold band, then rises halfway to press his lips to mine.
“Hooray!” comes Araminta’s voice, followed by the tickle of something fluttering against my cheek. Monty and I break away to discover the spray of glittery black confetti, tossed from Ari’s palms.
I swat it away, but it still lands everywhere, in my hair, down the front of my dress. “You told Ari about this?”
“Of course I didn’t,” Monty says. “You think she can keep a secret?”
“Then why does she have confetti?” When Monty only shrugs in answer, I face Araminta.
“Why wouldn’t I have confetti?” is her only reply.
The tinny music turns to a celebratory tune as the first contestant grows their vine to the roof of the stall. “We both lost,” I say without regret.
Monty arches a brow. “Did we?”
I return to face him. My love. My friend. And now my fiancé. “No, not at all.”
The next morning, we make our way to the train station, our weekend of frivolity behind us. None of us are well rested considering Monty and I celebrated our engagement with a marathon of orgasms. Predictably, my thong underpants lasted no more than a minute once we were alone. Meanwhile, Araminta stayed out drinking until dawn with some new friends she made—fast-talking squirrels and chipmunks. Very much her people.
She’s paying for it now, taking up an entire bench to herself in our coach and moaning about every bump in the road. I’m snuggled up against Monty, his arm around my shoulders. Despite our lack of sleep, I feel refreshed. Invigorated.
And a touch nervous too.
Because Monty isn’t the only one who planned a surprise this weekend. I haven’t a clue how mine will go.
Our coach arrives at the station, and we buy our return tickets before heading for the platform. As a hub between the line that leads south to Jasper and another that joins routes to the northern courts, it’s a busy station, despite its modest size. It consists of a single brick building with an ivy-coated awning to protect waiting passengers from the elements. On the nearest side of the building is the platform that leads home to Jasper. On the far side is the one that connects the northern line.
With my arm linked through Monty’s, I guide him to the other side.
He belatedly catches on and points a thumb over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we be there?”
“Why did we get here so early?” Ari squints down at her ticket. “Our train doesn’t depart for another two hours.”
“Actually,” I say, anticipation buzzing through me, “we’re right on time.” Though I can’t see the arriving train yet, the blare of its horn sounds in the distance.
Monty frowns down at me. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath and swivel to face him. “I sort of have a surprise. I’ve been working on it for a while now.”
“Surprise?” Ari says. “What surprise?”
I ignore her. Like Monty, I chose not to let Araminta in on what’s about to happen next.
“It’s rather last-minute,” I say, “but it ended up being perfect. I just got the telegram last week, and we arranged it?—”
“Arranged what?” Monty’s face flashes between confusion and concern.
I worry my bottom lip. I have no idea if this was the right thing to keep from him, but I didn’t want to get his hopes up or give him a reason to be anxious all weekend. But there’s no putting it off any longer. I’ll take his reaction, whatever it may be. “Monty, I found your mother.”
MONTY
No other words could have surprised me more. All sense flees my mind, and when I open my mouth, I can’t utter a single word. Daphne takes my hands in hers, grounding me. Anchoring me with her presence. Finally, I manage to speak my reply. “How?”
“It was a group effort,” she says, her tone a mixture of anxious and excited. I catch sight of the approaching train rounding the corner in the distance, and my pulse kicks up. She rushes to explain. “Briony Blackwood used her succubus magic to invade your father’s dreams and coax information from him. We learned your mother’s name. It’s étaín.”
étaín . The name echoes through my mind, sending a sharp pang through my heart. It’s a bittersweet agony, hearing my mother’s name. The woman I never got to know, save for the time when I thought she was merely my fox friend.
“We also learned your father has been paying her a stipend for her upkeep,” Daphne says. “I passed this on to Angela, and she spent weeks going through your father’s ledgers looking for records of long-time payments.”
Angie helped too? I was so terrified to tell her the truth about my lineage, about Father’s infidelity that led to my conception, about the burden he placed on me. The reason we’d always had at least a small wedge between us, keeping me from being the best brother I could be. She was understandably shocked and hurt by the secrets that had been kept from her. Furthermore by my lack of trust in how she could handle the truth. She knew I couldn’t outright tell her, but she desperately wished I’d helped her figure it out on her own. Yet it didn’t take her long to forgive me. The same goes for Thorne and Briony. My best friend hated that I’d kept such a secret from him—that I’d pushed him away in the past, acted like a complete ass at times to purposefully keep his friendship at a distance. But he understood better than anyone. He knew firsthand how family secrets could poison one’s heart.
But they’ve all forgiven me, and we’ve all grown closer.
I never could have imagined they’d come together to help find my mother.
Daphne speaks again. “Thanks to Angela’s research, we found several leads, but none were to a person named étaín. I figured she was getting paid by an intermediary, but none of the leads I contacted replied to my queries. That’s when I reached out to a local detective who takes on private cases, even non-criminal ones. He’s been working on finding her for months now. Last week, he sent a telegram saying he’d found her in a small village in the Fire Court. Not only that, but she was eager to meet you. She too had been bound by a bargain with your father, but she’d recently received a letter stating he’d revoked it and would instead rely on trust in her discretion.”
“She…she wants to meet me.” My eyes flick to the approaching train that slows as it pulls into the station. “She’s on that train?”
“She is. Detective Whitwood is serving as her personal escort here.” Her expression turns more apprehensive, bordering on apologetic. “I know your feelings for her might be complicated, and maybe it was wrong of me?—”
“No, love,” I say, pulling her to my chest. My heart slams against my ribs, and with her ear pressed so closely to it, I know she can hear every anxious, terrified, joyful beat. She’s right about my complicated feelings about my mother, but I’ve never once balked at the thought of seeing her again. Meeting her— truly meeting her—for the first time. I press a kiss to the top of Daphne’s head. “You did good. You did really, really good.”
She pulls away slightly, keeping her arms around my waist. “If things feel too tense, you can have a nice chat with her, and she can catch the next train back north. But if things go well, maybe we could invite her for a longer visit home with us?”
“Maybe,” I say with a hopeful smile.
“The two of you should really stop keeping secrets from me,” Ari says, reminding me of her presence. “Unlucky for you, I’m fresh out of confetti. How will we celebrate now?”
The train stops at the platform, sending my pulse racketing. “Oh, fuck,” I mutter. “I’m about to meet my mother. To see my…my fox friend again.”
“Deep breaths,” Daphne says, framing my cheeks with her palms and giving them a soft slap. It’s become a routine of ours when we need encouragement. “You can do this. I’m right here with you.”
I nod, gathering my resolve. We face the train, hands linked. After a few anxious moments, passengers begin to disembark. My eyes search the stairs, the ground, and it occurs to me the tiny four-legged creature I remember might not be my mother’s current form. There’s no way my strait-laced father had an affair with a fennec fox, and she probably only ever appeared to me as one because it allowed her to sneak onto my family’s property. Which means…
I cast a worried look at Daph. “I just realized I don’t know what she looks like.”
She squeezes my palm. “She’ll be with Detective Whitwood, and I’ve met him. I at least know what he looks like.”
That sets my nerves at ease, and I begin searching the passengers’ faces, wondering if I’ll recognize?—
The world around me slows as I spot a pair of eyes as familiar to me as my own reflection. Pale hair in messy waves, pinned under a straw hat dressed in silk flowers. She’s outfitted in a short-sleeved day dress in white linen, exactly the kind of lightweight ensemble one might wear in the Fire Court.
She reaches the bottom step, and a tall human male helps her down to the platform. I lose her when she joins the fray of the crowd, but it’s her. I know it is.
Daphne and I start forward. The roar of my heartbeat is the only sound I hear, drowning out the bustle of the chattering passengers.
Then the crowd clears…
And she’s there.
My mother.
étaín.
Her eyes lock on mine, and we freeze. She…she looks so much like me. She’s nearly as tall as I am with the same gray eyes, the same dimples that frame her smile. Like most fae, she maintains a youthful countenance, but there’s vast wisdom in her eyes, paired with crow’s feet at their corners that speak of her age. She must be hundreds of years older than even Daphne.
étaín’s chest heaves with a sob. There’s no question on her face. She recognizes me.
I swallow the lump in my throat and give Daphne’s hand a final squeeze before releasing it. Then I close the remaining distance between me and my mother. “Hello, Mother.”
Another sob tears through her, and she pulls me into her arms. I’m so stunned, so wholly unprepared for this, that I’m hardly aware of the detective who stands at her side. My heart cracks, and I remember how to breathe, how to move, how to return the affection I got so used to withholding from everyone around me. I fold my arms around my mother, and it feels as if something inside me locks into place at last.
This is where it all began.
The fox friend who left me, making me wonder what I’d done to lose her.
The mother who that fox turned out to be, leaving me so suddenly without telling me who she was.
The guilt that plagued me when I reflected on how I’d treated her, how I’d carried her, climbed trees with her, dressed her in flower crowns and bow ties.
The fear I developed that loved ones could leave at any time without more than a curt goodbye.
The cold behavior I’d engaged in, doing exactly what was done to me to keep myself from ever feeling that shock of loss again.
The blame I placed on myself so that I always had a concrete reason for being abandoned.
This is where it all began, but none of it matters anymore. I don’t blame her, and I don’t blame myself.
This is where it ends.
My cheeks are wet but my heart is light as Mother and I separate, just enough to look at each other again. There’s so much I want to know about her. What has she been doing all this time? What is her life like? In what ways are we similar? In what ways are we different?
But first, there’s a piece of my heart she needs to meet.
“Mother,” I say, stepping to the side and extending a hand to where Daphne hovers a few feet away, wringing her hands. Daph places her palm in mine and lets me pull her close. “Allow me to introduce my fiancée.”
This is where it ends, and this is where it begins again.
Forgiven.
Renewed.
Free.