EPILOGUE #2
“They deserve to know what heroes you all are.” Kerralyn’s eyes found mine. “You, Addie, Trew, and everyone else who fought. I’m making sure that’s recorded accurately.”
My throat went tight again. “Thank you. Don’t forget to include yourself.”
She quivered. “I’m not sure I should name myself in this document.”
“So you were lying when you told me you attacked the woman who’d killed two queens and the former Syllavar king to stop their attempt to rule the world?” Nia said, her eyebrows lifted.
“Well, I did play a small role,” Kerralyn said.
Nia nodded. “Then take the credit you’re due.”
“If you think I must.”
Nia rolled her eyes our way.
“You must,” I said.
We moved on, working our way through the celebration.
Maddox stood near the far wall with Mae and Leo. There had been a remarkable change in him over the past months. He still carried himself like a warrior, but his angry edge had softened into something steadier.
Leo bounced beside him, demonstrating a small flame he could conjure in his palm. Mae watched with pride rather than fear, no longer terrified of her son’s abilities now that he lived in a world that celebrated them instead of condemning him to death.
Maddox’s companion perched on his shoulder, watching Leo’s demonstration with interest.
When Maddox spotted us approaching, his expression shifted into something uncomfortable. He stepped forward.
“Your Majesty.” He addressed Trew first, then turned to me. “My queen. I wanted to—”
“Don’t,” I said. “If you’re about to apologize again for the poisoning, we’ve had this conversation already. Multiple times. You’ve proven yourself since.”
“I nearly killed you.”
“But you didn’t. And you’ve spent months making different choices.” I gestured to where Leo was showing Mae his fire. “You’re teaching the next generation to survive without learning to hate first. That matters more than past mistakes.”
His jaw worked, emotions flickering across his face too quickly to name. “Jaxon would’ve been proud of who you’ve become and what you’ve built here.”
“He’d be proud of who you’ve become too,” I said. “You’re not the same person who blamed me. You’re someone who chose to grow instead of staying angry.”
Maddox smiled, and I found peace there.
“Instructor Maddox now,” Trew said, patting the other man’s shoulder. “The new warriors say you’re brutal but effective.”
“Brutal keeps them alive.” Maddox’s voice held pride. “I’m teaching them what I learned during the Rite the hard way, that strength isn’t about individual victory. It’s about the people who stand with you.”
Mae appeared at his side, slipping her hand into his. The gesture was casual and spoke of something that had grown between them over the past months.
“Leo won’t stop talking about your training sessions,” she told him. “He wants to be just like you when he grows up.”
Maddox’s ears went red, but he squeezed her hand back. “He’ll be better. Already is, if I’m being honest.”
Kira stood near the throne dais, managing to look both elegant and dangerous in a pale-yellow gown. Her death adder companion coiled around her healed upper arm like living jewelry, its blood-red scales gleaming in the faelight as we approached.
“My queen.” She inclined her head in respect that felt genuine if not warm.
“Kira.” I matched her formal tone. “I hear you’ve been busy.”
“Head of Intelligence now.” A pleased smile curved her lips. “I’m quite good at rooting out conspiracies.”
Trew had promoted her six weeks ago, recognizing that her cunning and ruthlessness served better in intelligence than as an advisor. She’d taken to the role with enthusiasm, dismantling the remaining pockets of resistance with an efficiency I admired.
“Any threats I should know about?” I asked.
“Nothing immediate. A few nobles in both kingdoms don’t like the changes, but they’re smart enough to complain quietly rather than plot.
” She paused, her expression shifting. “There are rumors of similar treaties being discussed in Noctvale and Emberkeep. Word of what you’ve accomplished here is spreading. ”
What we’d created had rippled outward. Other kingdoms were watching and wondering if they too could choose to set aside their fear of magical abilities and join in the Rite.
“You’ve done well,” Trew told Kira. “The intelligence network you’re building will help protect what we’ve gained.”
She acknowledged the praise with a slight nod, then turned to me. Her green eyes held something I’d never seen there before. Respect. Recognition of an equal.
“You’re good for him,” she said quietly, leaning close. “Better than I would’ve been.”
The admission couldn’t have been easy. Kira didn’t surrender ground gracefully.
“You would’ve been formidable,” I told her honestly. “But I don’t think either of you would’ve been happy.”
“No.” She glanced at Trew, then back to me. “He needs someone who challenges him. Who refuses to let him carry everything alone. Someone who’ll stab him when he’s being an ass.”
“I only stabbed him once.”
“You should do it again sometime. It might keep him humble.” Her smile held genuine amusement now.
“Hey,” he said, and we all laughed.
We talked for a few minutes, discussing intelligence reports and border security, professional conversation between colleagues who were no longer rivals. When she excused herself, I was almost sad to see her go.
Growth came in strange forms sometimes.
Grayson joined us next, his weathered face split in a smile. The eye twitch that had haunted him for months had finally disappeared, a symptom of the slow poisoning Coralee had inflicted on him over the past years.
Three months of treatment under Meren’s care had cured him.
“He’s reorganized the entire council structure,” Trew told me in a low voice as Grayson left to speak with two other advisors I recognized from recent meetings. “There are multiple layers of oversight now. No single person can make decisions that affect the whole kingdom without consultation.”
Grayson raised his glass our way and lifted his voice. “To competent advisors and to kings who actually listen to them.”
“I always listened,” Trew called out with a low laugh.
“You heard us. You acted on what we said.” Grayson’s smile took any sting from the words. “Though I’ll admit, you’ve improved since marrying someone who refuses to let you be stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
I patted his arm. “You absolutely are.”
The other advisors joined us—a woman who’d been rescued from the Day of Mercy two years ago and now sat on the council as a representative for magic users, and a man from one of the southern villages who’d lost his entire family to Skathe attacks.
Diverse perspectives, Trew had said when restructuring the group.
They discussed new trade routes and diplomatic initiatives while I half-listened, my attention pulled toward the balcony doors. The celebration pressed too close. There were too many bodies and voices.
I touched Trew’s wrist. “I need air.”
He gave me a warm smile and a nod.
I slipped through the crowd toward the balcony, dipping my head toward familiar faces but not stopping to talk. The night air hit me like a blessing when I stepped outside.
The balcony overlooked the gardens that had been recently planted. Moonlight painted everything silver, making the space look unreal.
A statue carved from marble stood in the center of the garden, Commander Thorne, captured mid-movement as he demonstrated a fighting stance to a girl who looked up at him with determination etched into every line of her form.
The magically-enhanced sculptor had gotten his expression perfect, stern but not unkind, demanding excellence while believing absolutely in the student’s ability to achieve it.
Flowers bloomed around the base, thousands of them, each one representing a life lost to the Day of Mercy over the decades. White camellias for innocence stolen. Red roses for blood spilled. Purple irises for hope that had died with them.
I’d planted the one myself, whispering the name of the first woman I’d watched die when I was ten. Trew had planted one as well, honoring a child he’d been unable to save. Then Addie, our friends, and citizens who’d lost loved ones and wanted them remembered properly.
The garden had grown from there.
Footsteps echoed behind me. Of course Trew had followed. He’d probably excused himself from the conversation the moment I left the ballroom.
His arms came around my waist from behind, pulling me back against his chest. I leaned into him, letting his warmth sooth the pain in my heart.
“He would’ve loved the changes,” I whispered, staring at Thorne’s marble face. “The peace and the future we’re building.”
“He loved you.” Trew’s voice rumbled against my back. “That’s why he trained you. Not to make you a weapon, but to give you the tools to build exactly this.”
Tears burned my eyes. The grief for Thorne still hit me sometimes, leaving me raw and aching. But it no longer consumed me the way it had in the first weeks after his death. Time brought healing if nothing else.
Pherin and Gavelle landed on the balcony railing on either side of us.
We stood there for a while, staring out into the night.
The past three months had been a whirlwind of change and celebration, of building something new from what had been destroyed. But moments like this reminded me of the cost and the people who hadn’t survived to see what they’d fought for.
Eventually, warmth and music from the ballroom pulled us back inside.
Addie spotted us immediately. She wove through the crowd with Fenmark, both of them glowing with happiness. My sister wore our mother’s delicate Caldrith crown and the pendant our grandfather had given our mother.
She belonged at Caldrith. I’d always known it.
Fenmark had recovered from the torture. His body had healed faster than his mind, but I could see the change in him now. He stood straighter, with his shoulders back and his confidence restored.