Epilogue
“What is your bodyguard doing?” Aunt Tibby lowered her magical tool and frowned toward the doorway of the stone chamber under the castle.
Sergeant Fel had one leg stuck out behind him as he faced the wall and leaned his weight against it.
“Calf stretches, I think.” Syla was holding a scroll open for her aunt while she tinkered. Earlier, she’d had the distressing duty of directing the removal of her sister’s body, so this was an appealingly simple task.
Tibby had already replaced the broken shielder with the new one, which thrummed happily, silver light bathing their faces.
Now, at Syla’s urging, she was trying to figure out if the other one could be repaired.
It was even more damaged than when she’d last seen it.
The stormer that Vorik had pretended to run through had probably bashed it a few more times before leaving.
He and the enemy that Fel had killed were gone when Syla, Tibby, and Fel had arrived in the chamber.
At least a protective barrier was once again around Castle Island, keeping dragons and other winged predators away.
The populace could now rebuild and prepare refugee camps for those who came over from unprotected Harvest Island.
Syla had already sent a ship with a message for Lord Ravoran, inviting him to direct people here until they could find a better solution.
She’d promised to do her best to return a working shielder as soon as possible, but she didn’t know if that would be possible.
And, if Wreylith’s enthusiasm for elioks was anything to go by, the island had to be swarming with dragons by now.
Hopefully, they were too busy hunting in the forests to harass people.
“Well, they’re distracting,” Tibby said.
Ignoring her, though he could surely hear the words, Fel switched legs and continued his stretches.
Syla had offered to tend his fresh wounds and suggested daily servings of bone broth to help rebuild his ligaments and tendons, but he’d only given her a baleful look as he’d rubbed his hip and not invited her to heal anything.
“He’s not making any noise.” Syla held the scroll closer when Tibby waved her finger. “Are you distracted by his movement? Or is it his taut physique?”
That comment made Fel and Tibby give her baleful looks.
“Princesses aren’t supposed to notice such things,” Tibby said.
“What about engineers?”
“He destroyed one of my tractors.”
“So… you’re not going to admire his physique?”
“Absolutely not.”
Fel sighed, glared over at them, checked the hallway to make sure no enemies were creeping up, then started stretching his hamstrings.
With the door closed, a moon-mark required to open it, Syla didn’t expect anyone to intrude. That was, after all, why she was down here, holding a scroll for her aunt, instead of up in the castle.
The chaos when they’d sailed into the harbor had been exhausting to look at before they’d even stepped on land.
From what she’d eventually gathered, after managing to find troops available to carry the shielder to shore and up to the castle, everyone had assumed Syla was as dead as the rest of her family.
It hadn’t occurred to her to send a message back to the military leaders or anyone else at any point after she’d been plucked out of her bedroom by Wreylith.
Admittedly, she’d been busy, but it might have been wise.
There had been, in her absence, a quick funeral, which had included her as well as her mother and siblings.
In the following days, numerous known and long-lost relatives had been putting themselves forward as candidates to become the heir to the kingdom.
A few merchants had suggested replacing the monarchy with an oligarchy, assigning themselves prominent positions.
The military had attempted to instate martial law and had forbidden people from leaving their homes.
Promptly disobeying, families fearing for their lives had fled into the hills.
For good or ill, frequent attacks from dragons, wyverns, cloud strikers, and even a gargoyle that had flown up from the south, had kept anyone from making serious headway into creating a new regime.
Syla did think that Colonel Mosworth had shown some relief when she’d appeared.
A few of her mother’s bureaucrats who’d been struggling to hold the castle together had as well.
Their expressions had suggested less that they loved and cared about Syla and more that they were eager for someone to foist the mess on.
Now that the barrier was back up, Syla would have to figure out how to take and hold power, at least until all the shielders were restored and the kingdom was safe from stormers and non-human enemies.
After that… let someone else more capable rule if they wanted.
It was not something she’d ever craved, and the memory of Sergeant Tunnok’s ambition made her weary.
“I don’t know if this is going to be possible.” Tibby had been looking back and forth from the innards of the original shielder to the scroll, and it had been some time since she’d touched anything with her tool. “Not unless the gods themselves return to help.”
“It’s possible to repair it.” Syla nodded at her. “I’m sure of it. And you’re the perfect person to make it happen. Feel free to recruit others to help you. I’ll pay them from the coffers.”
“Have you figured out where the coffers are yet?”
“Somewhere… safe. And cofferly.”
“We’re in trouble,” Tibby told Fel.
He turned from the wall and surprised Syla by shaking his head. “No. She’ll find a way.”
“To fix the shielder?” Tibby asked. “Or find the coffers and keep the kingdom from falling apart?”
“All of that, I think. She befriended a dragon.”
“Befriend is an even stronger word than like and probably does not apply to my tempestuous relationship with Wreylith,” Syla said, “who we may never see again.”
“You’ll find a way.” Fel pointed at the hallway. “But you’d best not disappear for too long. You need to be seen by the people and start solidifying relationships with your allies. More allies than your bodyguard and your aunt.”
Syla didn’t disagree, but unless one counted her colleagues that had survived the destruction of Moon Watch Temple, she didn’t have any other allies.
She wished she could claim Vorik and Wreylith, but one was an enemy who’d tried to use her and the other a mercurial wild dragon.
It would be safer if neither showed up in her life again.
“Any suggestions on how to do that?” Syla sighed, set the scroll aside, and joined Fel, trusting that her aunt could study the schematics without her.
“One.” Fel eyed her as she used her moon-mark to open the hidden door. “Many, many soldiers are in the castle infirmary as well as the temples around the capital that weren’t destroyed.”
Syla winced. That was something else she needed to do, recruit and appoint people to help the overwhelmed healers of the city. Right now, there weren’t enough people caring for the wounded.
“I’ll make time to visit as many of them as I can.” Syla wondered if Fel had comrades among the badly injured.
“Especially the officers.” He gave her a significant look as they walked into the tunnel and toward the intersection that would lead them up into the castle.
Maybe it was a testament to her weariness that she didn’t catch his meaning. “Everyone, I should think.”
“Especially the officers. Use your magic, and bind them to you. Whether they want it or not.”
They’d reached the intersection where a lantern burned in a sconce, and she stopped to stare at him.
“You of all people can’t possibly be recommending that.
I mean, if they wish my magical healing and understand what feelings it might inspire, I’m always willing to use all the power I have on the injured, but—”
“You’re going to need loyal officers. Given your predicament, you can’t be particular about how you earn their loyalty.”
“I…” Syla couldn’t believe he was recommending this. He who had groused numerous times on their mission about feeling bound to obey her.
“General Dolok—the colonel’s superior—has numerous broken bones and burns that have kept him in the infirmary since this started. I suggest visiting him first.”
“So he’ll resent me as he does my bidding?”
“He might resent you less than you’d think.” Fel headed up the passageway toward the stairs, only limping a little after his various stretches.
“Do you resent me less than I’d think?”
Less than he’d indicated when he’d gone off to protect Aunt Tibby instead of her?
“Less than I should,” he called back, then waved for her to follow.
She did.
Fel hadn’t left her side, other than for biological necessities, since they’d stepped off the whaling ship. By now, his retirement date had to be close, but he hadn’t mentioned it lately. Maybe he realized she needed him. The kingdom needed him.
“Which way to the general?” Syla asked when they reached the courtyard.
Little rubble had been removed in the days since they’d last walked these grounds.
The bodies, at least, had been cleared, a great funeral pyre burned in addition to the one dedicated for the royal family.
It bothered Syla that she hadn’t been present to say goodbye to all those she’d lost. When there was time, she vowed, she would hold a private ceremony.
She needed that closure. She needed much more than that, but, unfortunately, the world wouldn’t grant it.
“I’ll take you,” Fel said but stopped in the middle of the courtyard to look up.
Remembering the wyvern attack, Syla followed his gaze, her heart starting to pound before she detected a threat.
When she did spot something, it was so far overhead that she wasn’t sure what it was. A red… dot? She removed her spectacles and wiped them before looking again. Fel was eyeing her, as if she should already know what that was.
“A dragon?” she guessed.
Since the barrier was back in place, they could only fly high above the island.