Epilogue
Mance
Not everything will change at once. Even with the evidence in the sky, some Primes still refuse to be a part of the transformation effort.
My aunt, Prime Apea, prefers to pretend that the problem does not exist, even as her songs get more violent in their control, and Prime Tibits has holed himself up in his throne room, though the heat rocks in its walls keep blazing hotter.
On the other hand, the Swamp Realm has taken down its nets and opened itself up to travelers for the first time, and Prime Azele sent word that, with focus, she and Rift are now able to touch without gloves.
Everyone who reentered the Citadel has noticed changes in their magic.
At minimum it has stopped declining, and for some, through hard work and by degrees, it is even starting to heal.
My animals are no longer reenacting their own deaths without warning, although they have retained some scars that weren’t there before, and while splitting and merging my parts too quickly still causes me pain, it has stopped getting worse every time I use it.
The pain is now a predictable thing, one I can prepare for.
Still, the progress is slow. My fellow Primes and I haven’t yet been able to agree on a new Treaty.
As it currently stands, anyone who wants to rule a realm must still go through the Citadel first. But at least Prime Reltas has adopted the current agreement and has committed to stop sending in his citizens in droves.
In the meantime, Silver and I will go back regularly to coax light out of the dark, and Azele and Rift have stated that they will, too.
Reltas and Kiar didn’t say anything one way or another, but my hope is that they may join us someday, as well.
I haven’t heard from them much since the Citadel, but at least their realm in general seems calmer.
It could be a while before we truly know the effects of our actions, but we’re dedicated to the cause anyway.
I lean back against Silver’s chest and he wraps an arm around my waist as we look out at the velvet night.
The yellow and orange streaks in the magic hanging on the skyline remind me of the morning sun peeking over the horizon.
And below us, spring is blooming. The first starsprouts of the season appeared tonight, soft and small. But still glowing.
I tilt my head to look up at Silver, my smile serene, and he holds out a small bouquet of dawn-colored flowers, even more vibrant than the first because of the starsprouts that make the whole arrangement glow. He’s been taking seriously my request to pick me new ones every day.
As I accept them, he leans down to press his lips to mine.
My eyes flutter shut, and I lose myself in him. It’s almost like being in the magic again, with all our deepest secrets laid bare. Because the kiss is everything all at once. It’s vulnerability and acceptance, a question and an answer.
The pressure of his lips on mine says, “Yes, I want you.”
My fingers in his hair say, “Yes, I will fight for you, whenever you need it.”
The way he pulls me against him says, “No, you’re not alone.”
Every caress, every heartbeat, every inch we close between us says, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Yes, you are enough. Yes, you are mine. And yes, I am yours, too. Yes . . .
“I love you,” he breathes, and my eyes fly open.
We’re still breathing hard, still close enough that any small movement would send us colliding again.
So when I smile, it’s against his skin.
When I say, “I love you, too,” it’s a whisper into the corner of his mouth, the one that always raises when he smirks at me.
And I find that those three little words aren’t hard to say at all anymore. In fact, they may be the least complicated thing I’ve ever said.
He kisses me again, more passionately, and I feel like I am lit up from the inside, brighter than the starsprouts, brighter than the sunrise, brighter even than the magic in the sky.
I think about the girl I used to be, on my knees in the arena, wondering when I would finally be strong enough.
And I know now that I am strong enough for anything.
Even healing.
Even love.