Epilogue
rise in the darkness.
There’s never enough light in Ruin. That’s the first thing I learned about our new home. No sun means no way of anchoring my days, so the hours blur past mindlessly. I’ve been sleeping late and retiring early, telling myself I’m adjusting.
But deep down, I know what—and who—I’m avoiding.
Dante scratches at the door while I’m lacing my boots.
Sharing a roof has been an adjustment for everyone, but between him, Cygnus, and me, the fox is thriving the most in our new home.
The one thing Ruin has plenty of is rats, and over the last couple of months, he’s hunted enough to fill out his ribs.
Without work to fill my days, there’s time for infinite games of fetch, chin scratches, and trips to the lake, which has become our favorite place.
Word about our arrival spread quickly. Soleste knows that I’m hiding in Ruin, and she has her guards on the lookout for me in the common places.
The Elven people just know that Lyria Fletcher, the former consort of Prince Finneas Thorne, is responsible for creating the omnidraught. So I’m lying low.
When Cygnus and I returned, Melia welcomed us back with open arms, at least figuratively.
She put us up in this miserable shack of an apartment and connected Cygnus with the rebels.
He sees her much more than I do now at meetings held in secret hideouts like this one.
So far, I’ve declined to join them. I’ve declined to do much of anything.
Melia knows I’m broken. But she doesn’t know how to fix it.
Not when she did so much of the breaking.
I tiptoe into the kitchen and find it empty. Not surprising. Cygnus and I have been drifting around each other like two ghosts, avoiding run-ins by keeping opposite schedules. If I hear his key in the door, I shut myself in my room. He leaves before I wake up. Peace is kept.
Mother wants me to present myself to the Mage and begin my magical training. But doing anything she wants feels like acceptance of her betrayal.
I was right about one thing: Melia loves Cygnus.
He can do no wrong in her eyes. Maybe that’s part of why I give him such a wide berth.
Something about watching the two of them together, thick as thieves, makes me nauseous.
And I’m more than a little irritated when she starts dropping not-so-subtle hints that I should rekindle our friendship, or at least stop pretending to be asleep when he’s in the room.
It’s taken a long time to work up the nerve. If I learned anything this summer, it’s that postponing hard conversations makes everything hurt worse. So, after a meager breakfast, Dante and I wander together toward the lake.
I gaze out at Ruin as I walk through the streets, keeping a cloak drawn tight around me.
The shape of the city is still unfamiliar.
When Queen Soleste is in residence in her castle, a light is lit in the highest window to signal her presence.
I’ve seen it flickering a few times. I can only guess what she’s doing—maybe traveling around the Midlands.
My instinct is to get out of Ruin as fast as I can, but Mother says I need to train first. Verdinae is openly at war with Sontaag and Ursandor.
Just as the rebels hoped, the dual fronts are weakening the empire at an astonishing speed.
These kinds of reports are some of the only lengthy interactions Melia and I share. Everything else—Finn, the prophecy, my birth mother—is unmentionable.
I find Cygnus alone. He’s formed a habit of walking along the water’s edge each morning, so I know where to look. But it takes a while to spot him, perched on a rock as large as a house. He’s got his back to Ruin, his face turned toward the void.
I climb up and sit cross-legged beside him. I shiver as we look out over the city together.
There’s no good way to cut the silence, so I just blurt it out. “I’m sorry for avoiding you.”
“Is that what’s been happening?” Cygnus looks at me sidelong.
We share smiles. Neither reaches our eyes.
“I imagine you’re wondering why,” I continue.
“I have some guesses.”
“Such as?”
“Well…” He swallows. “I imagine you’re dealing with a lot of complex emotions.”
“Correct.” My throat tightens.
“And I imagine that anything in relation to me would be the least of those concerns.”
“Not the least of them, no.”
His eyes meet mine, and I’m reminded of how striking I found them on the day that we met.
Like cold fire. I wonder if he’s been thinking like I have, turning back through what we experienced together, trying to make sense of the moments between us that felt much more weighted than they should have.
Our dance at midsummer. When he breathed life back into me at the lake. When he came back for me.
“Cygnus…” I start. “I just need to know something.”
“Anything.”
My heart is thundering. “Why didn’t you tell me when you realized I was the heir?”
Cygnus is quiet for a very long moment. “I thought I was wrong. I hoped I might be. The prophecy calls for someone who’s walked in two worlds.
Someone with a Gods-given gift. I thought…
” He shakes his head. “This is going to sound so stupid. I know. But I thought it might be me. At least, I wanted it to be me.”
I’m not sure what I expected to hear, but this was not it. “But you don’t have a Talent.”
“Right.” He cringes. “I said it was stupid.”
“I don’t understand.”
Cygnus sighs, struggling to explain. “You have to realize how lost I was. When I found out about who I really am, I became so angry and hurt, and just lonely. I wanted all that pain to mean something. So, when Ragglestaff told me about this prophecy, and it sounded like it was describing someone half-Elven, I guess I just started to daydream. The heir was supposed to have a Gods-given Talent, and I thought maybe they’d give me one if I did something to earn it.
Like the first wielders. That’s why I went looking for Ruin and even tried the gates by myself.
I thought I could be a hero. I wanted to be. ”
There’s so much longing and regret in his face, I almost want to reach out for him. But I keep my arms tight around me.
“And then you showed up,” he continues. “That’s part of why I acted the way I did. First, I resented you because of Finn. And then the more I got to know you, and started to put two and two together about your Talent, the clearer it became that it wasn’t going to be me. It was you.”
He pauses. It’s quiet as I stare back at him, long and hard. Cygnus’s features are different in the darkness. The lines are harsher, the highlights more pronounced. He looks beautiful and terrible, and I hate how the tremor in his lips makes my chest ache.
I can’t look at him. So I force myself to turn back to the water and the dim reflections glittering on it like the corpses of stars.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” I start, my voice growing thick.
“Not in Ruin, and not with the living. I owe you a life debt several times over, and I won’t forget that.
If there’s ever a moment that you desperately need me, I will be there.
But before we went through the gates, you promised me the truth. About everything. And you lied.”
“I know,” he says softly, defeated.
I let my magic burn and burn, and I don’t fight it.
“Every person that I have ever loved has betrayed me,” I continue, my voice growing ragged. “And I can’t let you close to me knowing you would do the same.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“You did.” I take a heavy breath.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to stay away from me. We can go on sharing the apartment; we can keep up appearances. Melia doesn’t have to know.
I don’t want our shit to affect the rebellion.
If we have to work together, we can both be adults about it.
But for all other intents and purposes: I don’t know you.
I don’t want to know you. You can be my ally, and my partner, and my roommate, but you are not my friend, Cygnus. You will never be that again.”
The speech comes out exactly as I’ve rehearsed it.
Word for word. But it’s a painful victory as I watch each daggered word fall and see the spark behind his eyes diminish with it.
There is no room for confusion. I have made myself clear.
And when Cygnus rises, I can feel it in the air: He will honor what I’ve asked of him.
I won’t receive that longing look again.
I know it’s what I need. I just don’t know why it’s so painful.
“I understand.”
That’s all he says. And when Cygnus walks away, I don’t watch him go.
My eyes remain glued to the darkness, and I let the sound of his retreating footsteps burn away the last embers of my childish hopes. I feel as old as the lake or the ruined city or magic itself.
I am alone. I must always be alone.
I don’t shrink from that understanding. I know the purpose of my power now, and I’m not afraid. For the first time in my life, I’m not resentful, either. Nothing happens for nothing. I was born for a glorious purpose, and my inglorious burden is the price.
I know what I need to do.
The Mage resides in a lonely little house on the west side of the city.
Melia has given me directions. I find it perched high above the others, the last pale block of stones before the sloping cliffs give way to darkness.
It takes ages to ascend the switchbacks.
I’m sweating and aching and tired to my bones by the end, but my magic blazes more fiercely than ever.
Almost like it knows what comes next. The monster is coiled and trembling with anticipation, but it awaits my command.
I reach the door and knock.
When it finally creaks open, an ancient face is revealed. There’s something familiar in the lattice of fine lines that forms his smile. Mischief glints in those silver eyes.
“I’ve waited a very long time for you, Lyria,” he says.
I drop to my knees, and my Talent flares in my palms as I plead with him:
“Teach me.”