Epilogue
Amara
Istand on the balcony of the white marble castle, my hands resting against the railing.
Vines curl along every wall and column, flowers bursting through cracks, and as I look out across Pariseth, I see that all this beautiful growth stems from a single vine in the garden below.
The serpentine vine I planted so long ago has grown wild and spread.
In the garden, Daed works beneath the warm afternoon sun, his shirt discarded, his skin bronzed and gleaming with sweat, hands buried in the soil as he pulls up roots for dinner.
Once, those hands wielded blades and shadows.
Now they tend seedlings. His hair falls over his face, and for a moment I simply watch him, this Fae prince who once commanded armies and now hums softly while he gardens.
Footsteps sound behind me.
“You’ve made a farmer out of a Fae prince,” Estra says, amusement lacing her tone as she joins me on the balcony.
I smile, turning to take her in. My daughter, my miracle. Her skin glows fair in the sun, her dark curls tied high in a loose ponytail. She wears leathers and boots, a linen shirt beneath a fitted vest, and around her wrist, as always, Arax’s red ribbon.
“It keeps him busy,” I say, warmth threading through my voice. “With no war, no demons, no crown to weigh him down, he barely knows what to do with himself.”
Estra leans her elbows on the railing beside me, gazing down at her father. “It still surprises me, how easily he gave up the crown to Aunt Zyphoro.”
“It shouldn’t,” I reply, my eyes following Daed as he straightens, wiping sweat from his brow.
“He never wanted to rule, and once he realized the Sundered Kingdoms didn’t need a king, he was glad to let it go.
Zyphoro has the strength and vision to lead our world forward.
After centuries of isolation, she’s determined to rebuild what was lost.”
A small grin tugs at my lips. “Though with Lord Reon as her counsel, we may see more chaos than diplomacy. He promises the debauchery will be kept to a minimum.”
Estra laughs, and I close my eyes for a heartbeat, just to listen.
The laughter. The creak of the vines as they grow. The sound of Daed’s hands in the soil.
The world has changed. So have we, and for the first time in my life, change does not frighten me.
“Speaking of which. Your father and I have been summoned to a great banquet in Baev’kalath.”
Estra smirks, her silver eyes glinting. “And you’re dreading it?”
“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation, exhaling a weary sigh. “I’ve not had the best history with Baev’kalath or its banquets. But for your aunt and for Reon, I’ll do my best to endure. It will be strange, though, not seeing Orios and Solena across the table.”
Estra’s expression softens. “Where do you think they are now?”
“Somewhere quiet,” I answer, leaning against the balcony rail. “Somewhere far away, where their only care in the world is each other. They fought hard for that peace, defied every rule that tried to keep them apart. I imagine we might never see them again.”
She goes silent, so I reach across the railing, my hand sliding over hers.
“Just promise me,” I say softly, “that you will not vanish forever.”
Estra turns to me, her face open, earnest. “I spent most of my life without you, Mother. I would never put any of us through that pain again. But I can’t stay here forever.
I need to see the world. I’ve known only the barren lands of An’kel and Gygarth’s darkness. I want to know what else there is.”
I nod, though her words twist something deep inside me. “I understand,” I say, even if the ache of it nearly undoes me. “When you return, you know where to find your father and me. Wherever you are, whenever you call, we’ll answer.”
Movement catches my eye below. Through the tall grass, a figure walks toward the castle, the gold shimmer of his mask catching the afternoon light. Ronin. Dressed simply, no armor, no cloak, only worn travel clothes and a sword strapped to his back.
Daed sees him too. He straightens from where he’s working in the garden, tosses the shovel aside a little too forcefully, and claps his hands together to rid them of dirt. His scowl is immediate, fangs flashing as the sunlight strikes his face.
Estra groans. “I’d hoped he’d be used to it by now.”
A laugh slips from me before I can stop it. “Used to it? To his daughter riding off with the Golden Son? My love, you ask too much of him.”
“His name is Ronin,” she says pointedly. “And he wants the same thing I do.”
I lift my chin, the faintest edge to my smile. “It’s what Ronin wants that worries your father most.”
Estra makes a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Mother. It isn’t like that.”
I smirk, folding my arms. “Say what you will, but I’d keep your farewells short before your father beats him to death with that shovel.”
She sighs. “You’re probably right.”
Estra rolls her shoulders, and the collar of her linen shirt shifts, just enough to reveal the bright blue moonstone resting at her collarbone.
It glimmers like captured sky against the dark runes etched into her skin.
They blaze, not the soft violet of old, but a wild, living green, and a heartbeat later, her wings burst free.
They unfurl with a sharp sweep, feathers glossy as spilled ink and tipped with silver light.
Smaller than most, yes, and she still hides her self-consciousness beneath bravado, but they are beautiful all the same.
She steps onto the balcony rail, her boots finding balance with effortless grace, sunlight gilding her curls. She glances back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming. “Are you coming?”
I smile. “After you.”
Her grin flashes and then she falls backward into the open air, wings snapping wide to catch the wind. The rush lifts her into a sweeping arc that makes my heart ache with pride.
With a flick of my wrist, vines unfurl from the balcony’s edge, weaving themselves into a ramp of living green. Leaves shimmer in the sunlight as I lift my skirts, stepping barefoot along its length until I reach the railing.
I summon my wings. They bloom from my back in a whisper of vines and petals, the scent of spring filling the air. Then, like Estra, I leap.
The wind rushes against my skin as I glide downward, landing lightly in the garden below. I barely touch the ground before Daed’s arm curls around my waist, pulling me close, his lips pressing against the side of my neck.
“Wife,” he murmurs, voice dark and velvet.
“Husband,” I breathe, and I don’t mind the sweat on his skin or the dirt on his hands. They are proof of life, of peace.
Estra groans, rolling her eyes. “Honestly. Do you ever stop?”
I do not get the chance to answer. Ronin lingers at the garden’s edge, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at us.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Daed snaps, folding his arms.
Ronin exhales. “I’m not a child, Rook. I’ve led armies.”
Daed’s brows lift. “The same army that set you on fire? I wouldn’t boast about that.”
I tap his chest, failing to hide my grin. “Be kind,” I chide softly, but the laughter in my voice betrays me.
Ronin turns to me instead, wisely seeking refuge. “She’ll be safe, Amara. You have my word.”
Estra scoffs before I can answer. “I’ll be safe because of me, not because of you, Ronin.”
He mutters something under his breath, and I swear it’s in perfect imitation of Daed’s usual curses.
Estra turns to us, her face softening, caught between longing and resolve. I see everything she wants to say written across her expression, the pride, the fear, the love, and I lift my hand to her cheek before she can speak.
“I hope you find what you’re searching for, daughter,” I whisper.
Her eyes sheen, and the tension melts from her shoulders. She steps forward and presses a kiss to my cheek, warm and trembling and full of promise.
Her father, however, is silent. His gaze lingers somewhere far beyond the horizon, but I feel the faint twitch of his leg beside me, the only betrayal of his calm.
“Father,” Estra says softly at first, then again, firmer this time, commanding, as if he were the child.
“Father.”
Reluctantly, Daed drags his eyes from the distance to meet hers.
“I’ll see you soon,” she says. “I promise.”
For a heartbeat, he holds on to that proud Fae stoicism, the hardness that’s protected him for centuries, but it crumbles the moment she starts to turn away. He reaches out, catching her by the elbow.
Estra stops mid-step, a knowing smile curving her mouth before she steps closer. She rises onto her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek.
“I love you, Father,” she whispers against his skin.
And just like that, the fearsome Fae prince, the one who has faced gods and demons without flinching, is at last defeated.
“I love you too,” he says, voice thick. “Be careful.”
But we both know the truth. She does not need protection. It is the world that should be weary of her.
“I’ll open a portal back to Baev’kalath,” I say, stepping forward.
Estra and Ronin exchange wary looks.
“Unless,” I add, lips twitching, “you’d rather she scoop you up and fly you through the tidal wall?”
Ronin grimaces. “A portal would be appreciated.”
I smile faintly and extend my arm. From beneath my sleeve, a vine unfurls, curling around my wrist until thorns bloom and pierce my skin. Blood wells and drips to the earth, each drop shimmering before a rift tears open before us.
Through it, Baev’kalath glimmers, the black fortress beneath its eternal storm, waves crashing against its cliffs. Yet for the first time in centuries, the clouds seem thinner, the darkness not so absolute. There is hope there now, where once there was none.
“Goodbye,” Estra says, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it.
Daed and I only nod, holding each other close as we watch her step through just as lightning strikes the sky.
Ronin follows, glancing over his shoulder to farewell us a last time before the portal seals behind them, my blood healing into a scatter of red petals that drift down to rest upon the grass.
For a moment, we stand there, quiet. The air hums with the ache of parting, but also with something deeper. Our daughter is free, the world remade, and if we can survive the God of Death, nothing will ever part us again.
“What do we do now?” I ask, voice soft against the hush of the wind.
Daed sweeps my hair over my shoulder, his fingers tracing the curve of my neck before gliding lazily down my skin. His touch sends a ripple of heat through me, slow and familiar.
“I need to rinse this sweat off,” he says, gesturing to the slick sheen running down the hard lines of his body, over the carved planes of muscle, tracing the inked runes across his chest and abdomen, vanishing beneath the low hang of his trousers.
His mouth curves. “What do you say to a walk in the forest? A soak in the river?”
I see the hunger in his eyes, sharp and dark and fixed entirely on me. I know it well, and gods, I will never tire of it. It doesn’t fade with time. If anything, it deepens, thickens, knots tighter every time he touches me.
Just when I think he’s learned every way to unravel me, tasted every sound I make when I come apart in his hands, he finds a new one and because he is relentless, because he never stops wanting, I make sure, now and then, to give him something wicked and unexpected to want even more.
“Sounds wonderful,” I say, earning a deep rumble from his chest.
But now and then is not today.
“What do you think, Ashen?” I finish.
From within the tumble of my hair, a faint curl of smoke unfurls before coalescing into the form of a bright-eyed kitten perched on my shoulder.
Ashen purrs, a sound like a sighing ember, then leaps.
Midair, his shape unravels, expanding, reforming, until a full-grown lion of shadow and smoke lands before us.
His paws strike the earth with a reverberating thud, his mane rippling like stormclouds.
Daed exhales a long-suffering breath. “I wasn’t hoping for an audience,” he mutters.
I grin, running a hand along Ashen’s massive jaw, the air humming where our skin meets. He rumbles a deep purr, pressing his head into my palm before lowering himself to the ground in silent invitation.
“Now, now,” I tease, climbing onto Ashen's back and clutching his smoky mane, “we have eternity for that. Besides, the more he is with us, the sooner he will remember. Right?”
Daed’s lips quirk, though his eyes soften, and he nods. “It will take time.” His eyes narrow on me. “You wear your newfound immortality well, wife.”
His words kindle something warm in my chest. The thought that I’ll never have to watch him fade, that time, for once, is on our side. That Estra’s journeying will last only a heartbeat compared to the endless life waiting for us here. That we have all the tomorrows the world can give.
“Then let’s enjoy it together, husband,” I say, reaching for him.
Our fingers brush, and golden threads, our bond, our promise, spiral between us, pulsing with light. The glow lingers, wrapping around our joined hands before fading into the air.
Ashen yawns, smoke curling from his jaws, then takes a heavy step toward the forest.
Daed walks beside us, his hand trailing along my leg, eyes gleaming with that familiar stormlight as we cross the fields of green together. Into peace, into forever.