Epilogue
One year later …
THE BORG
The Lord and Lady of the Borderlands slept, lost to dreams, curled in each other’s arms, their bodies gilded from the light of the crackling fire.
Their limbs still hummed, spent from lovemaking and their clandestine flight hours earlier, the soles of their feet streaked with dirt from their naked, exhilarated dash through the woods.
It was a run they made often, through a wood they knew well, outside the gates of the Borg, directly beneath the watchful eyes of the Crags.
It was a run that ended as it usually did with a tearing, breathless, euphoric flight through wind and night sky, the clouds’ caress on their skin second only to the caresses they bestowed on each other.
THE CRAGS
The alpha sat alone in his chair, staring into the crackling flames of his hearth, his features as hard and unrelenting as the rock walls surrounding him. His hands flexed on the arms of the chair, talons pushing, threatening to break free as longing filled him for firegold eyes.
THE CITY
The lord regent stood in his chamber, staring out his window at the bright lights of the City.
A red-haired girl that reminded him of another wept on the floor behind him.
Finished with her, he ignored her, facing north, looking beyond the City into the distant horizon, thinking of his dead son …
and what must be done to make his world right again.
VETURLAND
A king stood, late in the night, poring over his map, plotting by candlelight, his finger drawing an invisible line, dragging it down, south through the Crags, through the Borg, through the Borderlands—directly into the heart of Penterra.
THE BORDERLANDS
A witch ran into the woods, tears blinding her as she left her village behind. She ran and ran until her body gave out and she collapsed, falling into a shuddering heap upon the ground, where she lifted her face to the magic-soaked night.
And cast her spell.