Chapter Forty-Seven
Leo gave her no timeline.
His letter arrived the day after Caspen died, just two sentences written in spiky red ink:
Join me when you are ready.
I love you.
The funeral was extravagant. Adelaide planned the entire thing, and Tem simply showed up.
When it came time to release Caspen’s ashes into the lake, her hands shook so badly that Apollo stood behind her, placing his hands over hers so she could tilt the urn.
She’d been staying in Caspen’s old chambers ever since—the ones he’d occupied before he became king, where they had slept together for the very first time.
His sheets still smelled like him—like smoke. Tem wondered when that would fade.
Despite the comfort of his bed, she was having trouble sleeping.
She spent hours staring at the mirror where he’d first pulled her into his mind, showing her all the things he found beautiful about her.
It was the first time Tem had seen herself from his point of view, the first time she’d truly understood how much he loved her.
Now, in his absence, she realized what a gift he’d given her that day.
So much of Tem’s confidence came from Caspen.
He’d been the first to tell her she was capable—to insist that she was perfect.
It took hearing it from him before she believed it herself, and now she didn’t need to hear it from anyone.
Now, believing in herself was enough. Caspen had given that to her, and nobody could ever take it away.
She knew Leo was waiting for her—her future was waiting for her.
But for now, Tem was content to linger in the past. When she left these caves, she would not be able to return; the basilisks had decided to leave the mountain.
There were losses on both sides—both quivers had suffered.
Rowe’s death had ushered in a new era: one with Apollo at the helm.
It was Apollo, ultimately, who decided the basilisks would retreat to the sea.
Tem did not try to get them to stay. The humans and the basilisks had tried to coexist for centuries, and they had failed.
There could be no peace between predator and prey.
The circle of life would not allow it. Adelaide had made it clear that the remaining basilisks would wait until Tem left before leaving themselves.
“It is a matter of respect,” she had said.
“They wish to give you time to grieve your king.”
But no amount of time would ever be enough.
Tem never thought she would face a future without Caspen—never thought there would come a day when his steady hands were not there to catch her.
But that day had come. How could she grieve someone like him?
Someone who had taught her everything she knew?
Caspen had tolerated her insufferable impatience, her endless questioning, her unwillingness to do things in the order they were supposed to be done.
He was the one thing she could never be: patient.
And patience, Tem knew, was required in order to be in a relationship with her.
She was impossible. What could be worse for a basilisk?
Caspen had never quite been able to corral her, and he hadn’t wanted to anyway.
You are not meant to be tamed. He’d meant it as a compliment.
Caspen had known, from the very beginning, that Tem was capable of greatness.
It had taken her quite a long time to believe it herself.
But here she was, finally, fully formed into the queen he had made her, and he was no longer there to be her king.
Eventually, it hurt more to stay than to go.
“Is there anyone you wish to speak to before you leave?” Adelaide asked her on the night she told her she wanted to leave.
“Yes,” Tem said before she could stop herself. “Apollo.”
Adelaide nodded.
“And Damon.”
“Of course. Anyone else?”
Tem shook her head. She had met plenty of basilisks during her time under the mountain. But Caspen’s brothers were the only ones she cared to say goodbye to.
“But how exactly do I…” Tem wasn’t sure what to call it. “…leave? I mean, what happens now?”
“We will release you from your royal duties. Technically you are already incapable of performing them, since you are no longer part basilisk, but we still need to formally dismiss you.”
“Oh.” Tem nodded. “Right.”
She was about to be dismissed. It sounded so sudden.
“We must do it properly, Temperance,” Adelaide said. “It is not meant as an insult. We are rather fond of our traditions, as you know.”
Tem nodded again. She knew that basilisks loved their rituals and their ceremonies and their special ways of doing things. She’d never stood in the way of their traditions, and she certainly wasn’t about to start now.
Adelaide accompanied her to the courtyard, where the Drakon brothers were standing next to the fountain. Damon embraced her when she reached them. Apollo couldn’t seem to move.
Adelaide turned to Apollo. “You have first rights. Do you wish to exercise them?”
His eyes slid to Tem’s. They looked so much like his brother’s: endless golden pools. “No,” he said. “I do not.”
Adelaide placed her hand on his shoulder. “You must say it properly to make it official,” she prompted softly. “Do you waive your first rights to Temperance Verus?”
Apollo turned to Tem. His eyes gazed into Tem’s before traveling slowly down her body, lingering on the scar between her breasts. Adelaide had offered to heal it, but Tem would rather keep the reminder of Caspen.
Apollo spoke clearly, enunciating each word. “I waive my first rights to Temperance Verus.”
Tem looked up at him—at his sculpted jaw, so dearly similar to Caspen’s, at the eyes that observed her with absolute certainty. Know when to step aside.
The Drakon brothers had that in common. Both knew when to admit defeat.
It was an admirable quality and not one most people shared.
Stepping aside meant ceding your power—it meant admitting that you were not the right choice.
Some might consider it defeat. But when done of your own free will, stepping aside was victory in itself.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Apollo nodded. “Of course.”
This would have been the perfect retribution for Apollo—the natural conclusion to his long history with Caspen.
To take Tem as his own was the logical step for anyone in his position.
A part of her couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to do so.
He had left her alone in the days following Caspen’s death, almost as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.
Tem couldn’t quite bear to look at him either.
But eventually, they had found each other again.
She didn’t blame him for what happened; Caspen’s choice was his own.
Apollo had been the one to pull her out of the darkness, to remind her that she had a full life ahead of her.
One that was finite. There was value in mortality—a beauty to the fact that Tem was no longer limitless.
There was nothing she could say to properly express how she felt for Apollo.
So she said it in the only language the basilisks understood.
Tem stepped forward, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him.
Apollo bent down to meet her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest. They kissed slowly, and Tem breathed him in, remembering just how much he smelled like Caspen.
She savored every second, knowing she would never kiss a Drakon brother again.
When they pulled apart, Adelaide turned to Damon. “You have second rights.”
Damon didn’t hesitate for even a moment. “I waive my second rights to Temperance Verus.”
Tem had always known Damon wouldn’t stand in her way.
His love was blossoming for Gabriel, and they were both going to the sea.
It saddened Tem to know she wouldn’t see her best friend every day, but if anyone could handle basilisk society, it was Gabriel.
Tem touched Damon’s mind with hers, sending him a memory of the first night Gabriel came under the mountain.
She showed him how their limbs intertwined, how their hands cradled each other’s faces.
She showed him how it felt to watch Gabriel be with someone who adored him from the moment he met him and how stunningly beautiful they looked together.
She left him with one last directive, one she knew he would obey: Keep him safe.
Damon bowed his head. I will.
An astonishing lightness passed through Tem. Her last worry was resolved. There was nothing left to do.
“Very well,” Adelaide said. She turned to Tem. “You are free to go, Temperance.”
Adelaide walked her to the cave before embracing her. Goodbye, Temperance.
Somehow Tem knew it was the last time she would touch her mind, and the thought made her want to cry.
It was a sad thing to leave Adelaide. Their friendship had been an unexpected thing—something that had grown into a bond she truly treasured.
Eventually, her presence faded, and Tem stood alone in the cave for the last time.
She looked at the mat in front of the fireplace. So many befores and afters had occurred on that mat. Before she’d been kissed and after, before she’d shared herself with a man, and after, before Caspen and after.
She remembered how she’d felt when she first entered this cave.
Nervous. But also ready. Tem had been aching to experience all there was to be experienced, and Caspen had been the one to show her the way.
He’d shown her so much. Not just sex—that was merely the beginning.
He’d shown her what it meant to stand in her power, to demand more from herself and others, to live a full and joyful life.
He’d shown her how to harness her power—how to transition, how to crest. He’d shown her everything.
How long have you loved me?
Far longer than you have loved me.