Epilogue Neirin
Sunlight filtered through the glass windows at the back of our home that overlooked Evera’s garden. It was spring, nearly a year after the confrontation with Queen Astraea. It was strange to think back on that time when everything had been so uncertain.
Warmth radiated from the mug I held, and I brought it to my lips, breathing in the hot steam and trying to detect what plants Evera had used to prepare it.
It was a game we played, one I never won.
A smile tugged at my lips as I took a sip.
I could happily spend the rest of my life in this calm, in this contentedness.
A knock sounded on our front door, and I set my mug down and stood. A plush rug greeted my toes. It smelled slightly of soot for its proximity to the hearth, which had been lit the majority of the cold season—a sign our home was beginning to be broken into. A silly thing, but it warmed my heart.
Opening the door, I found a child standing outside—a girl.
Younger than most of the children who came to us.
A ball of light spun within her chest, flickering, as she fought to control her newfound magic.
Through a breath, I called on my own abilities and pulled at the girl’s magic, repressing it just enough to ease her panic, to give her a sense of control over her own body.
The effects of my ability were temporary, but that was all the Alidian needed.
“It’s alright,” I said to the girl, “you’re safe here.”
Shuddering, she nodded, eyes wide. “Thank you, sir.”
I gestured, inviting her in. “We’ll get you help. It’ll all be much less heavy soon.”
Nodding again, she stepped over the threshold, and I closed the door behind her before making my way down the hall that led to Evera’s study.
A floorboard creaked beneath my weight, and again I smiled, remembering Evera’s frustration when she’d found the stubborn board.
A reminder, I’d told her, of the character of this place.
Our home that we’d fixed up as a family, with our own hands and those of some hired shop workers from Elrune when it came to skills that we had no aptitude for.
It would have been easier to pay a man in the capital to have the work all arranged and done for us, but Evera had wanted to repair our home together, so we had.
“Just through here,” I told the girl as we neared the end of the hall. The door was made of wood with a glass window that let light through distorting the view of the other side into patches of color. “What is your name?”
“Myra,” she replied.
I pushed open the door and was greeted by the warmth of the spring sun shining through the ceiling-to-floor windows.
Shelves with countless bottles of tinctures and remedies lined what portions of the walls did not have windows, and dried plants hung from portions of the ceiling.
Evera looked up from the round central table, and as it had when I first saw her and so many times since, my breath caught at her beauty—her cinnamon curls, longer now, and the dappling of freckles across her nose.
The light in her eyes, the fire in her heart, the courage in her soul, the love she held for any who needed it—for those who had it from no one else. A healer’s trait. A mother’s trait.
“Evera, love, this is Myra,” I said. “Myra, this is my wife, Evera. She will help you.”
Joining us, Evera crouched down to the girl’s level, something that was becoming more difficult recently as her belly had begun to swell.
Having a child of my own was both frightening, yet exciting as well.
Something I’d never considered even wanting before I fell in love with Evera, before I grew so fond of Calix and the relationship we had developed.
Evera smiled and spoke softly to the child. She’d always been better with words, with comforting, than I was. The girl relaxed, and Evera called over her shoulder, “Calix, would you start the water boiling for some fresh tea?”
Calix appeared from the side pantry carrying a basket of plants, dried and tied in bundles. He grinned, his smile effortless now and beaming. “Another one? That’s three this fortnight alone. I believe word is getting out.” He set the basket on the table and went to rouse the fire back to life.
Standing, Evera encouraged the girl to join her at the table and pulled out a stool for her to sit on, chatting with her as she did. Already, the girl seemed more at ease, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, accompanied by a giggle at whatever Evera had said to her.
I leaned back against the wall, taking in the moment.
This life we’d built was nothing I could have ever fathomed, ever dreamed of, or hoped for.
It was beyond what I deserved. It was everything to me, and I would cherish each day, each afternoon spent out in the garden, and each early morning walk to find local plant life.
Each evening spent as a family sitting around the table sharing food and stories of our days, of the things Calix had learned from Aureus or Evera, or of mischief he’d gotten into with his friends.
Some days, Soros would visit us for the evening meal as well.
The boy was mild-mannered and kind, if not a bit shy, but his apprenticeship in the capital was slowly opening him up more.
Again, the girl laughed. The sound filled me with warmth. Calix, having set the water to heat, leaned against the table and picked up their conversation. He was no longer forced into a life of servitude for survival; he had grown healthy and bold. He followed Evera’s training, taking to it adeptly.
Until the baby was born, I would not be visiting the capital again.
The trip I’d taken a fortnight ago would be my last for some time.
Harlan was doing fine without me. My guidance at this point was really more for the sake of conversation and a different perspective than anything else.
He could rule the kingdom on his own. He had others, too, to take counsel from now that he had the wits and knowledge to listen to each person and consider their words, then make decisions for himself.
Once, I’d woken each morning in my guards’ quarters, void of light or life, greeting each day with a cot, a chest, and a small table with a washing basin.
Nothing more. Now, I had a home, a family, and friends I’d made in town.
We were making a life where I could watch Evera shine, watch her use her skills, and fulfilling a purpose.
My mind flitted back to the evening we first met in the courtyard on the night of the festival. It was true what Evera had said about us all having monsters. At the time, I’d been too focused on the physical image of my fox to see the deeper meaning of her words, but now they rang clear.
Our monsters, our demons, were no more than the tribulations of our past. For Evera, they were the memory of her mother’s death and of the man who hurt her.
For Calix, his monsters were the lives of his family that he’d taken when his magic first came to him, when he’d lost control.
And for myself, I released a breath, letting the pain come and flow through me, accepting it.
Mine was the look in Thatcher’s eyes in his last moments, and the knowledge that his death was my fox’s doing.
The horrors of that day had led me to believe Astraea’s words, her lessons, when she told me to suppress the other half of myself.
I pushed off the wall to join my family.
We would always bear our monsters, the broken pieces of ourselves.
But together, with patience and care, we could embrace the broken, wounded, and fractured parts of ourselves and accept them for what they have made us.
Accept that each unforgivable truth and each hardship shaped us.
Beyond the love and the connection we shared, that strength of acceptance would leave our souls forever bonded.