Epilogue
Sequoia
The balcony is colder than I expect, or perhaps I’m simply noticing it now.
Inside, the ball continues without me.
The music plays, encouraging couples to dance. Laughter and conversation spill from the open doors, reminding me that I’m not alone.
My hands rest against the stone railing as I stare out over the cliffs. The lake below is dark and endless, the surface broken only by silver reflections from the moon.
I should feel relieved. I did my duty. I attended the ball, greeted guests, and endured the endless conversations with nosy elders.
I survived my mother’s proud smiles and my father’s knowing looks. The expectations. The endless reminders that tonight was important.
And yet all I can think about is a human man standing in a quiet alcove with my familiar at his feet. A human man who looked at my fire and did not fear it.
The war is two centuries behind us, and still there are memories carried through bloodlines, stories passed from parents to children. Everyone remembers.
But he did not look at me like I was a weapon or a legend. Or a daughter of an ancient family that could prove advantageous.
He looked at me like I was a person. And that unsettles me more than anything.
My dragon shifts beneath my skin, restless.
I close my eyes and beg her to stop.
She ignores me. Dragons are stubborn creatures, mine especially. She has always been a part of me, but sometimes she feels like a separate voice. A wiser one. A voice that knows things before I do.
Tonight, she has been unusually quiet. Until him. Until them.
I open my eyes. The word came unbidden.
No, not a word. A feeling. A certainty.
My breath catches, because dragons know. We know when something is right, when something belongs. That instinct is older than written history. It is why dragons can spend years searching for their fated mate and know them the moment they find them.
Except that is impossible. The fated bond can only be found on All Hallows’ Eve. That is what every dragon child learns. Not before. Not through instinct or dreams or proximity.
The bond waits until the night when the veil is thinnest, until the night when fate allows two souls to recognize each other.
I have spent my entire life knowing this. So why did my dragon react?
I think about the three men.
The first with silver eyes. The one who looked at my fire like he was trying to understand it instead of fear it. There was something about him. Something wounded. Guarded.
The second with blond hair and an inquisitive expression. Wise enough not to underestimate Cinder, but charming, too.
The third was quiet, watching everything.
I’m not sure why I noticed them, and I don’t know why Cinder found them or why my fire reached toward them.
But I know something happened.
A soft sound comes from behind me, but I don’t turn.
“You’re hiding.”
Mother.
I smile faintly. “I am observing the night air.”
“That is what you call hiding?”
“Yes.”
She joins me at the railing, and for a moment, neither of us speaks.
“You felt it.”
The words make my heart stop.
I look at her. “What?”
She doesn’t look surprised. She looks sad. And hopeful. “You felt something.”
I look away, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what I felt.”
“Neither did I.”
That surprises me. “You?”
She smiles softly. “I was twenty-one once.”
“Mother.”
She looks at me.
“What if I’m wrong?”
Her expression changes. “About what?”
I hesitate, because saying it aloud makes it real. “What if I’m not ready?”
She takes my hand, her grip strong but gentle. “You think readiness comes first.”
I look at her. “It doesn’t?”
“No.” She squeezes my fingers. “Sometimes life arrives before you’re prepared for it.”
That sounds unfair.
“That doesn’t mean you have to rush, poppet,” she says softly. “It means you have to listen.” With that, she releases my hand and disappears into the manor, quickly swept into the crowd.
I stare into the ballroom, toward the three men, and my dragon moves again, stronger this time. I press a hand against my chest.
“What are you trying to tell me?” I whisper, desperate for an answer.
For a moment, there is only silence, but then a single word is felt, not heard, and my entire body goes still.
Found.
I stagger back to the railing, reeling. That cannot be right. It simply can’t.
Three humans. Humans! Fated mates are rare enough when they are dragons. A dragon bonding with a human is almost unheard of.
But three? Impossible. My logical mind rejects it. My dragon, however, does not. She is certain. Adamant.
And that terrifies me.
Because dragons can deny many things, but we cannot deny what our souls recognize.
Cinder appears beside me.
I didn’t hear him approach. He sits beside me, watching the ballroom through the open doors. Watching them.
I look down.
“You knew,” I say, accusation lacing my tone.
His tail flicks, a spark of golden fire dancing along his fur.
I narrow my eyes. “You enjoyed terrifying them.”
A pleased rumble answers me.
I shake my head. “You are impossible.”
Cinder leans against my leg, but he doesn’t disagree.
For the first time in my life I’m uncertain. But as I stand beneath the Halloween moon, with my familiar beside me and my dragon whispering a truth I am not ready to accept, I feel something I have not felt in a very long time.
Hope.
My dragon stirs and my heart answers.
Somewhere deep inside me, something ancient and certain whispers the beginning of a story I never expected to live.