Epilogue I
Although the fae were long lived and set in their ways and nature, Leita hoped the past months had proven to her people and to herself that change could be helpful. Good. Healthy.
Most every fae enjoyed their own small tie to the faelands’ magic now, and while the first days had had their snags and worries, Leita knew it was the right decision.
With their newfound connections, the fae explored using magic in ways never done before; imbuing silks with magic to resist stain and improve sheen, enchanting wine to bring out the subtlest notes of flavor, and moving machines to print sheaves of paper.
She’d even seen Charis enchant a quill to help her take notes during meetings.
Leita hoped it harkened a new age of ingenuity. With their magic free from the vicious cycle of subsistence, the fae could turn it to whatever they set their minds to. A new golden age had dawned, just as Attalus had once said.
She also hoped they remembered their newfound enthusiasm for change today.
Fae from across the Queendom gathered in Fallorian—in the palace courtyard but also on rooftops and down in the harbor. All eyes trained on the citadel, no doubt wondering if this would truly happen.
Attalus stepped forward, waving to the cheering crowd. She’d yet to understand how her handsome azai managed to charm people near and far, but she looked forward to puzzling over it through the centuries.
With a dashing grin, he shrugged out of his fine robes, leaving him in a short kilt. Leita had insisted upon it, even if the thing was about to be shredded.
“I know what a jealous thing you are,” Attalus said that morning, “and I know better than to flaunt what’s yours.”
Even still, that kilt left the lower curves of his backside exposed. Every eye within the courtyard fell there, what with the sultry way his tail swished.
When Leita looked up, she found him waggling his brows at her over his shoulder.
She bit her cheek, trying to look regal when she gave the nod to go ahead.
Rolling his shoulders and shaking out his wings, aware of all the attention on his sleek body, he waved once more before initiating the shift.
Watching him transform into a giant, fire-breathing lizard never ceased to amaze Leita. She swore his form had grown larger, even if Attalus insisted that would only come with decades of growing older.
The kilt indeed tore away, but his horn and ear caps resized with him, the amethysts winking in the midday sun as he turned his head to assess his target.
He had, of course, been strategizing for over a fortnight. Attalus and Tamerlan spent days discussing angles and velocity, wind direction and force. Her dragon had taken his planning and training seriously, sparring with Marcades and the guards, putting them through their paces in exercises.
Attalus was always strong, but in his preparation, he came back to her in the evenings feeling accomplished, full of himself, and excited for the day he got to knock down the citadel. It made for many nights of…stimulating company.
“Are you in love with me or the citadel?” she’d teased one night as he thrust into her from behind, his pace searing and merciless.
“You know I have two hearts, doe. You certainly hold one.”
Leita had laughed with abandon through her orgasm.
On this momentous day, Attalus was ready to play his part. What excited Leita, though, was all that came after.
Attalus wasn’t just keen on knocking the citadel down.
He, Tamerlan, and a team of architects were hard at work drawing plans for the new citadel that would take its place.
He wanted to dome it in dragonfire glass and add stained glass of his own making.
The perfect sand had been brought in, and Attalus was already experimenting in the smithy with colors and heat.
He had plans to start his own vineyard, as the idea had always appealed to him.
The Meringor brothers were dispatched to harvest the best cuttings from several notable vines, and Attalus had already begun work on converting one of the unused storerooms into a fermentation space, coopers summoned to make the great barrels to hold his new vintage.
Her mate overflowed with ideas and dreams, and Leita loved listening to them. If she could make them all come true, she would.
He’d asked her once, lying in bed as the sunset made glorious shadows across their bedchamber floor, what she dreamt of doing.
“I already have my dream,” she’d said, cuddling up to his side. An azai, a family, was all Leita had dreamed of, and she had it now. A little family full of love and potential.
“I’m flattered, agae, but now you need more dreams.”
She’d propped up onto her elbow, peering down at him with a little smile. “You’d have me dream of something other than you?”
“Well, when you say it like that…”
Leita meant what she said but also, day by day, came to understand what Attalus meant, too. That a life must be lived, and if blessed with a long one, it should be full of hopes and dreams. She wasn’t quite sure yet what next she wished to do, but she looked forward to discovering it.
In the meantime, she was happy to borrow one of Attalus’s.
Her dragon leapt into the sky in one great bound, his wings working hard to gain height. Up and up he went, circling the palace to gain speed. The crowd cheered as his shadow passed over them, fae beginning to count his loops around Fallorian.
And what happens if he gets a taste for this? Thalia asked from where she stood beside Leita on the palace steps.
I suppose I’ll build him another tower to knock down. And another and another.
Thalia snorted. Young love. It’s made you soft.
Yes, I guess so.
Leaning on her mama mare, she watched as her dragon cut across the sky, his wings nearly vertical as his turns tightened round the palace.
I’ve been wanting to tell you, Lala. Come spring, I mean to return to the forest.
Cold shock darted down Leita’s body. What? Why?
You’re settled now. That’s what every mother hopes for her foal. I’ve done what I can for you. For this new one, I want them to be born in the wilds, so I may rebuild my herd.
New…
Leita turned to look down at Thalia’s belly.
The mare stamped her hoof. Don’t you dare say anything. I’m not showing much yet.
Leita gripped onto Thalia’s mane for stability, her world thrown off kilter. You’re pregnant?
Yes. For a while now.
When…?
Thalia whickered, shaking out her mane saucily. Bellarand the Black has his charms.
Leita nearly choked.
Thalia nipped at her coiffed hair, pulling one of the curls from its silver pin. You’re not too angry with me? It won’t be until spring.
I’m not angry. Throwing her arms around her mama mare’s neck, she buried her face in Thalia’s soft white coat. But I’ll miss you.
I’ll miss you too, my most stubborn foal. But it won’t be forever. I’ll return often. I want to meet my grandfoal.
Leita’s mouth went dry. I’m not…She touched a trembling hand to her lower belly. Did Thalia know something she didn’t?
Thalia nickered, her hot breath blowing across Leita’s face. No, you’re not. But soon, I think. Very soon.
Trying to swallow past the knot in her throat, Leita looked up in wonder at the unicorn, not quite daring to hope. Do you think so?
If that lizard of yours has anything to say about it, yes, I’m quite sure.
The lizard himself whizzed past in a red blur, catching Leita’s eye. She couldn’t look away from him, knowing from his practicing that it was almost time.
Thank you, Thalia. For everything.
It’s been an honor, Queen Lala.
Hugging Thalia tight, Leita’s heart jumped to her throat when Attalus banked for the last time. The city itself held its breath, the crowd leaning forward in agonized anticipation.
Roaring so loud it shook the cobblestones, Attalus slammed into the citadel, a cloud of dust exploding around him.
The tower creaked and wobbled, the opposite side from impact giving way.
With another mighty roar, Attalus beat his wings, pushing pushing pushing against the stones. For a moment, nothing happened, the old stones resisting him to the last. Silence fell across the city, every breath held.
His shoulders rippled, and with one last beat of his wings and mighty shove, the citadel toppled into the sea.
Thousands of stones crashed into the water below, sending up great splashing columns of water and foam.
The impact was deafening, a mountain falling away, thousands of years shattering on the rocks below.
When it was over, only the foundation stones and a haze of dust remained, her dragon mate at the center.
Rearing onto his hindlegs, Attalus roared in triumph—and the fae roared with him.
In a blaze of cleansing dragonfire, the faelands and its Queen had been made anew.
Attalus would be right. They would sing songs and tell stories about it, how Leita Dragontamer’s reign marked a new beginning, a golden age, for the faelands. But that would be for much, much later. For now, there was life to live and dreams yet to come true.