Epilogue
Violet
“So,” Lark says casually from where he stands gazing out of the picture window in Atlas’s suite, “about the winter solstice…”
He leaves the thought hanging.
Darrion chuckles, the sound low and knowing. I glance back over my shoulder at him—sprawled across what I have come to think of as my secondary nest on Atlas’s couch, entirely at ease, as though he were put on this earth specifically to be my pillow.
“What do you know of the winter solstice?” Darrion asks, his eyes on me even as he replies to Lark.
“Got a tip from the local tavern proprietor, Jim,” Lark says, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.
I snort, not believing his nonsense for a moment.
The celebration has been the talk of the eyrie for weeks.
Once the dust settled after the war and we came to terms with being at peace again, life began to shift.
While not all wounds can heal, the sharpest edges of grief have softened enough to allow something else to take root.
The people of these lands are survivors.
They celebrate those who fall and give praise to the Goddess for those who yet live.
They do not linger on loss, not when they believe they will meet again in time.
This is not a celebration of mourning. It is one of joy and remembrance, yes, but also of life.
I have struggled with this myself; learning to let go is an incremental undertaking, one that follows its own timeline and is not linear.
It undulates, taking you forward, but also back.
Learning to forgive yourself for failings, perceived or otherwise, has been the hardest step for me.
And learning that I am not alone, that I have strong mates I can lean into, who draw me out of my introspection and back into the present and all the wonder, beauty, and hope—and love and joy—that is yet to be lived, is the most powerful healing of all.
Of course, the realization that one such new life grows inside me gives everything new meaning. Atlas is a surprisingly tenacious male when he has breeding on his mind, and we did not leave the nest for several days after the cushion incident, as it later became known.
I regret nothing.
If the smug expressions on my mates’ faces every time their eyes alight upon me are any indication, they regret nothing, too.
I am ready. Ready for the new babe, for the future, and for the simple joy of the celebration bearing down upon us.
We flew over Acton Trussell only last week, and already lanterns were being strung across the village square, stalls going up along every street.
The children of the eyrie have been making costumes, and I have been helping as best I can.
My sewing skills remain barely adequate, but they don’t seem to mind my poor stitching.
If anything, it is a badge of honor to have the new Pride Queen involved.
To think I once hated needlework and now I am embracing it with a smile upon my face.
“I cannot imagine anything truly nefarious,” I say. “I’ve been helping the children with costumes all week. It seems entirely charming to me.”
“It is mostly charming,” Darrion agrees, pressing a kiss to the side of my throat where he knows I’m sensitive. Heat blooms low in my belly. “But as the evening presses on…”
“No.” I cut him off. “Do not spoil a perfectly innocent celebration.”
The door swings open before anyone can respond, and Atlas strides inside with Fenix and Rafe at his back, the three of them bringing the cold air of the corridor with them.
Atlas surveys the room. “Sundown is in one hour.” He looks at Darrion. “Time to get our Queen ready.”
Darrion rises in one smooth movement and takes me with him before I can protest. My book slips from my lap to land softly against a cushion.
Not content with simply pulling me to my feet, he shifts his grip and swings me into his arms.
“Darrion!”
He is already striding toward my room, and my extensive wardrobe, which he sees as his sacred duty to fill and takes the greatest pleasure in dressing me from.
“Hush,” he says. “I have some new underthings your other mates will delight in peeling you out of later.”
Little lanterns hang like constellations brought down to earth, strung between rooftops and across the narrow streets.
Craft stalls and food stalls line the high street, their owners calling out to passersby.
There are game stalls for the children, and even as the sun sets they are still scampering around, getting up to mischief, shrieking with laughter and delight.
As we walk down the high street, people call out greetings to us, tipping their hats, bowing their heads. Some even press small gifts into our hands… and especially into mine, with a reverence that makes me remember, as if I could ever forget, that I am a Griffin Queen now.
Atlas glances down at me, an indulgent smile curving his lips. He leans close, his voice low at my ear. “Take them. It makes them happy.”
And then, just as quickly, he passes the gifts from my hands off to Darrion, who rolls his eyes and carries them with exaggerated suffering.
“Mayhap I’ll get myself a pint of Pilkington,” Lark says with a grin as we pass the tavern where we stayed when we first arrived.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Rafe adds, clapping him on the shoulder. “Be rude not to.”
“There’s somewhere I wouldn’t mind showing Violet,” Fenix says softly, his fingers sliding into mine.
“So long as it doesn’t involve yet more gifts,” Darrion mutters drolly.
Fenix tugs me one way.
Atlas and Darrion are waylaid by the town’s mayor, who steps forward with eager deference.
“Come on,” Fenix says with a conspiring wink.
I’m not sure what to expect, but it is not a small bakery with its windows warmly lit, golden light spilling out onto the street.
A small wooden sign hangs above the door.
Molly’s Bakery.
My breath catches.
Fenix grins and pulls me along inside. “The young proprietor is her granddaughter, and the image of her namesake.”
A little bell chimes as we enter. There’s a queue of customers, the shop bustling with warmth and chatter.
Behind the counter stands a young serving woman with flaxen hair neatly braided and dimples.
Two younger girls and a lad are beside her, likewise serving.
A man emerges from the back with a tray of fresh pies and begins unloading them onto the shelves.
The moment the young serving woman spots Fenix, her face lights up. “Lord Fenix!” she calls.
The rest of the customers all turn to face us, dipping their heads when they see who is in the queue.
“Just Fenix, lass,” Fenix says with a grin.
“Aye, what a pleasure. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
Molly, I presume, hurries through the remaining customers, quick and efficient, before she rounds the counter, throws her arms around Fenix’s neck, and plants a kiss on his cheek.
“You’re looking well, lass,” Fenix says with a broad grin that takes in her waistline. “Very well indeed.”
She laughs, patting her round belly—which must be close to full term—and sending a sly smile toward the man loading pies onto the racks. “That’ll be my husband’s fault,” she teases.
He laughs and waves a hand. “I get no say in it! Plan to keep her plump with child for as long as the Goddess blesses us, and happy for the rest of our lives.” He nods toward the display. “Aye, Molly-love, best get our lord and his queen one of your famous griffin delights.”
“Ha! So I will,” Molly agrees, beaming.
She’s already moving, pulling out a paper box and loading it from the nearby display… which is when I notice the cakes in question.
Sweet cakes loaded with jam and cream… each one of them garnished with an adorable griffin-shaped chocolate cookie.
My heart swells. My mouth waters.
Six sweet treats are loaded into a box. One for each of us, it would seem.
Fenix reaches for his coin.
“I won’t hear it,” Molly says firmly. “Adam, tell him.”
“Put your coin away,” Adam adds good-naturedly. “Her nana always had a soft spot for you. Not about to change that now.”
We take our bounty with us, followed by their cheerful waves, and step out into the cool evening air. I barely make it a pace before I’m opening the box and claiming my prize.
Fenix watches me with a smirk. “You won’t regret it.”
I take a bite. And groan.
It’s rich, delicious, and sweet, the cream melting on my tongue.
Darrion arrives at my side, already stealing the box from Fenix and opening it without ceremony. “Thank you,” he says, unrepentant, before stuffing the cake into his mouth… whole.
Fenix chuckles and snags one for himself.
“Ah, you have been to Molly’s,” Atlas says, eyes narrowing on the box and diminishing cake supply.
I giggle, plucking the cookie from the top of my cake and nibbling on it with a new groan of delight.
“If I didn’t think I’d have a riot on my hands, I’d steal Molly for the eyrie,” Atlas says seriously, taking his cake. “Gods, these are good.”
I laugh, still chewing, still caught up in the simple joy of it.
Rafe and Lark appear… but of course they do, they can sense this through the bond and want in on the cake bounty too.
Their cakes barely touch the sides.
Meanwhile, I’m still savoring mine and wondering if it would be rude to send Fenix back for another one.
Atlas suddenly steps closer, heat flickering in his gaze. He leans in, his thumb brushing a stray smear of cream from my lip… and draws it into his mouth.
Familiar warmth curls low in my belly.
His hand comes up, cupping my chin as he tilts my face toward his.
He kisses me. The pretty lanterns, the laughter of passing townsfolk—everything narrows to the press of his lips against mine. Then he leans back slowly, his eyes locked on mine, while my heart beats a pounding rhythm.
“We have paid our dues to the good people of Acton Trussell,” he says. “I believe it is time we paid our dues to the Goddess… in a way she will appreciate.”
Thank you so much for reading Griffin Food.