EPILOGUE
After the spell, Sy was distant. Not like the distance forced upon him by Mira’s spell, nor the imperious, passive distance of ages and forces beyond Anya’s ken, the distance she’d seen using him before they returned the phoenix’s spirit.
A very small, very human one.
She gave him all the distance he needed.
More than she wanted. And she must distance herself further still.
His bonds broken, he was free from his debt; but, safe from the king only for as long as he was presumed dead, unless he assumed a new identity with a new face to match, he could not safely return to his life in ?bender. And, however briefly, Anya must.
She waited until they were secure in her kitchen before she broached the subject.
It seemed somehow smaller, but more comforting for it.
Summer had arrived; she’d lost weeks of jobs; she had much to do.
The nearby farms would be clamoring for her services or looking to replace her with someone else, and she still had her winter stores to stock.
An inheritance to claim. A roof to patch.
But here was her kitchen, same as it ever was.
If it looked stranger, it might be the man, still dressed all in white but no longer pristine, at her table.
She explained her plan to him. He listened, detached and impassive.
“You’re welcome to stay here while I’m gone,” she offered.
Humiliatingly, her face heated as she spoke, her earlier declarations ringing in her ear.
She would do anything in her power to have him – except hold him down.
“Just until you find alternative arrangements. Or longer, if you’d like.
It’s not much to look at, and there’s only one bed, but there’s the garden, and food in the cellar–” She broke off, inadequacy tying her tongue.
He smiled. A soft smile. “It would be an honor.”
That smile made it so she would rather do anything but leave. But she had promises to keep.
So she left him in her cottage, staring forlornly at the bare walls, certain he would not be there when she returned.
First, she had to have her tits. Having already lost them once, Anya had insisted Sabina restore those first, a lengthy, consuming process.
The rest of the changes, like before, took place over a series of days in the sitting room of Sabina’s brother’s mostly empty townhouse. Each day passed like an eternity.
On the final day, Perrine returned from her trip to Preule, deed to the restaurant, dubbed Falcon’s Crest, in hand.
Anya was elated to see her. Perrine chatted throughout Sabina’s ministrations, applied expertly with brushes and sponges.
She detailed the number of offices she had to visit (and revisit) to secure all her permits, the view from the terrace, her plans for her menu.
She had two signature dishes in mind: a vanilla custard with sugar-toasted walnuts and rose hip syrup for Anya, and rabbit braised in duck fat, red wine, and juniper for her falcon, who had finally decided to leave her just before she and Sabina had made it back to ?bender.
She also mentioned she might be interested in procuring wild game from Gescany’s woods, if she could find a seasoned enough hunter.
“Lucky for you, I know just the one,” Anya said. “The best in the Lichtenwald. Caught the phoenix, you know.”
“Do shut up,” Sabina said, slapping her lightly with a blood-wet sponge. “And stop smiling. You’ll ruin the spell.”
Anya grunted.
“You must come visit us,” Perrine insisted. “I’ll keep a table open for you, always.”
“I may be able to arrange something in winter.” Sabina slapped her again. “But only if Sabina isn’t there.”
As Sabina rubbed the blood-red paste into Anya’s nose, she turned to Perrine. “Is she always this difficult?”
“I think I may miss you,” Anya said to her.
“Don’t make me blush,” Sabina said, and indeed her cheeks were turning a charming pink. “Unless you want to keep these manly cheekbones.”
“I’m a handsome man,” Anya protested.
“It’s true,” Sabina sighed. “If only you’d let me run wild.”
“Then I’d have a bat’s tongue.”
“Clearly Sylas wouldn’t care if you had a bat’s face.”
Now was Anya’s turn to blush.
Sabina raised a knowing eyebrow. “I think we’re well beyond all that, aren’t we?” She applied one last swipe to the tip of Anya’s nose, leaving behind a pleasant tingling. Sabina held up her hand mirror. “That was the last of it.”
Anya studied herself. She looked the same as she always had, down to the fine wrinkles forming in her forehead, the way one of her dark eyebrows arched higher than the other, the pooling green of her eyes.
“You are incredible, Sabina,” Anya breathed. “You’re really going to give this up?”
Sabina blushed again, exchanging a secret look with Perrine. “It isn’t strictly legal to practice magic in Preule.” Her violet eyes twinkled. “But what they don’t know won’t hurt them, will it?”
“When is the petition?” Perrine asked, smiling.
Sabina answered. “David is going to meet us. He only has an hour.” She expelled the last of her blood into a metal bowl and set her pen on the vanity. “Now, for my greatest challenge: getting Anya into a dress.”
Anya’s eyebrows shot up. She hadn’t worn a dress in twenty years. “Is that strictly necessary?”
“You’re going before the king,” Sabina scolded. “He’ll be far more lenient with you if you look innocent and pretty.”
“But I’m not innocent and pretty.”
“No. You’re dashing and bold. And a dashing and bold poacher will be thrown straight into a prison cell.”
“Then you might want to tongue-tie her as well, to be safe,” said David as he entered. He held a long paper tube, and was trailed by a valet with a rather large trunk.
“That might not be a bad idea,” Anya mumbled.
He and Sabina laughed – fondly, not mockingly. But she couldn’t join them. Claiming her inheritance was not something she ever thought to pursue. She didn’t want it, really; didn’t want any part of the life she had left behind.
But to sustain her new one, she must turn up that soil one final time.
While Sabina’s brother’s chauffeur readied the coach, they congregated in the foyer outside the kitchen.
Perrine gleefully examined the kitchen’s extensive spice cabinet as Anya tried her best to maneuver about the room without breaking something irreplaceable with her bustle.
Sabina was touching up her already immaculate reflection in a rather large wall mirror.
“Stop pacing,” she commanded Anya from the glass.
Before Anya could conjure a rejoinder, David took her by the arm and drew her aside. “Miss Degen.” He stared at her. “You look lovely,” he began.
Anya withdrew her arm from his and lifted her chin. “What do you want?”
“You haven’t mentioned – that is, I’ve been meaning to ask.” He lowered his voice. “How is he? Is he alright?”
In the glass, Sabina paused, listening.
Now was Anya’s turn to stare. “You truly want to know?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“No,” she said flatly, fiddling with the cuff of her borrowed sleeve. Green, to bring out her eyes. “He’s...changed. But not unrecognizable.” She chewed the inside of her lip. “You could visit, you know.” She met Sabina’s eyes in the mirror. “Any of you.”
Assuming he’s still there.
“Only if you promise not to bite,” Sabina said with false levity to her reflection, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
David nodded again, slowly. “Changed,” he echoed, then flashed Anya a melancholy, scrutinizing look before turning to the door. “I believe I hear the coach.”
As she had all those years ago at the lodge, the lodge neither of them would return to, Perrine read her. She replaced a jar of saffron and took one of Anya’s hands. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know,” Anya said. She squeezed Perrine’s warm hand. “Let’s get it over with.”
No coach ride had ever been longer than the one back to her cottage. She could swear it had taken half the time when she and Sy had first made the journey. She was certain the coachman was angry with her and was purposefully stalling her.
All the way home, a falcon followed them, dipping in and out of the view of her window.
The coach dropped her at the gate, and she hauled herself up the path, laden with the trunk, more bags than she could reasonably carry, and the long paper tube David had brought.
The falcon disappeared into the trees. As Anya traced the bird’s disappearance, she saw her cottage door was cracked open, loose on its hinges once more. She left the trunk and the bags, and hurried forward, alarmed.
Slowly, she pushed the door open.
The cottage was empty.
Carefully, she set the tube on the table.
“Well.” She turned to Goose, stiff and stoic as ever. “Looks like it’s just you and me again.” Her throat felt strange. She ignored it. “That’s how we like it. Right? I bought some butter in the city. Fancy stuff. Imported.” Her eyes burned; she wiped them. “We’ll finally have our fried eggs.”
“I see I’m interrupting. Shall I leave you two some privacy?”
Heart in her throat, she spun around. He stood silhouetted in the doorway, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers.
She stared at them, lacy wild carrot and pretty pink bergamot and vibrant blue cornflower.
He lowered them, a helpless gesture strange in his hands.
He’d changed his hair back to sandy blond.
His clothes – hers, unearthed from her ancient trunk – were covered in dirt.
“The meadow nearby. I heard the coach coming, and I – it was stupid.”
“I love them,” she said, her heart lifting like air. “They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”