Epilogue The Borg
Epilogue
The Borg
One year later . . .
The Borg is raucous tonight.
I suspect it is this way every night. Revelry and music and laughter spill from doors and open windows. It is a city that never sleeps. A place where life knows no rest. No silence. No fire ever banked.
There may be habitual unrest in the kingdom, but here you would not know it. Here, people are living every moment to the fullest. I glance over at Tage and feel a familiar flutter in my stomach. I can understand that.
Life is precarious. The only way to face it is to choose life. To choose joy. Choose love.
At the top of the city sits the hulking gated fortress, the sprawling home of the Lord and Lady of the Borderlands. The King and Queen of the Borderlands as everyone in the north refers to them, no longer recognizing King Hamlin in the south as their legitimate ruler.
Tage returns to my side after finishing his conversation with a peddler.
The man moves on, pocketing the coin Tage gave him and pushing his cart down the cobbled street.
Tage smiles encouragingly. “This way.”
With a hand at the small of my back, he guides me through the streets of the bustling city, following the directions acquired by the peddler.
I am trembling with nerves and excitement as we walk, my cloak swishing at my boots.
Tage’s hand slides from my back to take my hand. His fingers lace with mine in a solid grip.
We leave behind the rowdier section of the city with its taverns and inns and pubs for a quieter, more sedate area with rowhouses, some even affluent enough to possess their own little fenced-in front gardens.
It’s a nice neighborhood, and I’m happy .
. . relieved my brother made his home in such a place.
Tage stops before one of the rowhouses. “Right here. Number fourteen.”
It’s nice.
Not the most lavish of all the rowhouses, but by no means the most meager. Not as big as our house back in Isstad, but this is the city, where space is a high commodity.
I stare at the door, painted a cornflower blue, a contrast to the brown plank wood of most houses lining the lane. Yellow curtains with tiny blue flowers that match the door are pulled closed against the night. It’s signature Meya.
“Arden?” My gaze snaps to Tage’s face. His big hand gives my hand a squeeze. “Are you ready?”
I nod and let out a breathy little huff of laughter. “Why am I so nervous? I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”
“Because,” he replies, “you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.” One corner of his mouth lifts in amusement at his echo of my words. “It’s been eleven years.”
I nod brusquely. “Do you think they will recognize me?” My throat thickens with emotion . . . and fear. “Do you think they will remember me?”
Still holding my hand, he lifts it to his lips and presses a warm kiss to the back of it. “How could anyone ever forget you?”
Gazing at him, the fear fades as my heart swells.
I spent the last year with him at my side, encouraging me, supporting me . . . loving me as I learned how to hone my power.
Tage and the rest of the pride did not recommend I immediately bolt to the Borg to find my family upon discovering my magic, and I’d agreed with them.
Even though it took me several weeks to learn how to reverse my invisibility spell, I forced myself to wait.
I’d waited so long already. What was a little more time when the reward was so great?
With the help of Tage and the others in the pride (even Arvos came around), including solo trips to the harpies—who were a fount of information—I practiced and learned how to wield my powers, not limited to the reversing of the invisibility spell I cast upon myself.
So many things made sense now. The reason I had always felt so connected to the witch when I searched for her was because she was alive in me. I wasn’t wrong about that watching presence, the curious eyes. It had been my witch. Me all along.
When she became elusive to me, when I felt her less, coincided with the time I began training with an iron sword and dagger.
An unfortunate coincidence. I’d found that one footnote citing that iron weakened a witch and voided her magic, so what did I do?
I armed myself with iron in the hopes of defeating the witch and undoing the spell she cast over me.
Except I was the witch. I cast the spell. For those years, I effectively suppressed my own powers.
No more. Now I know exactly what I am—who I am.
Lifting our clasped hands to my mouth, I copy Tage and kiss his hand. “They are going to have a great many questions.”
“And we will supply them with all the agreed-upon answers.” With his free hand, he brushes his fingers along the side of my face, his thumb grazing directly beneath my pale moon eye. “I’ll be right there with you.”
I nod.
His smile deepens. “You’re stalling.”
I exhale. “Very well.”
I step forward. Tage falls a step behind me, allowing me this, my moment, my time, my reunion with the family I lost.
Standing at the doorstep, the sounds of children playing and laughing on the other side, accompanied by the rolling timbre of my brother’s voice, reaches me. My heart squeezes as I rap firmly on the blue door with my knuckles.
The voices within the house quiet as footsteps approach, thudding toward where I stand, waiting anxiously.
I brace myself, a nervous smile plastered to my face as the door swings open and my family sees me at last.