Epilogue
Late in the afternoon, I sat out on my veranda and leafed through the mail Nelia had brought to me.
It had been two days since Iannis had left for Dara, and since he still wasn’t back, that meant no lessons.
Rather than risking the creation of another ether parrot, or worse, I decided I would catch up on my social duties.
Nelia had been delighted to assist, and she’d helped me prepare for my interview with a mage society matron, scheduled for late afternoon, before leaving me with the stack of correspondence.
She’d already sorted through it herself, separating the messages by tabs in a big folder.
There were invitations, bills, and even fan mail from citizens praising my efforts in stopping the rebellion.
The bills I set aside for Nelia to take care of—I had more than enough money to handle them, so they weren’t the source of concern they would have been even a few weeks ago.
The invitations I marked off with a check or an x as to whether or not I wanted to attend, and I set those aside for Nelia to answer as well.
The fan mail I kept for myself, intending to start a collection of them.
I would put them in a shoebox to take out and look at whenever things got rough and I started questioning myself.
It was the desire to help people that kept me going, that fueled my fight against injustice and evil, and I vowed to never forget that.
My fingers settled on a tab marked ‘Personal Correspondence’, and I flipped it open. Inside was a single elegant cream envelope with my name on it, and the hand-printed words Private and Confidential. The letter was sealed with wax, into which some kind of heraldic device had been imprinted.
I tore through the seal and pulled out the letter inside. My heart skipped a beat as I noticed the signature and address—the letter was from Isana ar’Rhea, Malian Sumer Palace, Castalis.
Fuck. My eyes raced down the handwritten lines of the letter, my heart pounding.
Dear Miss Baine,
My name is Isana ar’Rhea, eldest daughter of Haman ar’Rhea, the High Mage of Castalis.
I recently saw your picture in a magazine article reporting your betrothal to the Chief Mage of Canalo, Lord ar’Sannin, and I could not help but notice that you bear a strong familial resemblance to me.
It sounds strange, considering how far away we live from each other, but is there any possibility that we are related?
I find it most remarkable that, according to the article, you are a shifter-mage hybrid, and have earned your living as an enforcer in the past. How I envy you all the adventures that the paper hinted at!
Would you be willing to send me an invitation to your wedding, so that I might be able to meet you? Or if not the wedding, I would love to meet you sooner.
Best wishes on your upcoming marriage. I do hope to hear back from you!
Sincerely,
Isana ar’Rhea
I slowly folded the letter back up, then closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the lounge chair.
The irony of this situation washed over me in thick waves, and I groaned aloud, wondering what the hell to do with this.
Did Isana, who was probably barely eighteen, have any inkling how closely related we were, and how much her family stood to lose if the truth became public?
If she had guessed at our connection, it would not take long until others did so as well.
Should I ignore this letter from my half-sister, and spurn the opportunity to meet a close relative? Or did I write back, and in doing so, risk drawing my father’s attention, and possibly endanger my marriage to Iannis?
The air above the table shimmered, and the ether parrot appeared, lighting the space with his blue glow. He perched on the edge of the table and squinted at me and the letter I was still holding, wicked intelligence gleaming in his eyes. His beak opened.
“Go ahead, say it,” I told the bird. His phrase certainly fit the situation, though I should probably teach him some other expressions, especially if he was going to keep on popping in unexpectedly like this.
It would be hilarious, but awful, if he manifested during an interview or public event and began spouting curses.
“Ha-ha-ha,” he squawked, mocking me.
“Oh, fuck off.” I tossed a pillow at the parrot, but he winked out of existence before it could hit. It bounced off the balcony railing instead.
“What next?” I asked the open air, half hoping someone might answer.
But of course, no one did. There would be no deity coming to my rescue, whispering words of advice in my ear, not this time.
Whatever happened next was up to me.
To be continued…