Epilogue
Five months later.
George and Isahn dropped their veil tokens into the communal basket before disembarking the actuaria.
One of the first changes she’d made after assuming the throne five months earlier was to ensure all tokens remained on the boats.
There were plenty available now that they were out of the hands of the few.
Isahn stepped down the plank first, then turned to offer his hand to her. “My wife, my queen, may I assist you?” He winked, sunlight glinting off his shaggy golden hair.
“You may. My husband, my king.” She accepted his palm.
“Consort,” Isahn added, but his voice was drowned out by the people of the city cheering for her. He wasn’t who they wanted, and that was perfectly fine with him—as he reminded her regularly.
Though their fingers remained entwined, Isahn, the king consort, stayed half a step behind her while they proceeded up the docks.
Smiling and laughing, they put on a good show, waving at the citizens who’d come out in greeting.
A secret tension thrummed between them, strongest at the point where their bodies met.
Isahn and George squeezed one another’s hands back and forth as they offered continuous support.
It was a big day.
Potentially.
They’d been handfasted four days prior at a small ceremony attended by all of their Domossan friends and several visiting Selwassans.
Lady Solaelia Tarcadu, Isahn’s sister, was there.
She planned to stay for a month before making her return to Midlake.
Lord Kas Kahoth and Lady Nesrina Kiappa, the duke, and a very pregnant Duchess of Stormhill, traveled north with King Ehmet Hethtar and his twelve-year-old twins. It was a lovely affair.
Isahn got his coronation out of the way three days before. The event was extravagant, much like Georgetta’s. But the “gods” gave their blessing by bowing to the new king as he made his way around the circle. Then he’d joined her on the central dais, and she’d placed the crown on his head.
Where the queen’s crown was a circlet with eight intricate points that represented each of the deities, his was a simple silver and gold wreath of finely crafted olive branches that swept around his head.
They made a stunning pair... so stunning in fact, she’d told him to fuck her in front of the mirror while they wore their regalia.
Two days earlier, they’d attempted to bring down the veil from inside Hepikoru—and failed. Yesterday, they’d taken the boats beneath it, into the mist, and tried there, only to fail again. Today, they were all meeting up in Nowosmont to have a go at the other side.
Based on what Ean gleaned from the ancient king’s entry in the ancient queen’s diary, they’d become convinced “only one must fell the veil” was a crafty reference to one type of magic being needed to take it down: chaosweaving. Though they’d been loath to admit it, it seemed Gasparo was correct.
Swallowing her pride, Queen Georgetta invited every known chaosweaver in the land to attend the coronation of Isahn Yaranbur, formerly of Selwas.
In addition to a lone family of three from the Vinistraz principality, supposedly the only people in all of Gramenia with the rare power, there was the Selwassan royal family, Lady Nesrina Kiappa, and her aging aunt who’d come from a small village on the southern shore of Selwas.
Isahn and George moseyed up toward the back of the gathering group, where the young Selwassan royals were discussing something of the utmost importance. Ean, who’d ridden out with the Domossan king and queen, buzzed near the fair-haired young princess and her brunet brother.
“Look at how wee he is compared to us,” Princess Adella said to her twin, regarding Eanraig, who was all of two feet away.
“First of all, Princess, don’t ye be using my words against me,” Ean began. He’d called her a “wee bonnie lass” when he’d first seen the similarly aged royal.
She’d taken it as an insult.
“And second, if I were as big as ye mages, surely ye realize I’d dominate ye?”
Princess Della whipped a decidedly Ean-shaped doll out of thin air using her chaos magic. “Bu’ ye’re naw,” she mocked his accent, then punted the doll as high as she could. When it smashed to the ground, several yards away, it dissipated into thin air with a pop.
Isahn sputtered out a laugh, and George grinned.
“Can you imagine that?” Prince Ataht mused. “Or, what if you could get big and small at your choosing?”
Eanraig narrowed his eyes at the prince. “Do ye consider yerself a historian?”
“A what?” Ataht inquired. “I don’t like school.”
“Never mind.” Ean buzzed away.
“Are you ready to begin, Your Majesty?” Hildy approached, wearing a tentative smile. As always, the formal address meant Viceroy Segreto was feeling the seriousness of the situation.
George offered a quick nod, then proceeded to the front of the group.
Swallowing her trepidation, she made remarks for the third time in as many days, reminding the gathered mages and all the watching citizens that it was their last attempt with the chaosweavers, but if it didn’t work, they’d continue their search for a solution.
Somewhat steeled against the possibility of things going poorly, the chaosweavers began. Their technique, according to Lady Kiappa, was to try to unweave the power veiling the true capital. It hadn’t worked yet, but they were willing to try again.
George could almost feel the energy thrumming in the air when a flash of gold burst across the sky.
A dome. The veil. Alight and shimmering from the earth below, it stretched toward the clouds.
Through writhing ropes of gold, the New Mountains could still be seen, flickering in the distance, erupting from the ground within the dome.
Onlookers gasped in awe.
“I thought they were fucking with us!” someone called out, and hesitant laughter rippled through the crowd.
“It looks like pixie dust,” someone near the king and queen remarked.
“Looks like chaos magic,” Kas murmured to his wife.
“It feels like it,” Nesrina replied.
“How curious,” Eanraig chimed in, buzzing past.
The glow faded, zapping out like a lightning bug.
George’s heart sank as a hush fell over the crowd.
On the far side of Lake Loukeo, the false New Mountains still stood.
She wanted to cry, to drop to her knees and scream at the gods, to yell at the chaosweavers to try again. But she was queen, and she had no choice but to turn and face the masses.
Pulling together every ounce of strength in her body, and some from Isahn’s that flowed from his steady hand on her lower back, George turned to address the crowd. She nodded at Hildy, who enhanced her voice, even though it probably wasn’t necessary. Everyone was silent.
“The veil remains,” George began, her own volume shocking her. “But the king who kept his citizens enslaved, who kept you ignorant, who kept you all from freedom is gone. We will face this challenge together, and we will free Hepikoru—you have my word.”
The crowd roared their approval, and George sighed. This wasn’t the ending she’d dreamed of. And the worst part was: She still had to give a second speech.
The queen’s proclamation to the citizens of Hepikoru wasn’t quite as difficult as her first. It also wasn’t the address she’d originally envisioned, but then, most things deviated from the plan, as she’d come to learn over the years.
With Isahn by her side for support, she walked onto the balcony of the palace, overlooking the city streets below.
Hildy and other sound mages lined the sides of the terrace, ready to amplify her voice to the gathered crowd.
Sensory mages filled the lanes and alleys, and the freed fae hovered in the air over the blue-roofed homes, a metallic rainbow of fluttering wings.
I don’t want to let them down. She squeezed Isahn’s hand in a bid for reassurance.
He returned the gesture. When the king dropped her arm, so she could step forward to address her people, a warm, firm palm of water magic settled against her lower back, and Georgetta inhaled, ready to face the future.
Everything was going to be all right, Isahn was certain of it, even as he watched Georgie step forward to deliver another blow to her people. She’d still freed them from the king—that counted for something.
King Ehmet and Queen Hevva, Kas and Nesrina, even Solaelia—they’d all committed to help bring down the veil.
Ean was obviously researching the matter and wouldn’t stop until his people were truly free.
It may take some time to get there, but Isahn’s confidence in their success hadn’t dimmed.
The brightest minds on Duhra were tackling the problem.
With a sure voice, his beloved Georgetta promised the fae, and all of her citizens inside the veil, that she’d figure out a way to bring it down, permanently.
Until then, the route between Hepikoru and Nowosmont would remain wide open with travel pendants on boats to ensure those who wanted to pass through could, in either direction.
Discussions were underway with Selwas regarding petitions for immigration between the two countries.
A Gramenian conclave was currently convening in the west to determine their policies on relaxing borders.
It was expected that passage through Gramenia and short visits to the Kingdom of Selwas would be permitted within the year.
The crowd cheered endlessly when George wrapped up her speech and turned to Isahn, a smile upon her face. Gold shimmered in the space between them as they were caught in a surprising and beautiful downpour of hazy pixie dust. It reinvigorated the spectators, their applause rising to a roar.
As the innocuous dust settled onto them, Isahn reached up to wipe a bit of twinkle from his wife’s cheek.
Her beauty got the best of him, and he forgot all about their enormous audience.
Kissing her soundly, one hand found her lower back, and he dipped her in a passionate demonstration of their love.
The crowd hooted and whistled, George’s hand flew up to secure her crown to her head, and the king consort grinned against the lips of his perfect queen.