Chapter Thirty-Three
WREN
I woke to silence. Not the tense, waiting silence of danger. Not the groaning, trembling silence of the volcano. A soft, home-warm silence.
We were back in the treehouse, which had somehow managed to withstand everything, and I was curled up in my nest with my mates around me.
My daughters were cuddled against my ribs, tiny wings twitching in dreams, little claws tangled in the fabric of my tunic.
Daughters?
As in more than one?
I stared down at them, shocked.
One had red hair like Kieran, the other with hair dark as night.
“Kiarra,” I said to the red head.
I knew the perfect name for Benedict’s daughter—to honor the sister he’d lost. “Baila.”
Kiarra snored like a miniature thunder god while Baila drooled on my chest. My body ached everywhere, but for the first time in days, the ache was only from healing.
Not fear.
Not grief.
Not loss.
The island felt whole, for once breathing with us instead of against us.
The wards hummed faintly in the distance: bright, strong, new. The volcano’s warmth pulsed like a heartbeat under the roots of the treehouse. I could feel it all, and it was good.
I inhaled deeply. And exhaled.
Alive.
We were all alive.
Kieran was sprawled half off the cushion pile, one wing flopped over his face like he’d tried to hide from dawn and failed.
Benedict slept sitting upright against the wall, sword still across his lap, head tipped sideways at a painful angle.
Ronan had passed out on the floor with a notebook for a pillow.
Idiots. Wonderful, precious idiots.
I pushed myself up slowly. My hips protested. My abdomen did, too. But it was manageable. My mates stirred immediately: three sets of protective instincts snapping into place.
“Wren,” Benedict croaked, half-rising, blinking like he’d slept three minutes.
“Stay down,” Kieran mumbled from the floor. “If you fall, I’ll die just from the stress.”
Ronan lifted his head, hair sticking up like an electrocuted bird. “Everyone alive? Good. I’m never sleeping on a hardwood floor again.”
I laughed softly—really laughed—for the first time since before the volcano cracked.
“We should get up,” I said. “The island will be—”
I didn’t get to finish because the island was already there. A great roar of cheering rose from below our treehouse platform. Shouts. Footsteps. Wings beating.
And then—
“THE QUEEN IS AWAKE!” a draken voice boomed loud enough to shake dust off the rafters.
Kieran swore. “Stars. Who taught them to yell that early?”
But Benedict smiled and it was tired, soft, full of pride. “They’re celebrating. We all survived. We did it.”
We did.
And they wanted us with them.
I handed Baila to Benedict and Kiarra to Kieran, and we stepped outside together. The entire island had gathered in the clearing below—hundreds of drakens, witches, hybrid children, seawitches, even the newest arrivals from the mountains.
The cheer that went up when they saw us could have knocked me backward.
Tears welled in my eyes. The babies were here, but my mates still watched me as though I were the most precious thing.
I wasn’t forgotten.
I wasn’t cast aside.
I had a purpose, and a place.
Kaida waved both arms wildly. Nasi gave a respectful bow. Domik lifted a still-blushing Vanca into the air like she weighed nothing. Nerissa and Canavar stood at the front, Enya supported between them, one leg wrapped in heavy bandages. Wyrren stood at her side, smirking.
Had they mated?!
And Veskor—
Veskor stood a little apart, Mara and Yazmine flanking him like proud mothers, Perri perched on his shoulder like an overexcited seabird. He actually looked clean. Terrified, but clean.
Kaida shouted up at me, “HURRY! WE STARTED WITHOUT YOU!”
“Started what?” I called back.
“The feast!” a dozen voices answered at once.
My stomach growled loudly enough for everyone near me to hear.
Ronan snorted, stroking my hair. “Good. You need it. You must eat to recover.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t protest.
We made our way down together, and the crowd parted with reverence and excitement.
Long, overflowing, mismatched tables covered the clearing. Earth-witches had conjured warm fires and heated stones. Seawitches brought baskets of shellfish and cooked kelp wraps. Draklings dashed underfoot with sticky fingers and berry juice smeared on their faces.
It was chaotic. Loud. Messy. Perfect.
Benedict guided me to a cushioned seat, fussing, while Kieran shoved food into my hands. Ronan corrected both of them about my recommended nutritional recovery amounts, earning groans from everyone.
“I have named them,” I announced to no one in particular, yet everyone went silent, breath bated, waiting. I held up Kiarra in one arm. “Kiarra.”
Cheers went out, louder than before.
I lifted the other baby. “Baila!”
Benedict twitched, tears gathering in his eyes.
“If it’s all right,” I whispered.
He kissed me.
The music started, all drums, reed flutes, and some kind of sea-horn the seawitches had brought. The feast burst fully alive.
Kaida bounced over first, scooping up Kiarra with a delighted squeal. “Auntie Kaida demands her turn!”
Nasi politely took Baila, holding her with surprising gentleness. Then the entire island passed the twins around like prized treasure. The recluse females took turns cooing over them. Even Meruse looked charmed, though she tried to hide it.
Perri tugged Veskor toward us, dragging him by the wrist. He looked much recovered, his bony stature filling out. His wings now matched Canavar’s bandaged ones, though his were much more heavily bandaged. I’d have to get the story on what had happened in the lava tubes eventually.
“Tell them the funny story!” Perri said.
Veskor stiffened. “There are no funny stories.”
“Yes there are!” Perri insisted. “Tell them about the snow tiger that—”
“NO.”
Mara smirked. “He’s shy.”
Yazmine added, “It’s adorable.”
Veskor made a strangled noise. “I hate all of this.”
But he didn’t leave. He stayed nearby, closely watching everyone interact and not letting his eyes off Perri. It was cute.
The longer he stayed and watched, the more his posture relaxed, and his breathing regulated. His shoulders loosened as he drifted near the fire, listening to Wyrren wax on about how he’d fancied Enya all these years. Enya batted his shoulder, but gave him a shy grin.
Nerissa approached him then. Canavar stayed just behind her, ready to break anything that needed breaking. She stared Veskor down. He stared back. The entire clearing held its breath.
Nerissa said, voice rough, “You saved that child. And you fought for Enya.”
A long silence.
“And,” she added, “you’re very brave. I’ve never seen a draken survive his wings being shredded like that. You did well.”
Veskor went rigid.
Meruse muttered, “Gods. Everyone’s getting soft.”
Nava elbowed her. “Shut up. That’s the toughest draken I know,” she said seriously, pointing at Veskor.
Veskor blushed as Nerissa extended her hand to him. Veskor’s throat bobbed. He reached out, took her hand gently.
The crowd erupted again with cheers and whistles, wings beating.
Kieran scooped me up, spinning me once with a laugh, Benedict kissed my temple, and Ronan pressed a plate of food into my hands as if feeding me was a sacred duty.
The night bloomed toward celebration. We were whole. We were safe. For the first time since the Overlord fell, Lyoness was at peace.
And this time, it was a peace we had built together.