Epilogue
Niamh was at home in the clouds. There was nothing that compared to the feeling of freedom. When she was flying, nothing could touch her.
Except her memories.
They managed to keep up with Niamh when she was twenty thousand feet in the air.
There wasn’t a single place in Scotland where she could outrun them.
If she was in the sky, buried in the mountains, or even twisting through the open waves, the recollections were never far from her mind.
Despite spending the better part of a century trying to run away, Niamh was never able to fully forget.
Until Wyn decided to call upon her.
No, not call her, like a normal ex, but to call upon her. More specifically, her dragon, who was bound to answer after giving him her word. Niamh was hellbent on getting revenge, on showing up and being perfectly unaffected by him.
She failed, miserably.
All it took was one look at the massive elf, full of sarcasm and muscles, and fall right back into her old habits.
Of course she didn’t let Wyn know anything about that.
It wasn’t his business. She’d help resolve their issues with Cliodhna, even if it put her at risk.
It was over now, and she could return to skulking in the sky.
Niamh made her way north, to the Isle of Sky, so she could settle near Kilt Rock.
The massive cliff overlooking the sea provided some of the best views in Scotland.
Watching the waterfall tumble endlessly into the sea was calming.
She had to be careful, but it was doable.
Scotland’s human population knew about magic, but they didn’t know about dragons.
Well, beithir.
Humans never knew the difference.
Dragons always evoked strong emotions in people. Sometimes, even the most open-minded and magically tolerant human panicked at the knowledge of dragons.
When Kilt Rock was in view, the sun was starting to set.
Niamh flew low, hiding herself amongst the rocky terrain at the bottom of the cliff, so she could settle in and watch the view.
She circled around a few times, trying to find a comfortable position, not unlike a cat.
She released a long sigh as she lay down, smoke fluttering from her nostrils, and set her sights on the horizon.
Niamh enjoyed a precious ten minutes of serenity before the waves started to pick up. The sea began humming with a different kind of energy, its song getting louder and louder with every passing moment.
“Damn it,” Niamh thought to herself. There was no escaping this conversation now. She knew the geyser that saved Theo and Lyra had been too convenient.
Niamh watched, bored, as Manannán mac Lir, the Scottish god of the sea, emerged from the waves. Manannán studied her, crossing his arms over his chest. Niamh didn’t react, despite the intensity of the god’s presence.
Finally, the standoff broke. Manannán spoke.
“Daughter.”
Niamh grunted, hissing a few flames out between her teeth in protest. She knew it was pointless, however, and started to shift. Her wings folded away, talons disappeared, and the fire dissipated until a woman stood in its place.
“Father.”