Chapter Forty-Seven
Thanks to the mirror, the portal opens beneath the palace in Ansa once more, allowing me to return with Sundar’s wisp of a soul draped in my arms.
Even so, it was difficult to leave Emilia. At least I know I’ll see her again one day.
For now, I have much to do. I don’t know where to find Anton, or Sundar’s body, but I am determined, my steps quickening as I attempt to find my way through the tunnels underneath the palace. My body feels as frail and weak as it always did, but it’s a reminder that I’m alive.
It’s not that I welcome the pain, exactly. But though it has stolen so much from me, I stole something back from it.
Pride.
More so, I didn’t let it take my triumph.
I make it to the upper floor, emerging into one of many main halls. Apparently, I’ve found my way past the kitchens, because a voice chirps out, “Vasalie?”
I swing around. Marian’s smile is so wide it brings about one of my own—until she sees the wisp of blue in my arms, like a veil laid across them. “I need to find Anton or Laurent,” I say. “I don’t have time to explain.”
“You’re in luck,” she says, shepherding me inside the kitchen. And there’s Laurent, picking at a fresh scone.
“Vasalie? Oh, oh my souls. That is—”
“Sundar,” I affirm.
Without time for a proper reunion, Laurent leads me to an insulated room beneath the wine cellar.
It’s a frigid space where ice is brought in from the mountains every few days, he tells me, and they keep it insulated with straw and sawdust. Sundar’s body was stored in a steel box, one that was also insulated, and together with two other servants, they carry it into an empty storage room, only then daring to pry it open.
I imagine Anton doing just this when he returned my soul to my body.
Mercy had given me instructions for this, too, simple as it is, and when I asked if he would experience the same war between his spirit and his flesh that I did, she informed me that he wouldn’t—and neither would I. Kastiel set all that to rights.
Once I lay Sundar’s soul overtop his body, it seems to melt right in.
Color returns to his face over the next few minutes, but it will take several hours, if not days, for him to wake.
Meanwhile, Laurent instructs the staff to carry his body into a guest suite next to Gustav’s.
“He will be watched night and day, and you will be informed the moment he wakes.”
I smile gratefully and nod. And, finally, we have a chance to talk. I tell him about all the happenings, everything that led to this moment.
When we reemerge into the kitchens, I stop short at the sight of Brigitte, standing right behind Marian.
Rise from your ashes, my dear. Do not crumble alongside them.
I can’t help the tears that fall. “You’re here.”
“I went to get her the moment I returned from the Gathering,” Marian tells me. “His Majesty sent an escort with me. Illian’s court was in upheaval, and it took us awhile to find her, but find her we did. She’s living here with me now.”
“Marian told me all about the Gathering,” Brigitte says, smiling softly. “And look at you, a hero.”
It’s me who bounds toward her, hugging her close. “What you did—”
“I did little,” she says.
“You treated me with kindness,” I rebut. The only one who had, after Illian brought me out of that cell.
“What anyone else should have done. You shouldn’t thank me for being a human with empathy.”
But I shake my head, drawing back. “It wasn’t just that. I would have given up, but you believed in me when I had no one else in the world. Please, let me have my gratitude.”
I don’t miss the blush staining her cheeks. “Then you must accept mine, too. Know that I am proud of you, my dear. We all are.”
Again I have to swallow tears. But I manage to say, “Is Anton…How is he? And the Syndicate…”
“His Majesty?” Laurent asks. He grins. “Come, we must take you to him. But first, why don’t we get you dressed?”
The throne room is packed, lines of glittering courtiers crowded inside. A session of sorts is in order, it seems, more joining behind us, others pushing inward. It is shoulder to shoulder.
The skirt falls in a short train behind me—a soft lilac pocked with green sea-glass pearls—and the bodice bares my shoulders and neckline. A small shiver travels down my spine. It was one of many gowns Anton helped design for the theater, Laurent had told me.
He also told me that several representatives from the Syndicate and the Brisendali council arrived yesterday.
From here, I can’t yet see Anton.
“We won’t be able to get to him like this,” he says. “Wait here while I find Basile.”
Laurent, dressed in the finery of a lord, shamelessly carves himself a path into the throng until he’s disappeared altogether. I wait restlessly for some time, my twiddling palms slick with sweat. Will Anton be angry with me for leaving? For returning the mirror in his place?
More so, what will it be like to see him now, after everything? To see him as he was always meant to be: returned to his throne, wholly himself, crowned and glorious before the whole of his court?
I don’t know what path lies ahead of us. Perhaps this will be the end of it. A hug of gratitude, a wish for a happy future. A goodbye, if he needs a more advantageous match.
I tell myself I will understand. I love him nevertheless. I would love him from afar, even if it hurt. I trust him to choose what’s right for him and his kingdom both.
Even if it isn’t me.
Finally, Laurent returns. “Basile is alerting His Majesty to your presence.”
Nerves swarm beneath my skin as we wait once more. Laurent tucks my arm into his. “We are so glad to have you back. You succeeded, Vasalie. You saved him—and all of us.”
“He saved me just as much. And so did all of you.” I squeeze his hand. “Back in Anell, your kindness and company were balms. You forgave me when I didn’t deserve it. You are the type of friend I always dreamed of but never thought I would find.”
Laurent opens his mouth to respond—
But, like the sun breaking through the clouds, the sea of courtiers parts.
I hold back a sob.
Anton’s grin is a shining thing, bright as the aurora, bright as the sea-glass crown atop his head. But I don’t have time to take him in, for the moment he reaches me, he cups my face in his hand. “Is it true? Have you returned to me?”
“I have,” I breathe, and he swipes away the tear that escapes the corner of my eye.
He grins once more. Scoops me up.
Then I’m being hugged to his chest and carried across the length of the throne room until finally he places me down upon something hard.
The throne itself.
A hush falls over the room. Dimly, I see Gustav adjacent to us, grinning, along with a woman I assume must be his wife, her hand linked with his. At least his injuries are healing, as I was told, and he looks well.
And there, before the entirety of the court, Anton kneels before me and takes my hand.
“Vastianna Stova,” he says, his voice echoing in the stillness.
So stunned am I that I freeze, my heart ratcheting into my throat.
“My council and my court are aware of all that you have done. You have saved me and my people both. You are a hero. Beyond that, I love you ardently, and I never wish to be parted from your side. There is no one more worthy of being the next Miridranian queen.” He squeezes my hand softly, and only then do I realize that I’m crying.
“Marry me,” he says. “Be my wife, my love, my queen, my confidante, and my comfort.”
I slither down from the throne and fall into his arms, throwing my own around his neck.
“You’re sure?” I breathe into his ear. “I might not be the most advantageous match, what with the Syndicate—”
“You,” he says, cupping my head, “are the only match I will consider.”
My sob turns into a teary laugh. This moment—I hadn’t dreamed it was really possible. I get to keep him forever. He is mine, and I am his.
“Then yes,” I whisper, my smile so wide it hurts.
Applause roars, but I barely hear it over the fluttering of my heart.