Epilogue

Epilogue

arwen

Ten Months Later

Crag's Hollow had been reluctant to welcome autumn. The bucolic summer stretched on and on, languishing in slow, fragrant days and warm, vivid nights. But when it finally did, the seaside town blossomed in shades of gold and copper I'd never seen.

As I jogged along the cliffside, those falling leaves drifted onto the inky lake below, spindrifts from the gently crashing waves whispering up to greet them.

I came to a stroll to catch my breath a handful of feet from our cottage. Through the front windows, framed between generous white curtains, I could just make out Kane and his hefty, dust-riddled book, sprawled out on the couch, lit by sleepy rays of late-afternoon sun.

A spindly, stretching feathered leg almost clawed Kane in the face. He moved the strix gently to the side and returned to his book.

That feeling fluttered in my chest once more, as it had so many times since we'd ended what was now being referred to as the Six Years' War.

Peace.

Did it bother me that so many in Evendell would never know what fate Kane and I had narrowly saved them from? That aside from a handful of soldiers and nobles from Citrine, Amber, and Garnet, and a smattering of Blood Fae living in Rose, everyone on the continent believed Onyx to have waged war on two kingdoms for nothing but riches and coin?

Sometimes.

But we had not done any of it for glory.

The peace alone—both ours and the one we were able to bless upon Evendell with quite a bit of help—was more than worth it.

I entered the cottage to find a half-finished chess game at the kitchen table, some new art of Leigh's affixed to the halls of the small foyer—a dragon at sunrise, a portrait of the inky lake—and the smell of simmering carrots. "Carrot soup?"

Kane turned from his book and offered me a knowing smile. "This will be the one. I can feel it."

Acorn scuttled from the couch and launched at me, nuzzling his little goblin head into my knees. He'd practically become my shadow the past few months. Kane had noticed it even before I had—it'd been one of the first signs.

I attempted to soothe the strix with soft head scratches as I unlaced my boots. "You don't need to like Amber food for us to make it for him," I said to Kane.

"Or her."

I grinned. " Or her. "

Kane stood with a stretch, his loose cotton pants displaying a delicious sliver of low, golden abdomen. "I'd just like to find one thing from your home that I like as much as you like cloverbread."

The strix scuttled away from me on all fours, leapt onto the raised, cushioned ledge below the bay windows, and nearly slammed into the glass. Out of the corner of my eye, I just caught the mighty wingspan of Acorn's mother, soaring over the glittering, pitch-black lake as the pale sun melted into the horizon.

She'd be back soon. She didn't like the dark much.

Ryder had built a shed for her this summer, which Mari had filled with oil lamps. Only some of the citizens of Crag's Hollow had been terrified. Most were used to their dark king's strange winged beasts.

"Well, that will never happen." I stood to kiss Kane on the cheek. Cedar filled my nostrils. "I don't think anyone likes anything as much as I like cloverbread."

"I like you," Kane growled softly, pulling me close.

My lips found his in a sleepy, slightly sweaty haze, and though I'd only intended to greet him before bathing, I couldn't help the heat that bloomed in my chest and along my neck as he sucked my lip between his and tongued it with indolent care. I moaned a little, and his hands found my waist and neck, dragging me against his hardening—

"You sure you two should be doing that?"

We spun, Kane coughing a little, as Ryder pushed the front door open with his back, carrying six bottles of wine by their necks.

"Doing what exactly?" Kane asked him.

Ryder shrugged, unfazed, as the bottles clinked with the closing door. "Won't that, you know…hurt it?"

Mortification turned my face hot.

But Kane couldn't help his laugh as he ran a hand through that sable hair, pushing it back and free from his face. "Your understanding of human anatomy is concerning."

"He skipped almost all of his classes as a kid," I said.

"You'll have to amend that if you intend to mold the impressionable minds of our youth."

My brother rolled his eyes. It was still surprising that Ryder had hung up his sword and leathers to pursue teaching carpentry. But he had come to love caring for Leigh and Beth back at Shadowhold far more than he'd ever enjoyed battle strategy or dueling. And like his father, he was a natural woodworker. Maybe the profession would suit him. He certainly seemed happy.

The door pushed open again, and Griffin's sculpted frame filled it as he lugged through an armful of chopped firewood.

"Need help?" Ryder offered, though Griffin seemed to have the logs under control.

"Took you long enough," Kane said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"The women refused to leave the sweetshop." Griffin's face revealed no trace of humor.

"They're still there now?" I asked, having moved into the kitchen to stir the soup.

"Leigh went to the seer's house. She said she'd be back before dinner."

I slid behind Ryder to pull two large trout from a crate of ice. "And Mari?"

Griffin cleared his throat, and Ryder and I exchanged a knowing glance.

"The witch—"

"I'm here, I'm here," she sang, waltzing in. "Anyone want a candied apple? I have about thirty. Who knew little girls could be so convincing?"

Kane's brows lifted and he extended a hand. Mari fished through her shopping basket for one such shiny red treat and tossed it to him. Kane caught the apple deftly and bit in.

"Why so many?" I asked Mari as I pulled plates from a low cupboard.

"They don't have these in Shadowhold. Leigh wants to stock up before we leave." She craned her neck at me. "Are you sure you should be moving so much?"

I looked down at my slightly rounded belly. Two weeks ago nobody would've even been able to tell. "Yes, everyone can stop fussing." I'd actually never felt stronger.

Kane's eyes found mine and the warmth and protectiveness that shone there heated my blood once more. That was the real problem. The near animalistic need that had swallowed us both whole ever since we'd realized I was expecting.

"Who else is fussing?" Mari asked.

The memory of Ryder's intrusion was a much-needed bucket of ice on whatever tension had thickened the air between Kane and me. "Nobody," I muttered. "Never mind."

"Let me guess," Mari lilted, strolling into the heart of the living room. "Your overly involved commander here." She motioned to Griffin. "You just have to stop caring so profoundly about others. It's clearly eating you alive."

Griffin had gotten very bad at hiding the way Mari's playful jabs affected him. He almost grinned directly at her before schooling his face and returning to his task stacking wood in the fireplace.

However, the logs roared to life as soon as Mari deposited herself into the deep-cushioned couch, sending Griffin back just barely in time.

"Sorry," she said, a little sheepish. Mari was still getting used to some of the residual magic she'd inherited when Briar had passed on.

"Don't be." Griffin grunted, brushing embers from his shirt and putting some space between him and the now-crackling fire. "Feels like she's still here."

Mari beamed at him and the commander blushed—genuinely blushed .

But nothing more had blossomed between the two of them, much to Kane's and my disappointment. Some part of me feared it would take a great and possibly terrible reckoning to force one of those stubborn oxen to finally bend to the other.

Still, I was going to miss all of this dreadfully—everything would be different soon.

And not just because we'd have a child come spring.

We'd been splitting our time between Willowridge and Crag's Hollow while rebuilding Shadowhold. The summer had been long and lazy; Barney, Eardley, and a freshly stationed Wyn were more than happy to oversee both the capital's palace and the stronghold while Kane and I enjoyed the last dregs of the season here in this cottage. Days were spent alternating between making love, eating too much seafood, and reading side by side as we watched the sun set over the lake.

It was like a dream. The quiet morning runs. Leigh and Beth fishing off the docks. Mari and Griffin's endless banter. All my little potted poppies and buttercups blooming marvelously, their petals pressed in Kane's dry books. The quiet seaside, which rolled into the even quieter countryside, that Kane and I would fly across, flame and shadow in the afternoon sun—

I'd made Kane promise this could be a yearly practice. Summers spent by the sea, inviting all our friends and family to come stay with us. But for now, we needed to return to the keep. There was much to do.

Besides the reconstruction, I had my work rehabilitating children born to Hemlock Isle and relocating them to families here in Evendell. We also had allies to mend fences with. Amber had ousted King Gareth quickly after he'd lost so many of their men in a pointless war, and we actually quite liked the new, young queen—a twice-removed cousin that had usurped him.

But Garnet had not followed suit, instead doubling down on their praise of King Thales, who surely had told his kingdom a different story. So, we were not without enemies.

Though Kane and Griffin fought me with equal intensity, it was one of the many reasons I was determined to reinstate our alliance with Peridot. With Eryx gone, Amelia had already done wonders for the kingdom, tripling both their coin and crops, reducing poverty and smuggling in the west, and working to restore Siren's Cove to its former glory. I'd suggested a trip to the capital in the coming winter. A nice reprieve from the snow, which I'd learned was my least favorite season and reminded me of frozen blood and fallen armor. Ryder had nearly leapt from his chair at that idea, and insisted he'd need to attend the peace meeting as well. For his students, he'd said.

Despite a letter I received from Fedrik congratulating us on our victory and wishing Kane and me well in our marriage, King Broderick and Queen Isolde still insisted on the union of their daughter, Sera, to Hart Renwick, now that he sat upon the Lumerian throne. If we had any interest in not going to war with them, we needed to deliver on that promise swiftly. Which was actually our biggest issue—

We'd yet to find a way back to Lumera. With Lazarus's death, the channel had been sealed, and without Briar there was no way to open a portal. Mari had tried tirelessly, sometimes so exhausted she'd spend a few nights in the Willowridge infirmary to recuperate. I'd stop by not only to see her but to bring Griffin his supper. He'd go days by her side without eating if I didn't.

But we'd had no luck finding magic with equal strength to Briar's in almost a year. No luck either in tracking down whoever Adelaide was that the sorceress had urged Mari to seek out with her dying breath.

I wasn't naive to the reality of running a kingdom. Those hurdles were just the beginning. Given Kane's and my full-blooded nature, and the long, near-eternal lives that stretched before us, the likelihood of this being our last war—Lazarus our last foe—was slim.

But despite all of it, as I surveyed the cottage before me, I didn't fear the future. As if some very young, desperately self-protective part of me had not ever been able to stop fearing Powell's work shed—to accept that I was well and truly safe—until now.

Ryder and Griffin sat down to play yet another game of chess my brother would never win, while Mari's nose hovered over Kane's shoulder as he flipped through whatever book he'd been reading before I came home. The savory smell of carrots simmered and I rotated the trout as it roasted over the hearth.

Leigh's and Beth's voices trilled outside, and I peered through the kitchen window to spy them laughing as they scaled the hillside, narrowly avoiding switchgrass and crushed leaves.

As steam filled the kitchen, I pushed that window open and watched it billow out into the evening air.

"Hurry up," I called to them, and the girls squealed in glee, caught amid some game that had them in stitches, propelling them faster toward the cottage. "Mari got you candied apples for dessert!"

All my anxiety found me less often these days. The nightmares fewer and farther between. Kane's, too.

And when that terror did find us—when Kane awoke in the silent witching hours, sweating and roaring for me, convinced I was plummeting to my death once more, or a panic so vise-tight I couldn't breathe past it gripped me in the middle of a crowded market aisle—we met that fear with sparkling hope.

That those moments were fleeting. That there was nothing in this world or beyond it that we did not have the power to face, as long as we were together. It was that knowledge, that unwavering hope, not only in myself, but in the people I was lucky enough to share my life with, that kept the fear from ruling me. And if it didn't rule me…well, then it didn't have to leave at all. Dagan had always said I was strong because of that fear, not in spite of it.

And later, at the dinner table, amid laughter and wine and second servings of truly terrible carrot soup, when asked my rose and my thorn, my answer came to me quicker than any other time I'd played.

"My thorn," I said, realizing I'd been gently rubbing my stomach as I'd come to do so often the past few months, "is that I don't really know what tomorrow will bring."

Kane reached across the table to lace my hand in his, and his silver eyes sparkled with encouragement. "And my rose," I said, appraising the warm, full, grateful faces before me—all that breathtaking love and bright possibility…"is the same."