16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

The moment Marcos jumped off his back, Evrard let go of his unicorn form, and without even thinking, took Evander's form.

The next second, he dropped to his knees at Vanya's side, terror lancing through him.

His handsome face was gray, his eyes closed, and when Evander pressed a hand to his chest, it was barely moving.

"Is he . . ."

Evander glanced up, his heart squeezing in his chest at Marcos' question.

"I don't know," Evander said. "All I know . . . he did this for us. To . . ."

"To save us, to save everyone," Marcos finished, his voice heavy. "We never could have defeated Deimos without Vanya holding him with his power. But to push his own power into Deimos, he gave Deimos the chance to push his own back. And his power is Death."

Evander reached down and tugged Vanya's head into his lap. He barely stirred at the movement, his face growing impossibly stiller.

"I think . . ." Evander's voice cracked. "I think we're losing him. We need to do something. Anything. If only Abram was here."

"Let me try," Marcos said, dropping down on the other side of Vanya's body. "Abram taught me some things."

He pressed a hand to Vanya's chest and closed his eyes.

Evander didn't need to hear Marcos' thoughts to know that things were bad. Worse even than they'd imagined.

That much was evident when Marcos glanced up at Evander, pain in his eyes.

"I can give him a few minutes, maybe," he admitted gravely. "He's . . . well, he's far gone, Evander. I think Deimos decided that if he was going to hurt him, he was going to drag Vanya with him to Death."

"I don't know why," Evander said, voice low. "I can't figure out why. He was . . . he was betraying us. And then he was saving us."

"We were never meant to fight each other," Marcos said, and reached out, tangling his fingers with Evander's, squeezing hard. "He saw that Deimos didn't care that Jae bled. I think he knew that Deimos would let us all fall to further his ambitions. That he'd let you fall. Remember what Deimos said, about Vanya refusing to take care of you, even though he'd demanded it? Vanya was protecting you, to the last."

He knew Marcos meant it as a balm, as a path to forgiveness for Vanya's betrayal, but all Evander felt was a harrowing ache spreading through him like wildfire.

Once, they'd been friends and lovers. They'd loved each other.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way." Evander stared down at Vanya's face. "Do whatever you can . . . even if it's not enough."

"I will," Marcos vowed, and Evander knew that he would. That was who he was, and one of the reasons he'd fallen in love with him.

He'd had every reason to be painfully jealous of Vanya, and yet he would pull him back from the brink if he could.

Only because it was the right thing to do.

Marcos let go of Evander's fingers, and moved his hand to Vanya's unmoving chest. He pressed down, and Evander could feel the power flowing through him—it tasted like leather and steel, like bravery and courage, every good thing that Marcos had ever done, every sacrifice he'd ever made. He poured it all into Vanya.

For a long moment, Evander held his breath, not sure if it would be enough.

It has to be enough, Marcos thought fiercely. I will make it enough.

And then suddenly Vanya gasped, and slowly, his eyes fluttered open.

Evander's hand twitched, grasping at his white linen shift. "Vanya," he cajoled eagerly, "can you hear me? Can you see me?"

"Yes." His voice was weak and so quiet, that if the field of battle hadn't fallen completely, utterly silent, Evander didn't know that he could have heard it.

Evander opened his mouth to praise his actions, to thank him, to tell him he was so sorry that he hadn't listened before, even if listening wouldn't have changed his path.

But instead of letting him speak, with difficulty Vanya lifted a hand, pushing a pair of fingers against Evander's lips. "No . . ." he wheezed. "No, let me say this, before it is too late."

"No, we can . . ."

"No," Vanya said more forcefully. "I have only a minute, and I want to . . . I have to tell you how sorry I am. I never should have sided with Deimos, never should have betrayed you, and what awaits me is my penance for my actions. I am only glad that I could help, in the end, could save you." He glanced over at Marcos. "And that you will be together, finally."

Pain speared through Evander, and breath clogged in his throat. He didn't know what to say. He'd seen many deaths, but humans were meant to live and then to pass on. Guardians were not. They were supposed to be everlasting, and so Evander had never considered what his last words to his greatest friend might be.

But now he had no choice.

"Please don't . . ." Evander heard the plea in his own voice. "Please don't leave me. Not like this."

Vanya's gaze rested lovingly on his. "I already had, but at least I could do some good in the end." He coughed hard, his chest rattling alarmingly, and Evander felt Marcos push more power through him. But it was like pouring water into a sieve. It didn't matter how much he gave, it wasn't going to be enough. There was too much damage.

"Take the time you have and don't waste it."

"I . . ."

Vanya's gaze hardened. "Promise me."

"I will."

"I might be dying, something I never imagined I'd do," Vanya said wryly between coughs that wracked his whole body, his face growing bluish white. "But . . . but . . . I still want to be remembered not as a traitor but . . ."

"You saved us all, and everyone will know that," Evander vowed.

He glanced over at Marcos. "Don't follow me, giving more power than you can," he warned. "I need you to stay here, stay with Evander. Promise me that."

Evander couldn't miss the pain in Marcos' eyes. For him, and for Evander. He knew just how much this would hurt him. "I promise."

"I . . ." Vanya gasped. "I know you've loved him for thousands of years. Promise me you'll love him for every single one to come."

"I promise. My love will be lasting." Marcos' expression was as grave and serious as he'd ever seen it. Evander knew he meant every word he was saying.

"Good." Vanya shuddered. "Now I . . ."

But Evander never got to know what Vanya was going to say, because his eyes fluttered shut one last time, and then he went utterly still.

For a long time, Evander didn't move a muscle. Barely blinked. Just knelt and stared at the face of his oldest friend, hoping that he would breathe again, that he would laugh and tease again, that he would be there for him once again, but knowing, deep in his heart, that those days had passed forever.

"Come," a voice beckoned him, and for a split second, he knew it must be Marcos, trying to tug him away from the pain of Vanya's death, but it wasn't a man's voice.

It was a woman.

And when he looked up, the Mother was standing there, wreathed in golden light, standing at the feet of one of her creations.

"Come, my child," she said, holding out her hand to him. "There is nothing more you can do for him. He made his decision."

"Can you do nothing for him?" Evander pleaded. "Surely, you are the Mother, and you are the power that created him, surely you can make him live. Surely his sacrifice was enough."

"It was always enough," she said gravely, sadly, "but I cannot give him back the life he gladly traded away. Know, in your heart, that it was enough for him, and it will need to be enough for you. Stop your tears, and rejoice in the chance to make this land new again."

He reached up, and sure enough, his cheeks were wet with tears. Wiping them away, he stood, legs shaky from sitting. The sun was setting over the foothills, and he realized that the day had passed, while he'd knelt at Vanya's body.

"We need to take him to the Castle," Marcos said, and Evander glanced over, realizing he had stood vigil over the two of them for hours, as he'd grieved the loss of his friend.

He was my friend too, though not as good as yours, Marcos reminded him gently. I grieve for both of you; for him, because in the end, he knew what was right and just, and also for you, because you will miss him so.

"He should be buried with much honor," the Mother agreed, taking his other hand and squeezing. "But before that, something needs to be done with the betrayer." She glanced over at where Deimos' body lay.

"I know what to do with him," Evander said, and reached for his power, letting it flow through him, fire spreading from his palm and engulfing Deimos' body, and its detached head, purifying the ground.

Purifying the surface, forever.

He poured every bit of hate and anger and frustration and rage into his power, the fire growing as bright and hot as he could make it.

When he finished and the body was gone, the ground underneath it charred black, the Mother nodded in approval.

"Flowers will grow here someday," she said, her eyes glowing with faraway possibilities. "You have sanctified this ground."

"Bluebells," Marcos said lightly. "Those are my favorite."

"Yes," the Mother agreed. "To honor Evander, who never gave up on fighting for what was right, and for Marcos, who loved him for it. But come, let me return you to your rightful place, in the Castle. At the head of the Conclave."

Evander stared at her.

"Yes," she said, "you heard me right. You will lead them. Together. There is much healing to be done, after Deimos' betrayals."

It was not a position that Evander would have ever chosen for himself. But, once he considered it, he could see the advantages. He had long wanted to involve the Conclave in matters on the surface. To bring the Guardians closer to the humans they had sworn to protect and to guide and to love.

Who better to do that than two Guardians who had spent the last thousand years protecting, and guiding, and loving them?

"Yes," Evander said. "There is much to be done." He met Marcos' eyes, and saw not only love and support, but belief. And Evander knew he would see it there, in his eyes, forever. "But first, I must say goodbye. If I am to lead . . . I may not be spending much time on the surface."

Understanding dawned on the Mother's face. "Of course, but you are always welcome to have a place here," she said.

"I will," Evander vowed, and turned to Rory and Gray only to find that they had left, leaving only Rowen and Diana behind.

"We were standing guard," Rowen said, ducking her head. "They thought you might want to grieve in peace."

"It is but a short ride to Beaulieu," Marcos pointed out softly. "We can go say goodbye to Rory and Gray, and then come back here, to leave with the Mother."

"In fact," the Mother said, inclining her head, "I would go with you to the Castle. It has been a long time coming for me to meet my Guardians. I will meet you there, in the Castle, and I will bear Vanya with me."

"How will we travel there?" Marcos asked. "We cannot go all the way to the Well and no doubt Abram has his hands busy with Jae."

"Think of me, and you will be taken home," the Mother said. "I promise."

Rowen brought two horses, and in a minute, they were mounting them.

Evander's eyes caught Vanya's body one last time but he resolutely turned away. The Mother was right. Vanya had made his choice, and it had been the right one, no matter how painful it was. He needed to look to the future now, to building a new connection between the surface and the Guardians.

They could no longer live in the shadows.

A short time later, Evander and Marcos rode back through Beaulieu's main gate.

Marthe was standing with a few of the guard, and when they dismounted, she approached.

"Guardians," she said formally, inclining her head out of respect, "my utmost sympathies. We of Fontaine grieve with you today for your loss."

"Thank you, General," Marcos said, mimicking her formal tone, and taking her hand, bowing over it. "And thank you for standing with us today. Without your bravery, I do not know if we would've achieved victory."

Marthe's expression broke into a quick smile. "Now that is questionable," she said lightly, "but I appreciate the sentiment. Are you here to see Their Highnesses?"

"We are, and to say goodbye," Evander said. "There is much to be done in the Conclave, to repair what has been tarnished and corrupted."

"There is no better pair for the task," she said stoutly. "King Emory is in the library, I believe, and I would not be surprised if King Graham was with him."

They met Anya on the central winding staircase, and she confirmed that Gray was with Rory. "I don't think," she said, a serious look in her gray eyes, "that he is wanting him out of his sight. Not after today."

"No, he wouldn't," Evander agreed.

"Shield Maiden of Ardglass," Marcos said, bowing to her, "your bravery on the field today was commendable."

Anya smiled. "You gave us a skill to aspire to, Guardian."

"Protect him," Evander said, before he could stop himself. "Protect both of them."

"With my life," she promised solemnly.

When they entered the library, Rory was bent over one of the ancient texts that Evander had seen him consult earlier, and Gray was sitting next to him. Lion's Breath was on the table, and his hand was close enough that when they walked in, his hand automatically strayed to the hilt.

"Oh," Gray said, face breaking into a smile, "it's you."

"For now," Evander said solemnly. He'd never expected, when he'd helped Prince Graham of Ardglass escape in the middle of the night, that he'd end up taking on the role of father to him.

They'd already said goodbye once, and this wasn't a permanent goodbye, not like he'd meant that one to be, but Evander discovered that it hurt nonetheless.

"You are leaving." Rory glanced up, stating rather than questioning.

"We must," Evander said regretfully—truly meaning it. "The Conclave is in chaos and must be led back into the light. I would also strengthen the ties between the surface and the Guardians."

Rory stood, placing a hand on Gray's shoulder. "I think that is an excellent idea," he said. "Don't you?" he asked, looking down at his husband.

"I think if it means that you are not disappearing forever, then it's a good plan." Gray hesitated. His gaze swung to Marcos. "Are there any other Guardians like you?"

"No," Evander said, before Marcos could prevaricate. Because he would.

I certainly would not, Marcos told him in amused, mock outrage.

"That will help me rest better at night," Gray said. "As for your friend . . ." Gray's expression turned serious. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"I am, too," Evander said, tilting his head. "But I will make sure he's remembered."

"We will, too," Rory said. "I've been looking through my books for references to him. I would like to create a festival night, an evening of celebration and belief, just for him."

For a second, grief slid through Evander with a sickening lurch.

It will take time, Marcos reminded him. You will heal, in time.

Marcos smiled. "He would have liked that very much."

"Yes," Evander finally said, finding his voice. "He would have."

"Then, it will be done," Rory said. He turned the book he was examining towards them. "I believe that this is him, is it not?"

It was indeed Vanya. It was not quite his face, but it was his form, and those were his eyes, glowing amber brown, and his traditional white linen shift. Blessing those surrounding him.

"Yes," Evander said softly. "That is him."

"I thought so," Rory said. He reached out and took Evander's hand, squeezing it. "I know you cannot stay, that there are events of much greater importance that need your hand to shape them, but thank you again for bringing us peace."

"I wasn't alone the first time, and not the second time either." Evander took a deep breath, glanced to his right, to where Marcos stood, so solid, so steadfast. "It takes immense courage to stand for something you believe, and immeasurable courage to stand up for something you believe in when you have everything to lose."

"Yes," Gray said, and to Evander's surprise, he skirted around the desk, and pulled him into a tight hug. "I know just how much courage it takes."

You did good, Marcos told him, as Gray let him go.

He turned to Marcos, extending a hand. Marcos shook it seriously. "I assume," Gray said, "that you will make sure he doesn't get into more trouble than he can handle."

"Of course," Marcos said, and then smiled. "But you would be surprised at the amount of trouble he can get into."

"No, I wouldn't," Gray retorted, grinning. "Not remotely."

This is so unfair, Evander told Marcos.

"Please, don't be a stranger," Rory said.

"We won't," Evander promised. And then decided, he might as well try to influence them, one last time.

Who are you kidding, Marcos said, one last time? You'll be here every few months, giving unasked for advice.

"Might I add," he continued, ignoring Marcos, "that considering the excitement today, it might be high time to find an heir?"

Gray groaned and Rory just laughed. "You can't help yourself, can you?"

Evander finally had to admit it. "No," he said.

"I suppose it is good, then, that you're going to go lead a whole group of immortal, magical, incredibly powerful beings," Rory teased. "That will at least keep you busy for a while. Might give us a bit more time."

"But," Gray said, glancing down at Rory, "just a bit."

And that, Evander decided, was enough.

He felt satisfied.

Indeed, Marcos said, a job well done.

Marcos reached down and took Evander's hand, squeezing it gently. "I believe it's time," he told Evander, "let's go home."

Evander had imagined coming home to the Castle at the Top of the World many times in the last thousand years.

Never had he imagined that he would feel equal amounts of devastating loss and incandescent joy as he took, finally, his chair in the Conclave again. He met Marcos' eyes from across the room, and thought, I wish it wasn't at this cost.

Marcos didn't reply, just gazed at him. With love, with longing, with the kind of fierce support he'd always dreamt he might find in a partner.

The Mother stood at the center, a large stone in front of her, Vanya's body resting on it. She placed her hand on the stone, and flowers blossomed wherever she touched.

There was a burn mark scarring Deimos' chair. Evander resolved to keep it there, as a reminder of the danger of believing too fervently in your own power.

Vanya's chair, next to his own, was empty, but the Mother must have already visited it, because flowers covered it, winding through all the arms and legs.

"Much," she said, "has happened. I bear sad news. But all is not lost, because I also bear a new directive."

"A new directive?" Hektor questioned in his gravelly voice. "We knew Deimos was not to be trusted, but to accept back into the fold a Guardian who has been banished?"

Evander told himself not to resent Hektor questioning his authority.

But before he could speak up, the Mother turned her glowing eyes on him. "Banished unfairly, without just cause," she said, "and while he was not the only Guardian who attempted to follow the original directive, he was the solitary Guardian who followed through despite great personal cost. Deimos might have led you before, because I did not know his heart as well as I should have, but now, I know Evander's heart through and through, and it is true."

"I see it," Taavi agreed. "It beats true. And it beats . . ." He glanced over at Marcos. "For one of our own."

"This is a celebration of life, as well as a celebration of death. Vanya sacrificed himself to clear the way for this Conclave to bring some good to the surface. I know some of you were coerced into joining Deimos, and some of you had your powers stolen." First she glanced over at Hyperion. And then she nodded at Gael, who stiffly inclined his head back. "But what we have really come to this Conclave to do is to see about the matter of leadership. Will you follow your brother Marcos? Will you follow Evander? Will you follow them as they lead us? For they both sacrificed their own comfort here to bring justice to the surface." the Mother asked archly.

Marcos raised his hand first. Without even blinking. "I will follow, and I will lead, to the best of my ability," he said.

"I will," Taavi added.

"I will," Abram said, rising.

"I will," Gael proclaimed.

"I will," Osias said.

"I will," Kadir spoke.

"I will," Hektor said, with a hint of resentment in his voice.

"I will," Lyric sang.

Evander looked at where Hyperion sat, glowering. "I am not proud of my actions," he pronounced, "so I will."

"Jae is healing, and cannot be here," the Mother said, "but he has told me that he will." Her gaze swung to Evander. "And you, Guardian of Secrets?"

Evander thought of every time he'd hated his title, and what it represented, and how it had ended up saving them all because he had never given up the fight.

"I will," he said.

The Mother raised her hands, and in chorus, they all spoke together, for the first time in far too long: "We are everlasting."