Epilogue

Destin couldn’t stop smiling as he watched Augustine and Hestia compare thoughts on the guest placards.

He didn’t realize how glum he must usually look until several asked after his unusually cheerful disposition. Caught off guard, he told them he was just happy for his sister, who was celebrating five years of “choiceful wedded bliss,” as she’d called it. She and Erran had remarried just after Agnes was born, and they considered that their true anniversary feast day. Now Agnes was five, and little Esther was two and a half, and their little family was complete.

But he had another reason for his joy, and it was the child he and Augustine were expecting. It was yet early to be announcing anything, though they’d told Mariel, Erran, and Remy, of course. They’d been married two years and trying for a child since. He wanted a huge family, with as many bairns as Augustine was willing to deliver—like Sessaly and Aliksander, who, hardly five years into their own union, already had as many children.

“Respectfully, Stewardess, how often do people sit at one of your celebrations?” Augustine asked, her tone good-natured but her face splotched with pink frustration. She’d become one of Hestia’s most trusted attendants, no longer her seamstress. Instead, Augustine oversaw a team of them. One of Destin’s favorite things to do was secretly watch her inspect their work, moving from gown to gown with criticisms that would seem nitpicky to others but was what set her apart from others in skill. Every detail mattered. Details were what others would notice, speak about, and marvel over. If even one was amiss, it was a reflection of the stewardess herself.

“But when they do, Augustine, we must ensure their experience is a pleasant one.”

“Are we hoping to avoid fisticuffs or fishwife gossip?”

Hestia narrowed her eyes but laughed. “Both, I ken.”

“You need say nothing else.” Augustine gathered the cards at the table they stood by and flounced off to rearrange them.

Destin nodded at his sister-in-law, and Hestia returned the greeting. He was always fully aware that he served as a reminder that the Rutlands, however distinguished, were not above scandal. She’d been kind, if cool, since the truth had come out about Rylahn’s father and Erran’s late mother. Rylahn had been warmer, attempting in small ways to forge a bond with his much younger half brother, but Destin would never forget, or fully forgive, how the choices the steward had made had harmed so many lives. Rylahn’s monthly visits to the lake district were evidence of his remorse and desire to do better, but the dead were just as dead.

“Can I help?” Destin asked his wife, right as Agnes and Esther went tearing by in their matching lavender gowns. Agnes was screeching the notes lalalala , and Esther was taunting her, twice as loud, with woowoowoo.

Augustine caught Esther before she tripped over her taffeta, quickly righted the girl, and sent her back into action. She laughed as she watched them play. “They’re both such spirited, beautiful lasses.”

Destin sighed wistfully as his gaze followed his nieces. Some whispered about Agnes and the twist in her spine, which no healer had resolved. Physicians had no cure for it either. It might get worse. It might improve. No one could say. None at the Spires tolerated unkindness about it. Rylahn had once escorted a man from his halls at sword’s point for making a drunken jest about how there were plenty of men who were aroused by mutants.

“Oh, you asked if you could help! Aye, aye. Where do you ken Yesenia is best sat?”

“With her family seems prudent.” Destin leaned in to read the cards. The options were Damian Law, Esta Garrick, and Sessaly, with each table seating two. “Hm. Perhaps not.”

“Hestia prefers unlikely pairings that encourage fresh conversation,” Augustine said.

“Then Esta is out.” Destin plucked the card from the stack. “Unless you want both of Erran’s past bedmates at the same table?”

Augustine’s eyes shot wide. “Oh. Aye. Right.”

“And Sessaly is out.” Destin pulled her name as well.

Augustine looked confused.

“Never heard the story about how Yesenia put hands on her neck?”

Augustine laughed. “Steward Law it is!” She neatly folded the name and placed it across from Yesenia’s. “Esta and Sessaly together then?”

“Esta has enough piss in her to keep Ses in line.”

Augustine finished placing the cards. She crossed her arms, examining the dozens of tables she’d helped to arrange over the past couple of hours. “Well, it will have to do. Guests are already arriving.”

Destin lifted her hand and kissed it. “As you said, no one will be sitting, and even if they do, they’ll sit wherever they please.”

“Hmm.” Augustine leaned against him. She smelled of cinnamon and linens. In their Obsidian Sky days, it had been wood smoke and pine. What a difference five years made, though there was a persistent part of him that missed those nights... the adrenaline surging through them as they’d passed ales around, recounting the close calls from whatever heist they’d pulled off. The excitement of children playing adult games, he sometimes branded it when he was feeling morose, but it had meant something. No matter what he’d said to Mariel, those years were just as important to him. So many had looked to them for hope, and they’d offered as much as they were able. It was a touch bittersweet that they’d been able to do far more as Rutlands. “I will miss it here when we go back to Mistgrave.”

Destin had been delaying their move for years. He spent about a third of his time at his estate on the lake, the rest in Whitecliffe with his wife, but there were responsibilities a baron couldn’t neglect. It was harder to work from afar. His sailor’s apprenticeship under Aliksander was only a seasonal obligation. “Are you not surprised to hear yourself say that? About a place like the Spires?”

“Home for me is wherever you and Mariel and Remy are. The girls. I don’t care about all... this. I’ll just miss them is all.”

Remy had been dividing his time between Oldcastle, where he taught business law, and Whitecliffe, where he helped influence it. “Mistgrave is closer to the universities. Maybe you’ll see him more often.”

“Or less. He’s been coy about it, but I ken he’s met someone there.”

“A woman? Really?”

“Aye, surprises me as well, but the way he’s been acting, I expect an announcement soon.”

When they were younger, Destin assumed Mariel and Remy would wed, and he would wed Augustine, and they’d continue on as a family. Both the Perevils had danced their way in and out of Mariel’s heart, but proximity was not passion. What Mariel had with Erran was. What Destin had earned with Augustine was. “When he learns he’s to be an uncle, he won’t stay away for long.”

“He must have known we were talking about him.” Augustine nodded at the middle arch in a row of thirteen, where Remy was propped, eating an apple. “Ugh. He’s already pillaging the feast tables. I’ll find you later?”

Destin kissed her. “Aye. Go on.”

He was still laughing when two children crashed into him. He looked down and found his nieces, each wrapped around a leg. “You both have deviance in your eyes. What are you up to?”

“Uncle Des! Agnes said...” Esther screwed her face in thought. Her dark curls framed her soft, round face. “You have pie.”

“I have pie? What kind of pie?” Destin frowned suspiciously at Agnes. “Have you been telling tales to your sister again?”

Agnes shrugged, her green eyes glinting with mischief. She flashed a quick tongue at her sister, winking from behind a band of reddish hair. “I might have said it.”

“Now, you both know there’ll be no pie until after you’ve eaten proper,” Destin said, gathering an arm around each of them. They groaned in unison. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I ken I might know where we could steal a bite. ” When they squealed, he flashed them a look of caution, flicking his gaze toward the arches, where their parents were helping with final preparations. “And don’t tell your cousins, or Aunt Ses will have my head.”

They scampered off, waiting for him to follow. In the distance, between the arches, he caught Mariel watching and smiled. She touched a hand to her mouth in return.

With his heart full to bursting, Destin went off to spoil his nieces.

It was almost everyone. Hamish and his brood. The Laws. Augustine and Remy. Khallum and Gwyn had made it with their children. Even Yesenia had traveled down with her son, Torquil, which was a surprise because Erran hadn’t invited her.

“It was me,” Mariel said as they watched their guests mingling around the open terrace. “She’s a Warwick, and the Warwicks are like kin to you. I saw no reason to not at least extend the invitation. Torquil is a handsome boy, aye?”

Erran squeezed her hand. “You didn’t have to, but it was a lovely gesture.”

She smiled. “I wanted to.”

It was a gorgeous evening for a party. Candles flickered but held strong against the gentle breeze. A band of musicians played lively ditties on the pipes. The spits of meat roasting just beyond the veranda had him salivating, but he was too excited and nervous to be hungry.

For all he knew his wife, there were still times he couldn’t guess her reaction. His big idea had been taking form for over a year, and he’d somehow kept it a complete secret from her. He knew how much it weighed on her heart that she could bear no more children. Neither Agnes’s nor Esther’s births had been easy, and they’d nearly lost both mother and child. He couldn’t fix what the Guardians had taken, but he could offer her something else. Both Remy and Augustine had endorsed it, Destin as well, so Erran knew it couldn’t have been a terrible idea, but still his nerves were balancing on a razor’s edge.

“Did you see what Alessia and Magnur sent? For the girls?”

Erran chuckled. He’d seen, all right. The mysterious bandits had politely refused their invitation, but Alessia had sent two child-size swords, crafted herself. Start them early or regret it later, her note said. Kisses, Auntie A and Uncle M. “I ken we might give them a couple more years before we introduce them to the armorer?”

“Aye, maybe more than a couple.” Mariel laughed, shaking her head. She turned to him, stifling a yawn. They’d been chatting and laughing and fielding well wishes for hours, and she’d been fading for half of them. “You seem a touch off tonight.”

“Me? Oh...” He hugged her from the side. “Thinking about Father, I ken.” It was half-true. He’d watched Rylahn become an old man almost overnight. His dark hair was mostly gray. The cane he used for his leg was no longer elective. A year past, he’d ceded leadership to Erran, though had stayed on as adviser to his son. Erran had taken a step back from the admiralty, promoting Aliksander to commodore. The stated reason was so he could be home more with Mariel and the girls, which was certainly a big part of it, but it was also the sense his father had few good years ahead.

“He looks happy tonight.” Mariel nodded at the dance floor, where Rylahn was shuffling in embarrassing gyrations with Agnes, Esther, and Charles, Sessaly’s oldest son.

“He loves being a grandfather. Don’t ken I ever saw him half as happy as a steward.” Tears suddenly clouded his vision. He sighed.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mariel asked, worry written in her eyes.

Erran turned toward her, offering his full attention as he pulled her hands into his and brought them to his mouth. “Mariel, I have never been happier.”

“Then you’re up to something.” Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “You are, aren’t you?”

He lifted his shoulders. Grinned. Her easy read of him lightened the trepidation some.

“You miscreant.” She jabbed him with her shoulder. “Are you going to make me look bad when my gift to you is underwhelming?”

“Depends. What’s your gift?”

“No point in waiting anymore, I ken.” Mariel’s gaze traveled to the raised dais on the other end of the veranda. She winked, handing Erran her glass of wine, and broke away in that direction.

Khallum, chatting with Samuel and his father nearby, excused himself from his own conversation and started off after her.

“Everyone, hush!” Hamish’s booming command echoed from one end of the veranda to the other. “Your lord has sum’ to say!”

Khallum smirked at him and stepped onto the dais. “I see all the glossed eyes out there, so I’ll keep this short. A little over five years ago, most of ye came here and witnessed a most enchanting takedown of our beloved Errandil, by the tongue of his beautiful lass right here. She told us all about his prolific freckles. His dubious and inconsistent salt-and-sand brogue.”

Everyone laughed.

Khallum opened one arm and Mariel stepped into it, blushing. “I ken she’s changed her mind a bit, as she’s asked to start over and tell us what she really loves about a man she couldnae have possibly wed by accident, for she’s done it twice now. Mariel?”

Erran had no idea whether his lovely wife was about to offer an even more impressive assessment of his weaknesses or something entirely different, but he was strangely excited to find out.

“You look green, mate. You shouldn’t.” Samuel chuckled, stepping in beside him.

“Aye? And what do you know about this?”

Samuel nodded for him to listen.

“Thank you, Khallum. I...” Mariel breathed in through a small gap in her mouth. She glanced nervously to the side. “Well, I ken I should start by telling you all how little I thought of my husband the last time I stood here.” She chuckled nervously, and the guests followed suit. “Perhaps an unnecessary clarification, if you were here. Made a bit of an arse of myself actually.”

“Tell us about his freckles again!” Augustine hollered.

“He has more than his share of those,” Mariel said. “I’m nay good at this, so I’ll just say what I came to say and then everyone can return to enjoying their ale and boar.” She shuffled in place, her gaze on her feet. “Years ago, I was supposed to tell you all one thing I loved about Erran. Seeing as I did not love a single thing about him at the time...” More laughter brought a touch of a smile to her pale, anxious face. “I could not. But now...” She looked up, her lips parting. Her mossy eyes glistened. “I find the question is still impossible, for there’s nothing I don’t love about my husband. I could tell you all about his kindness. His gentle patience with our very strong-willed girls. His eagerness to teach others of the many valuable things he knows. A work ethic that exceeds what’s expected of him. The way he knows when to speak and when to listen. His full and giving heart that never runs out of capacity.” Mariel wiped her eyes with a brief chuckle. “Aye, but you all just want to hear about his freckles, right?”

Cheers and stomps rippled across the stones.

Blood rushed to Erran’s face. He glanced at Samuel, who had a handkerchief to his own eyes, but there was nothing to say.

“Too bad.” Mariel grinned. “For they’re all mine.” She found Erran and held his gaze with a soft, sleepy smile. “Every last one.”

He couldn’t wait to take her to bed. To press his flesh to hers until two were one, to feel her heart beat against his, their own flutter of harmony.

But there was something else he had to do first.

“I love you, Erran. You already know this, but I ken it was time everyone else hear it too. Just this once anyway.” She nodded at Khallum and marched away with her head down so the others wouldn’t see what Erran had, that she was overwhelmed and crying.

Khallum moved back to the dais. “Erran, any amendments to make to your own statement from the past? Ken to tell us what ye love about this lass?”

Erran couldn’t take his eyes off his wife. “There’s nothing to say!” he shouted, his urgency for her swelling with her every step. “For I love feckin’ everything about this woman.”

Mariel folded into his embrace, set to a chorus of ahhs . “I had so much more I wanted to say,” she said, lamenting into his chest. “But I got nervous.”

“Oh, love.” Erran smashed a kiss atop her head and crushed her close. The girls joined them in the hug, and he tucked them neatly in. He was often asked if he was disappointed he didn’t have a male heir, but his answer was always the same. I have everything I could ever need. I will never want for more. “My girls. My lasses.”

“Daddy, did you show her?” Agnes asked. She tugged on his arm.

“Even the girls know?” Mariel peeled back with a suspicious look.

“They wanted to help.” Erran ruffled both of his daughters’ heads. Agnes frowned and smoothed her mussed hair down. “Remy and Auggie helped as well. Des. Mother. Father. Sam. Hamish.”

Mariel retreated in mock offense. “Who doesn’t know?”

Erran kissed her nose. “You. Ready to find out?”

Mariel distrusted surprises because they had previously been preambles to the darkest moments of her life. Obsidian Sky had been as much about control as correction. In a world that had slipped from her fingers at every turn, she’d found solace in creating something no one else could shape or define.

But Erran loved to surprise her. He seemed to live for her annoyance-turned-delight, and over time, she’d come to trust there wasn’t some tragedy lurking behind every lovely gesture. Just a man who loved his wife, and delighted in showing her.

As with all his surprises, she couldn’t guess where he was taking her. They were headed to the north end of the property, through the thick brush separating the Spires from the main road into the village. She’d never been up there because the entire section was cordoned off and abandoned. The path was barely traversable, hardly discernible in spots. But Erran wouldn’t take their daughters anywhere dangerous, so Mariel put her faith in him and followed with blind trust.

Erran walked ahead, Agnes’s hand in his. Mariel held Esther, who, despite her enthusiasm only minutes earlier, had crashed on her shoulder and was softly snoring away. They were both such different girls, her daughters. Agnes—named for Angelika, who had often been called Agnes—was feisty and unpredictable; Esther, thoughtful and introspective. It was too early to say for sure, but it seemed her youngest was manifesting some magic as well, which meant they’d have to send her to the Consortium of the Sepulchre in the Skies for a formal education when she turned seven. To do otherwise would mean a life of secrecy or exile. But Mariel couldn’t even think about being parted from her little butterfly, so she tried not to borrow against the future’s worries.

So much about the past five years had been like a dream. The family she hadn’t believed was possible exceeded even her biggest dreams, but it was the gift of helping others that caused her heart to continue growing even beyond motherhood. Beyond the gold and the returned land and the other corrections she’d persuaded Rylahn to agree to, she still wanted to do more. She took the girls into the village twice a week to serve food for those who struggled to afford it, and every month, she traveled even farther with them. Teaching them the service that had shaped her life was the greatest gift she could ever give them, and they had come up with their own creative ideas for how to provide aid, which was a gift without measure.

The path veered west and abruptly opened into a small, overgrown courtyard. A fountain, cracked but still trickling water from two of the six spouts, sat at the center, covered in snaky vines and old moss. She almost didn’t notice the smallish lodge beyond, because there was a tower that stretched so high, she was stunned not to have seen it from afar.

Esther stirred as they slowed. She yawned and slid from her mother’s arms, then landed squarely in the dirt before scampering to her father. “Did you tell her? Did I miss it?”

“Just in time, butterfly,” he said. She had an inclination to shrink around her rambunctious sister, due to some early challenges with self-confidence. A butterfly is always beautiful, even before others can see it, Erran had said to her once, and she’d liked it, so it had stuck. “Agnes, do you want to tell your mother about this place?”

Agnes nodded and spun proudly toward Mariel. “A hundred years ago, us Rutlands lived here.”

Mariel frowned, dubious. “This modest keep? You think I don’t know Rutlands love their pomp?”

“That’s what Daddy said you’d say!” Agnes seemed eager to continue, so Mariel gestured for her to do so. “They did live here, Mama. But it was too small.”

“Ye ken?” Mariel laughed, passing a smile between all three eager faces.

“Then Daddy’s great-great...” Agnes’s brows fused as she tried to recall what she’d been told. “Daddy’s ancestor built Goldsea Spires instead.” She looked to Erran for validation.

“Very good, lass. Ancestor is the right word.”

“Well, I had no idea,” Mariel said. “Lived here almost six years, and I just learned something new. Didn’t even know this place was here. Thank you for the lesson, Agnes.”

Agnes bowed and backed theatrically to the side.

“I know it still needs work.” Erran squinted as he surveyed the area. It was truly hard to imagine the Rutlands living so humbly, but there was a charm to it that the Spires lacked. The thatched roof on the main building was cozy and welcoming. The tower, intriguing. She wondered what it had been like to pass a meal inside... how children had played in the surrounding land before it had been lost to time. “We did as much as we could before the rainy season, but we’ll finish up when it passes.”

“We’re moving here?” Mariel asked, watching Erran try to read her. The idea of austere living was appealing, but it was hardly a place for a steward to do business and entertain guests. “Is that the surprise?”

“Nay, love.” Erran’s hard swallow betrayed his nerves. Whatever he was about to say, he’d had time to work up to it and was still uncertain. “It’s for you.”

Mariel was confused. “Me? You want me to live here?”

“No, silly Mama.” Agnes’s laugh rang through the night. “Daddy said you miss work, and your work was helping people. He said you could help people here as much as you want. They can come here.”

Esther tugged at her hand. “Mama?”

“Yes, butterfly?” Mariel murmured, her thoughts drifting. For you. For your work.

“Do you love it?”

“Aye, lass,” she answered, though she was looking at her husband, trying to understand. She was already spending much of her time in the village, even if it did sometimes feel like they were only putting ointment on a wound.

“I specifically recall you talking about how people...” Erran’s voice caught. “Died simply because they could not afford care when their injuries or illnesses were easily cured. Now, I don’t ken to know how to fix that, but I suspect you have some ideas. Perhaps what you need is a place to see them come to life.”

Mariel pressed a hand to her mouth so the girls wouldn’t hear the blubbering building in her throat. “Erran...” She shook her head, unable to continue, recalling what he hadn’t said. The conversation that had given him the idea hadn’t been about Obsidian Sky at all. Right after Esther’s birth, when the physician had told her there’d be no more children, she’d experienced a breakdown that had lasted months. Motherhood filled the need within her to nurture and protect the vulnerable, even more than before, but she’d envisioned their family as being bigger, somehow. Having it taken from her hadn’t dulled the joyfulness she took from mothering two beautiful, perfect little girls, but how she felt about the whole thing was actually much more difficult to define than words could provide.

But Erran had understood. He’d read her just fine. He’d known precisely what she meant, what she needed. The purpose she’d been unknowingly seeking for over two years.

She rocked into him and gave in to the tears. Agnes and Esther rushed over to join.

Erran tilted her head back, inspecting her. “Will it suffice?”

“Will it...” Mariel laughed through her sniffles. “Your heart, Erran. It’s too big.”

“Too big? Or just big enough for my three beautiful lassies?”

“Mama, I wanna help!” Agnes cried. “I wanna help those men too, like we help in the village.”

“And women, Ag,” Erran said, one hand on the back of her head as he grinned at her. “Mayhap children too.”

“Can I help?” Esther was so quiet, they barely heard her, but Mariel was always listening for her daughter’s sweet voice.

“Of course.” Mariel choked up as she crushed her children against her. Erran had been busier of late, but she’d assumed it had to do with his duties as steward. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have foreseen what he had really been up to. “You both can, just as you always have.”

Erran snaked a hand behind her neck and drew her in for a lingering kiss. More. Again. Always. Forever.

The girls made gagging sounds, but Erran tsk-tsked and said, “Nay, nay, girls. I want you both to see what it looks like when a man loves his wife, so you’ll never accept less for yourselves. There’s no shame in a man who wears his feelings.”

“Revolting,” Agnes muttered with an eyeroll to her sister.

Mariel met her husband’s eyes over the heads of their perfect children. She could read his heart as well as he’d always read hers. He knew her better than she knew herself sometimes, and he had been showing her, in ways small and large, for over five years.

She couldn’t predict how many years awaited them or what they might bring. Tomorrow was not promised. Nothing in life was ever certain. She knew it better than most.

But in the moment, in that perfect slice of time under the moonlight, wrapped in the love of her husband and children, she had everything she could ever want or need.

My heart, he mouthed over Agnes’s head.

Through her tears, she whispered, “My heart.”

“Shall we get the girls to bed?”

“It is way past their rest time, Daddy.”

Both of them soundly objected, their parents grinning through their unspoken conspiracy. Erran took Esther; Mariel, Agnes.

Mariel let him deliver the best part. He’d more than earned it.

Erran winked at her and shifted Esther higher in his arms. “I ken it wouldn’t hurt to eat some pie first.”