Chapter 3

The first month of winter and last month of the year saw the official coronation of Caris and her designation of Lisandro as her heir, permanently removing Soren from the line of succession. It meant his last border duty as a warden that Delani had given him was finished. The Warden's Island would not take him in as a warden, his ability to cast starfire and his no longer hidden ties to the Rourke bloodline proof he could never be neutral by their laws. Delani had made that clear in the few telephone calls they'd had in the weeks following Daijal's surrender. It was a repudiation, but it hurt less than Soren ever thought it could.

"Does Caris know you're leaving?"

Soren craned his head around and watched Blaine approach him on the mezzanine overlooking the grand ballroom below. The dance floor was crowded beneath the massive crystal chandeliers, the nobility dressed in their finest, military officers from Ashion, Solaria, and E'ridia in pristinely pressed uniforms, diplomats from those same countries, and a scattering of wardens who all looked drably out of place.

He had been told the Ashion fashion styles for high society were all scandalously out-of-date, but no one was going to be seen spending heaps of aurons on new suits and gowns for Caris' coronation when the country was still in the grips of post-war deprivation.

Blaine had opted for a kilt and a formal evening coat styled so that it fell to his waist, one sleeve shorter than the other to accommodate his metal prosthetic. His gold marriage torc was on display around his throat, hair braided back and adorned with metal hair ornaments, and knee-high black boots shined to perfection. There would be no mistaking him for anything other than E'ridian tonight, and Soren rather thought that was the point.

"What makes you think I'm leaving?" Soren asked.

Blaine leaned against the railing beside him, gaze on the dancers below. "Meleri told me the palace staff had orders to prepare your velocycle for transport."

"The duchess is probably happy about that."

"I think she'd rather you remain as heir over Lisandro, but we all know Ashion was never going to be your home."

Which was true. His home—his road—had only ever led him to Solaria, to one man. "I leave at sunset. I won't hold up the Legion's airship any longer than that. They have other stops to make along the way back to Calhames."

Blaine nodded. "Caris will want to say goodbye to you."

Soren picked out Caris in the crowd, her red ball gown and golden crown easy to spot in a sea of people. "This is all for her. Let her enjoy it."

"She's here because it's her duty, not because this was what she wanted for her life." Blaine sighed, drumming the fingers of his metal hand against the railing. "I think she'd accept it better if she still had Nathaniel."

But she didn't, and Soren couldn't be for her what Nathaniel had been in terms of support. "She'll have the Auclairs and the favor of the North Star. Caris couldn't have put out the decree if that weren't the case."

"One hopes." Blaine nodded at the ballroom spread out below them. "Don't leave until I can extract Caris from the clutches of her admirers and sycophants."

He and Caris had discussed much over the weeks since the Infernal War ended, but Soren supposed a proper goodbye would be best. "I'll be in the grand foyer."

They parted ways, with Soren leaving the glitter and glitz of Ashion high society behind him, a world far removed from the poison fields he'd grown up in. He made his way through the palace, the grand hallways still in the midst of renovation to showcase Ashion art and history, not Daijal's. Caris hadn't wanted to wait for everything to be completed before having her coronation. Better to start the new year off with no question of who ruled as she tried to integrate Daijal back into Ashion. It would be a lifetime task, he knew, but he rather thought she'd succeed.

The grand foyer attached to the main entrance of the palace was brightly lit, with Royal Guards stationed at the door. Soren chose to wait inside where it was warm, enjoying the quiet that came without being hemmed in by a crowd.

"Soren," Caris called out from down the long hallway sometime later, hurrying toward him in a way undignified of royalty. She was alone save for the trio of Royal Guards who always seemed to follow her around for her protection, one of whom was Maurus.

"Caris."

She came to a breathless stop in front of him, the skirt of her ball gown brushing against the toes of his boots. She looked every inch the queen her people wanted her to be, the remnants of the girl who'd grown up in Cosian wanting to be an engineer impossible to see now. "Blaine said you are leaving tonight."

Soren shrugged. "This was never meant to be my home."

"I hope Solaria will be it for you."

Caris smiled sweetly at him before leaning forward to embrace him. Soren wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, and closed his eyes. Some part of him wondered what their lives could have been like—him and Caris and Eimarille—if the Inferno had never happened, if their roads were never meant to fork. But there was no use wondering about a road lost to them.

When Caris finally pulled away, her eyes were clear and dry, a steadiness to her gaze he was glad to see. "You'll call and write? I know you don't see yourself as Rourke, but I'd like to still know you as my brother."

"I'll call, and I'll write," Soren promised. He knew of her now, knew there was no point in pretending their ties did not exist. "Take care of yourself, little sister."

Caris beamed at him, still so young to bear the burdens of a country on her shoulders, but he knew she wouldn't buckle. They were more alike in that way than anyone would know.

Soren leaned forward and kissed her forehead before walking out of the palace into the cold twilight of winter. His breath puffed out in soft clouds of white as he took the steps down to the drive, where his velocycle waited. The Royal Guards on duty snapped off crisp salutes, which Soren didn't return. He buttoned up his jacket, swung his leg over the seat, and started the engine with a twist of the key in the ignition.

Pulling away, Soren didn't look back and drove out of the palace grounds, letting the single lamp headlight lead the way through Amari. He passed through heavily guarded checkpoints at every inner wall gate, always getting clearance to pass. The outer wall had finally been rebuilt in every broken section, and while there was a hard curfew at sunset where the gates remained closed, he was allowed through the one leading to the airfield.

"Hangar Three," the guard on duty said, pointing him toward the long main pier. "Ground crew is gone for the night."

"I'll manage," Soren said.

He walked his velocycle down the pier toward the only hangar that was lit. The iron doors used by the ground crew were closed against any possible revenant threat, but they opened at his knock. The legionnaire guarding that door bowed deeply at his arrival.

"We'll handle your velocycle," the legionnaire politely said.

Soren was glad to converse in Solarian again, the language far less grating to his ears than Ashionen had been over the past months. "Thank you."

He left his velocycle in capable hands and made his way to the gangplank that led to a Solarian airship. The crew got him settled, and Soren watched the launch through a port window in his tiny room, Amari growing smaller and smaller as the airship ascended. Pockets of darkness indicating bombed-out ruins were still scattered across Amari, but he knew by this time next year, they'd all be filled in with gas lamp light.

Soren wouldn't be around to see that progress, but Caris would tell him all about it one day.