Chapter 1

Caris marked the first-year anniversary of the Infernal War as a day of national remembrance, shared by representatives from every country still in existence. The memory walls across Ashion overflowed with names, the pews in star temples packed with those left behind. Caris did her duty as queen, a pillar of strength for the mourners to look to. After the sermon, after she laid a wreath at the feet of the North Star's statue carved into the memory wall in Amari, Caris was whisked away back to the palace for a state dinner.

"At least rationing is over and done with," Lore said as she adjusted the drape of Caris' gown. "I'm looking forward to dessert."

"Will there be cake?" Lisandro asked from where he stood beside the throne to Caris' right. At six years old, he was a reserved boy these days, the war and loss of his mother having changed him as it had everyone.

"You'll have some in the nursery," Caris promised.

Lisandro fiddled with the lapels of his formal suit jacket, the golden circlet he wore as heir glittering brightly in the gas lamp light. "Berry cake, please, Aunt Caris."

"I have it on good authority the cooks have made one special just for you."

He smiled at her, with none of the anger he used to carry, time easing his pain and grief. Children were resilient, but he remembered his mother, and Caris had no desire to force him to see her as a replacement. She was learning to love him as if he was hers, learning, too, what it meant to be a parent regardless of names and titles.

"There, I think that's done it." Lore stepped back, discreetly smoothing down the skirt of her own gown, the rich emerald green of it suiting her.

Caris studied the exquisitely designed ball gown she wore, with its lace appliques and clarion crystal beads, the jewelry that caught the light, and the necklace that held Nathaniel's ring and clarion crystal shard. The crown on her head was newly requisitioned, lighter than the one she'd been coronated in, and filled with so many diamonds it had made her blanch when she first saw it.

"Thank you," Caris said, adjusting the white satin sash that crossed one shoulder. "Hopefully, this won't take too long."

"Not more than an hour, Your Royal Majesty," the palace's head historian promised before returning his attention to the photographer and their assistant overseeing the last tweaks to the cameras.

Caris shared a pained look with Lore, who bit her lip and ducked her head to hide her laughter. Caris was glad to see Lore had healed enough over the past year to find humor again and stand on her own two feet without need of a cane or a wheelchair these days.

"Only an hour," Caris muttered under her breath.

She'd counted days like that since the end of the Infernal War, getting through the aftermath through sheer will alone at times. This was no different, even if Lisandro was better at being still than he had been when he was five.

Eventually, the photographer indicated he was ready, and Caris sat up straighter on her throne, holding out her hand to Lisandro. Her nephew placed his hand in hers, and she settled them on the gilded armrest of the throne, both of them staring into the lens of the camera. This portrait sitting was to aid in documenting Lisandro as her heir, their first official royal portrait together as Rourkes.

Caris straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, crown settled firmly on her head. She stared at the camera, fixed a smile on her face, and held it, wishing for all the world in that moment that Nathaniel was seated beside her, his hand in hers. But he wasn't there, and Caris smiled for the camera in the throne room, the flash of the bulb nearly blinding her?—

—and months later, she smiled when she welcomed the wardens' governor to parliament?—

—she smiled when she signed a treaty with the Tovan Isles in New Haven some years after the war?—

—and she smiled when Lisandro stopped mourning his mother and came to her?—

—she smiled at every opening of the Ashion parliament that she presided over and?—

—when Blaine and Honovi adopted an orphaned boy into their clan and brought him on an airship one year to meet her and?—

—she smiled when she shook the Imperial emperor's hand some years after the end of the Infernal War, her brother in blood only but never name by his side as consort, finally happy, and?—

—she smiled when Lisandro earned his commission from the Ashion officer's school, a proud young man who hugged her fiercely, an embrace splashed across the broadsheets to further dispel the rumor they were at odds with each other?—

—and she smiled when he fell in love and married Captain Hyacinth Votil's daughter and?—

—Caris never stopped smiling through the years that came after the Infernal War and the start of the Age of Rebirth decreed by the star gods. The portraits of her life could be found in tintype photographs and oil paintings in homes across the continent, moments captured in perpetuity of a girl grown to womanhood and wedded to her country rather than the man she never stopped loving, whose memory hung from her throat and never left her, the song of it heard in her dreams.

And one day, decades after she was crowned, Caris settled herself on that bench in the palace garden beneath a flowering tree, in a hidden grove that held a pond and a private memory wall that carried only a handful of names. At the age of eighty-two, her bones ached from years lived, but the spring day was warm after a cold winter, and she soaked up the sun like her granddaughter's favorite cat.

Her vision wasn't the best these days, the glasses perched on her nose ever present. Still, she could make out the names on the memory wall well enough, tracing the letters carved into marble.

"I wish you could have seen it," Caris said into the quiet of the garden, speaking to ghosts. "You would have loved it, I think. This world we made."

"You did well. Never doubt that."

Caris jerked, startled, but a warm hand pressing down on her shoulder kept her on the bench. She looked up and up, staring into the ageless face of the North Star. Aaralyn looked younger than her granddaughter, radiant in the way all the star gods were. "My lady."

Aaralyn gently patted Caris' shoulder before folding her hands together in front of her. She was dressed as a noblewoman, the capped sleeves of her gown showing off the golden constellation tattoo that covered her right arm. "Queen Mother."

Caris bowed her head, empty of a crown these days. Lisandro ruled in her place and had for quite some time, her nephew whom she loved as a son presiding over the reunified country that was Ashion with a gravity Caris had been the one to impart to him. Lisandro made a fine king, respected and even-handed when it came to ruling, and she was ever proud of the man he'd become. "Are you satisfied?"

"Quite. It was a long time coming, but Ashion was always meant to be whole again. That is your legacy. Your people will cherish it, as they have cherished you."

Aaralyn's shadow on the ground disappeared. Caris raised her head, ready to call out to the North Star, to offer a prayer, but the words stuck in her throat as she saw who walked down the garden path toward her.

An impossible ghost from her past approached, the faded memory of him sharpening in her mind just then. It hurt to breathe, tears coming to her eyes as he stopped in front of her and bowed. As he straightened, he offered her his hand, smiling all the while.

"My darling Caris," Nathaniel said. "Will you walk with me?"

"Oh, Nathaniel," Caris breathed, the sun overhead filling the sky and washing everything out, but it didn't matter, for all she saw were the stars in his warm brown eyes.

At the end of her road, Caris reached for Nathaniel's hand.