“Daed?”
Then his chest rises. A ragged, shuddering breath breaks the silence, followed by another, and another, until he gasps, sharp and desperate, as though the world is rushing back into him.
His eyes open, unfocused at first, then burning.
The petals fall faster, the blossoms shiver on my wings, and I laugh through the tears still streaming down my face.
“Welcome back, my love,” I whisper, cradling his face as he blinks up at me, confusion and awe mingling in those eyes I thought I’d never see again.
As the brilliance dims, glittering ashes of light drift down like slow-falling stars. They touch the wounded earth, the shattered stones and the fallen. The shimmering dust settles upon Solena and Orios, upon Reon and Ronin, seeping into their wounds, their blood, their bones.
I cradle Daed’s face and lift his chin so he has to look at me.
“You brought me back,” he whispers, voice thin as breath. His eyes focus, and when he notices my wings, his brows lift. “And now you can fly?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I haven’t tried yet.”
He manages a crooked smile, stubborn and bright as ever. “Then I will teach you, wife.”
A laugh slips from me, small and soft, something I thought I had lost forever. “I look forward to it, husband.”
He lifts his chin and I lean in, ready to kiss him.
Zyphoro barrels into me, shoving me aside. My wings vanish in shock as she wraps Daed up and squeezes him so hard his eyes bulge.
“I thought you were dead!” she shrieks.
“I was,” he croaks.
She loosens her grip. He drags in a wheezing breath.
“Do not ever do that again,” she orders, voice cracking.
Daed steadies his breathing. When he can speak, he reaches for her shoulder, squeezing it with what strength he has.
“You either,” he breathes.
Zyphoro and I haul Daed to his feet. He sways, then steadies.
“Gygarth,” I say quietly. “Is he truly gone?”
Daed brushes his knuckle against his chest. “I feel him,” he murmurs. “Writhing like snakes inside me. But he is imprisoned for now.”
I nod slowly. “For now. But what if…”
He cuts me off. “No buts. No what ifs. For now he is silent. and our daughter is waiting for us. Nothing else matters.”
Suddenly he lets out a low groan and lurches forward.
“Is this what it feels like?” he rasps, breath shaky. “Being resurrected?”
“I’m not sure,” I say softly. “How do you feel?”
He grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like shit.”
“Then yes,” I tell him. “That’s what it feels like.”
Ronin and the others climb the stairs toward us, healed and renewed, weapons drawn and ready to face whatever waits beyond the temple’s doors.
