“Speaking of which. Your father and I have been summoned to a great banquet in Baev’kalath.”
Estra smirks, her silver eyes glinting. “And you’re dreading it?”
“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation, exhaling a weary sigh. “I’ve not had the best history with Baev’kalath or its banquets. But for your aunt and for Reon, I’ll do my best to endure. It will be strange, though, not seeing Orios and Solena across the table.”
Estra’s expression softens. “Where do you think they are now?”
“Somewhere quiet,” I answer, leaning against the balcony rail. “Somewhere far away, where their only care in the world is each other. They fought hard for that peace, defied every rule that tried to keep them apart. I imagine we might never see them again.”
She goes silent, so I reach across the railing, my hand sliding over hers.
“Just promise me,” I say softly, “thatyouwill not vanish forever.”
Estra turns to me, her face open, earnest. “I spent most of my life without you, Mother. I would never put any of us through that pain again. But I can’t stay here forever. I need to see the world. I’ve known only the barren lands of An’kel and Gygarth’s darkness. I want to know what else there is.”
I nod, though her words twist something deep inside me. “I understand,” I say, even if the ache of it nearly undoes me. “When you return, you know where to find your father and me. Wherever you are, whenever you call, we’ll answer.”
Movement catches my eye below. Through the tall grass, a figure walks toward the castle, the gold shimmer of his mask catching the afternoon light. Ronin. Dressed simply, no armor, no cloak, only worn travel clothes and a sword strapped to his back.
Daed sees him too. He straightens from where he’s working in the garden, tosses the shovel aside a little too forcefully, and claps his hands together to rid them of dirt. His scowl is immediate, fangs flashing as the sunlight strikes his face.
Estra groans. “I’d hoped he’d be used to it by now.”
A laugh slips from me before I can stop it. “Used to it? To his daughter riding off with the Golden Son? My love, you ask too much of him.”
“Hisname is Ronin,” she says pointedly. “And he wants the same thing I do.”
I lift my chin, the faintest edge to my smile. “It’s what Ronin wants that worries your father most.”
Estra makes a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Mother. It isn’t like that.”
I smirk, folding my arms. “Say what you will, but I’d keep your farewells short before your father beats him to death with that shovel.”
She sighs. “You’re probably right.”
Estra rolls her shoulders, and the collar of her linen shirt shifts, just enough to reveal the bright blue moonstone resting at her collarbone. It glimmers like captured sky against the dark runes etched into her skin. They blaze, not the soft violet of old, but a wild, living green, and a heartbeat later, her wings burst free. They unfurl with a sharp sweep, feathers glossy as spilled ink and tipped with silver light. Smaller than most, yes, and she still hides her self-consciousness beneath bravado, but they are beautiful all the same.
She steps onto the balcony rail, her boots finding balance with effortless grace, sunlight gilding her curls. She glances back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming. “Are you coming?”
I smile. “After you.”
Her grin flashes and then she falls backward into the open air, wings snapping wide to catch the wind. The rush lifts her into a sweeping arc that makes my heart ache with pride.
With a flick of my wrist, vines unfurl from the balcony’s edge, weaving themselves into a ramp of living green. Leaves shimmer in the sunlight as I lift my skirts, stepping barefoot along its length until I reach the railing.
I summon my wings. They bloom from my back in a whisper of vines and petals, the scent of spring filling the air. Then, like Estra, I leap.
The wind rushes against my skin as I glide downward, landing lightly in the garden below. I barely touch the ground before Daed’s arm curls around my waist, pulling me close, his lips pressing against the side of my neck.
“Wife,” he murmurs, voice dark and velvet.
“Husband,” I breathe, and I don’t mind the sweat on his skin or the dirt on his hands. They are proof of life, of peace.
Estra groans, rolling her eyes. “Honestly. Do you ever stop?”
I do not get the chance to answer. Ronin lingers at the garden’s edge, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at us.
“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Daed snaps, folding his arms.
