Ronin exhales. “I’m not a child, Rook. I’ve led armies.”
Daed’s brows lift. “The same army that set you on fire? I wouldn’t boast about that.”
I tap his chest, failing to hide my grin. “Be kind,” I chide softly, but the laughter in my voice betrays me.
Ronin turns to me instead, wisely seeking refuge. “She’ll be safe, Amara. You have my word.”
Estra scoffs before I can answer. “I’ll be safe because of me, not because of you, Ronin.”
He mutters something under his breath, and I swear it’s in perfect imitation of Daed’s usual curses.
Estra turns to us, her face softening, caught between longing and resolve. I see everything she wants to say written across her expression, the pride, the fear, the love, and I lift my hand to her cheek before she can speak.
“I hope you find what you’re searching for, daughter,” I whisper.
Her eyes sheen, and the tension melts from her shoulders. She steps forward and presses a kiss to my cheek, warm and trembling and full of promise.
Her father, however, is silent. His gaze lingers somewhere far beyond the horizon, but I feel the faint twitch of his leg beside me, the only betrayal of his calm.
“Father,” Estra says softly at first, then again, firmer this time, commanding, as ifhewere the child.
“Father.”
Reluctantly, Daed drags his eyes from the distance to meet hers.
“I’ll see you soon,” she says. “I promise.”
For a heartbeat, he holds on to that proud Fae stoicism, the hardness that’s protected him for centuries, but it crumbles the moment she starts to turn away. He reaches out, catching her by the elbow.
Estra stops mid-step, a knowing smile curving her mouth before she steps closer. She rises onto her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek.
“I love you, Father,” she whispers against his skin.
And just like that, the fearsome Fae prince, the one who has faced gods and demons without flinching, is at last defeated.
“I love you too,” he says, voice thick. “Be careful.”
But we both know the truth. She does not need protection. It is the world that should be weary of her.
“I’ll open a portal back to Baev’kalath,” I say, stepping forward.
Estra and Ronin exchange wary looks.
“Unless,” I add, lips twitching, “you’d rather she scoop you up and fly you through the tidal wall?”
Ronin grimaces. “A portal would be appreciated.”
I smile faintly and extend my arm. From beneath my sleeve, a vine unfurls, curling around my wrist until thorns bloom and pierce my skin. Blood wells and drips to the earth, each drop shimmering before a rift tears open before us.
Through it, Baev’kalath glimmers, the black fortress beneath its eternal storm, waves crashing against its cliffs. Yet for the first time in centuries, the clouds seem thinner, the darkness not so absolute. There is hope there now, where once there was none.
“Goodbye,” Estra says, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it.
Daed and I only nod, holding each other close as we watch her step through just as lightning strikes the sky. Ronin follows, glancing over his shoulder to farewell us a last time before the portal seals behind them, my blood healing into a scatter of red petals that drift down to rest upon the grass.
For a moment, we stand there, quiet. The air hums with the ache of parting, but also with something deeper. Our daughter is free, the world remade, and if we can survive the God of Death, nothing will ever part us again.
“What do we do now?” I ask, voice soft against the hush of the wind.
