She didn’t respond, just stood like a wooden board in my arms. Then she melted against me, fingernails scratching my back. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m?—”
“None of that.”
She stayed there in my arms for half a moment before pulling away—which is a lifetime to get to hold Birdy.
Lastly, Rosalina crossed the veil between the worlds, her body trembling with radiance in a way it never will in this realm. She didn’t take my hand, nor did she look back. But her eyes burned with a familiar fire, one I have only seen in tapestries and paintings.
The light of the fae as they fell from the Above.
My magic is weakened after Aurelia’s spell. I don’t know if it’ll ever fully return, but I was able to use a rush of green flame to incinerate the rosebush.No one can follow us now.
We stand on the edge of town, the rain dripping down my spine and settling on my eyelashes. I look to them: Rosalina. Kel. Ezryn. Farron. Dayton. Birdy and Anya.
All the people I’ve ever loved in my life who still draw breath.
I finally had everything I wanted. A home. A family. And my mother’s dark heart destroyed it.
My gaze settles on Rosalina. Her throat bobs, and I wonder if it is only rain painting her cheeks.
She takes the first step, then heaves a breath. “Well,” she whispers, “I’m back.”
I don’t tell her this, not yet, because she’s too deep in anguish to hear it.
But she’s not back. Not by a long shot.
None of us are.
Instead, I stand beside her and squeeze her hand. Someone takes mine on the other side. I look down. Birdy, a wren with feathers too drenched to fly. On Rosalina’s other side, Farron has taken her hand, and Dayton his. He reaches out for Ezryn, who takes his hand and extends his own to Kel. Then the Sworn Protector of the Realms offers a hand to the Queen of the Vale. Anya takes it.
I have been beaten and tortured and stripped of all hope. But I know how to claw it back. So I’ll teach them. For all the things they’ve given me in my life, I’ll give them this.
And when the queen, the princesses, and the princes of the Enchanted Vale rise again, nothing in the seven realms or the worlds beyond will be able to break us.
87
Faustrius
Night is falling over the Enchanted Vale, bringing with it thecrisp breeze and bite of cold.
Long have I dreamt of this: walking with my people under the stars that once housed us. A new home. A new life. A place to bask in the remnants of magic, as we once basked in its full glory.
But there is no magic here. At least not much. It’s wisping away, like water boiled too hot.
I stare at her, sitting upon a makeshift throne of rubble and wood. She lounges with her legs over one armrest as if it were made of silken pillows and gold plating instead of destruction. Somehow, she’s still able to make the whole thing luxurious.
But Sira has always had this quality. To take something vile and put it to purpose.
Despite having only just escaped the shadow prison her son trapped her in, she is as striking as ever. Victory suits her, carving her lips into a semblance of a smile. Her hair is a silky black curtain down her back. Though there is only ash and blood on the wind, I know how it smells, the heady blend of jasmine and frankincense that would overtake my mind with a flick of that black curtain over her shoulder.
But a beautiful crown does not make a beautiful queen.
“You’ve killed the tree,” I say, hand tightening on the hilt of my sword.
“And you’ve lost my prisoners,” she snarls.
“This was never our arrangement.” I step toward her, voice rising. “What of the magic?”
She waves her hand flippantly. “Who needs Aurelia’s dregs?” Her gaze shifts to the ground, and she says through gritted teeth, “Besides, for one pesky weed, her roots run deep.”
