“Never ever ever,” he mumbles sleepily.
We lie there entwined for a long time, until the candles burn low.
I know we should get up and wash, but I can’t bear to move away from him. I stroke his hair, carefully untangling the knots with my fingers. His breathing turns steady and heavy as he teeters on the edge of sleep.
It was beautiful, that light that bloomed between us. For a moment, I wondered if it was possible that it was brighter than the Green Flame.
But though Dayton is a hero and as beautiful as his love is, he can’t fix me.
I lift my hand, staring at it.Can I fix me?
A strange sound whispers through the room, a fluttering. Dayton jerks up, looking around with glazed eyes. “Huh? What’s that?”
I catch sight of it in the candlelight. A small bird, formed of paper. It must have slipped in through the crack in my balcony door.
It looks the same as the one I received this morning, telling me of the lost rose.
Dayton snatches it out of the air and unfolds it. My heart shudders, and a deep sense of foreboding fills me. “I can’t take any more bad news,” I mumble.
Dayton smiles. “No, this is good news. It’s an invitation.”
“What?”
The candlelight flickers playfully in his turquoise gaze. “An invitation to the recoronation of High Prince Ezryn of Spring.”
30
Ezryn
“Rise, Ezryn, son of Isidora and Thalionor, guardian ofHammergarden and the verdant lands beyond, as High Prince of the Spring Realm.”
Tilla’s voice radiates with command as she sprinkles sacred water over me, drawn from the river’s highest point upon Mount Lumidor. My starlight silver armor clatters as I stand before the throne, crafted from the helms of my ancestors.
I stare into the visor of her helm. She gives me a reassuring nod. Then I turn and face the Hall of Vernalion. Face my people.
Everywhere I look, I meet the gaze of one of my citizens. They smile up at me. Some of their eyes are watery with tears, others’ shining with hope—something sorely lacking in our realm of late. Flowers are woven into crowns upon their heads, young and old, men and women alike. A symbol of joy, of merriment.
Tilla steps beside me, her voice ringing through the sun-dappled hall. “Behold Ezryn, the Reborn Prince!”
The room is silent for a beat, just long enough for the words to settle in the air like drifting petals.
Then it begins.
A cheer swells, low and trembling at first, then rising to a rumble. The Hall of Vernalion erupts. Applause, stomping feet, joyous cries. The sound is thunderous but somehow still beautiful.
“Hail the High Prince of Spring!”
“Hail Ezryn!”
“Long may he bloom!”
The cheer catches. Through the windows, I spy the grounds of Keep Hammergarden filled with people. They begin dancing, scooping up the cherry blossoms that cover the ground and throwing them up into the air.
At the very front of the hall, I look to Dayton and Farron. Happiness shimmers in both their gazes as they clap. Next to Farron are Padraig, the twins, and Delphie and Nori. George looks up at me with such pride, a lump forms in my throat. Nearby, Marigold and Eldor are arm in arm, while Astrid gives the air a triumphant punch. Marigold wipes a tear away with a handkerchief, then waves at me. She turns to the person beside her—an acolyte who’s made the journey down from the monastery—and points to me, mouthing, “That’s my boy!”
In spite of everything going on, they have taken the time to gather, to witness this moment.
My heart swells and aches at once.
