Page 154 of On Brutal Thrones

Fenric's hand stays at my back, warm and steady.

“As most of you know, celebrations here haven't always been quite this...” I glance at the tables groaning beneath food. “Abundant.”

Laughter moves through the room, and some of the older farmers laugh the hardest.

They remember.

So do I.

“But Solvane is about honoring the sun at its peak. It's about vitality and strength. And after the years we've had, I think we deserve a little of both.”

More laughter follows, and I smile.

“Our fields are growing again. Our animals are healthy. Our homes are safe. Our families are together.”

My voice catches on the last word.

Lyra smiles at me. Fenric’s mother has returned to her seat, one arm draped around her daughter’s shoulders while Fenric smiles beside her. His father comes in from his daily walk around the lands, pausing to brush a little dirt from his boots before joining them. He settles into his chair with a contented sigh, happy to spend his days wandering the fields and enjoying the quiet. Hilda and Ivor sit with full glasses. My husbands stand around me.

Everyone is here.

I take a breath. “So today, I don't want to ask for anything. I think we've done enough asking.”

Thorian’s hand presses more firmly against my back, and a faint hum of power passes through me. I still feel it sometimes, that quiet reminder of what awakened inside him during the Trials. A demigod. My husband. Even now, I can hardly believe I get to stand here with him, surrounded by the ordinary happiness we fought so hard to have.

“Today, I just want to be grateful for what we already have.”

My gaze moves around the room and then returns to the three men beside me.

More than I ever dreamed.

“To happy lives,” Thorian says, lifting his glass.

“And full bellies,” Fenric adds.

Talon raises his. “And to obscenely expensive wine.”

The room erupts with laughter and shouts of agreement. Glasses rise. I laugh as I drink. Then everyone continues eating.

For a while, I simply let myself experience it.

Silverware clinks against fine porcelain. Someone starts singing at the far end of the room. Children dart between tables until their parents catch them. Ivor tells his donkey joke for what must be the hundredth time, and somehow half the room still laughs.

I nearly cry from happiness at the sight.

Lyra steals a sugared berry from Ivor's plate. Fenric's siblings have brought their game to the table and are still arguing about who cheated. Fenric's mother laughs as she watches them, one hand curled around a glass of wine. Everyone is here. Well, almost everyone.

Under the table, Fenric's hand finds mine.

His thumb brushes lazily across my knuckles. “What are you thinking about?”

I glance at him.

Talon immediately leans closer. “Yes. What are we thinking about?”

“We aren't thinking about anything.”

“Speak for yourself.”