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Last, we ventured separate ways. I could feel Randsin’s presence become distant as he stepped into Tierasia to create his new portal. I guided myself back into the Twinity Court castle. Fae, hired onto the staff, were busy cleaning and preparing for our return. A maid was in Dace’s room, our room, opening up the windows to give the room a nice breeze. She picked up a rag from the table and began dusting the few decorative pieces that Dace kept there. A small figurine he played with as a child and a portrait of a battle fought many years ago.
I picked a book that sat next to the bed. I could sense his fingerprints on the last of its pages. I opened the book and began cutting the fabric between Tierasia and Stylica. Randsin met me in the middle, cutting his own portal from his side. Magic spun from our world to his like water rushing over a cliff.
Spiritually, I was distant from my body in the Acture Court. A ghostly feeling, one I knew I wouldn’t understand once we broke the tokens apart again. Pulling myself back, I tugged on my natural body, following the rope that would always lead me back. I passed like a phantom through Dace’s body, feeling him shiver as he took a sharp breath.
“Give me one minute,” Randsin said. “I want…I’m going to make this voice permanent. I’m taking back what is mine.”
I nodded, turning to watch the group. Inside each one of them, I could see their darkest secrets and most burning desires if I looked hard enough. They curled into themselves as if they felt it too, trying to hide from my curious gaze. I turned back to Randsin and he cleared his throat.
“Now,” he said.
And we pulled the pieces apart.
Epilogue
DACE
There was a happy familiarity in the broken glass and the unidentified liquids that stuck to my boots. With each step, I peeled myself off the sticky floorboards, heading for the counter. This early in the morning, only the worst Fae filled the chairs. Not the ones that hid in the shadows with dark secrets to trade or the criminals whose faces were drawn on wanted posters. The men that sat here were the alcoholics and the ones who hid from their wives or their responsibilities. I’d been one of them once.
A new bartender was scrubbing at the bar top with a rag. She was young, not yet to her stilling, or perhaps she had a drop more noble blood than the last bartender. As I approached she looked up, her eyes growing wide.
“King Dace.” She bowed dramatically. “What brings you here?”
“Nostalgia?” I offered, climbing onto a bar stool. “What happened to the, uh,” I suddenly found myself without the proper tactful words to complete my question, settling for whatever came to mind, “the girl with the teeth and the boobs?”
“Oh,” she laughed, knowing exactly the bartender I was talking about, “I bought the bar off of her. Thinking I might fix it up a little bit.”
I glanced around at the splintered tables and the lights that barely flickered above the booths. This bar had always held a sort of magic for me. “Would the public think less of me for finding myself at home in a joint like this?”
“Not when I get through with it.” She grinned. “And if I can let you in on a little secret…I think the public likes a king they can relate to.”
Maybe that’s all it was. The support I had gained from the people. They saw me, and my pain reminded them of their own. I wasn’t a proper prince who sat on his throne waving his riches about. I was a sad man whose problems often weighed me down. Someone who made mistakes and had to learn from them.
“Hmmm,” I hummed, thinking her statement over.
“What can I get you?” she finally asked. She held a rag in her hand and didn’t lean over the counter.
“Just whatever you have on tap is fine.”
“Are you waiting on anyone?” she asked, pulling a clean glass from the stack.
“Actually, I am.” I smiled.
“Would you like me to start a tab for you?” She set down a bubbling cup of ale in front of me. The door swung open, a chorus of laughter filling the room as three more patrons entered.
I turned, opening my arms to offer the seats next to me. Daethian leaned on Shavarra, pushing her down playfully, as she giggled, fighting back. Ryker staggered behind them, holding herself up as best she could as she tried to catch her breath.
“Yes, I think we may need one.”
“I’ve won the bet!” Shavarra threw Daethian off of her and tossed her hands in the air. “I kept a straight face all the way to the pub.”
“Hardly, you were laughing before we reached the door,” he pointed out.
Ryker wiped away tears, still smiling as she approached. A warm brown coat was pulled tight over her shoulders, sprinkles of the snow falling outside melting in her hair. I stood, unbuttoning the coat as she pressed up on her toes, kissing me gently.
Shavarra and Daethian turned, heading for the few games the bar had to offer. Betting games. They jostled each other like old friends, laughing like goons.
“What’s that all about?” I asked, propping her coat on the back of the stool.
