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“You’ll come back,” Cassia reassured her.
“Yes. But it will never be the same.”
“Perhaps it will be better.”
Solia’s gaze returned to her. “My pragmatic Pup. When did you become an optimist?”
“Not when. Where. Come through this gate with me, and I’ll show you.”
Zoe chose that moment to run over to Solia for one more hug. “Mama says we must wait for you at home. I’ll make sure Bosko doesn’t eat all the mince pies before you get there.”
“Thank you,” Solia said solemnly, a hidden smile in her eyes.
Apollon gave Komnena a kiss before she took Zoe through a neighboring gate. Then he turned to Lio and Cassia, Mak and Lyros, Solia and the Ashes. Suddenly he looked very much like an elder firstblood and warrior who had led the Blood Errant in countless battles.
“Kin by blood and battle,” her Grace-father said, “enter Orthros as my family and guests. Know that my house will always be your Sanctuary.”
Cassia hooked her arm in her sister’s, and together, they followed Apollon through the portal.
This time, Cassia was ready for the whispers of the ancestors, which mortals always heard when passing through spirit gates. She ached for one more message from her foremothers before leaving this land where she had first heard their voices. And this time, unlike every time she had gated before, she understood their words.
Well done, daughter.
Return home now.
Go with blessings.
Lio’s hand found hers, warm and smooth, his thelemancy ever entwined with her. And on her other side was a different warmth, a crackle of fire magic—her sister.
Cassia blinked back tears and passed through into the land of her living bloodline.
They arrived in a broad chamber carved from Haima’s deep red bedrock. Thick, intricately carved pillars rose high above their heads. Spell light gleamed upon the wealth of weapons on display and on the immortals who waited there.
Hippolyta, Guardian of Orthros, had assembled her Stand. Arkadia, who had once shared Cassia’s pain over lost sisters. Alkaios and Nephalea, who had given Iris the dignity a hero deserved in death. And Nike, who had saved Cassia’s life that fateful night when Solia had been forced to flee. Mak and Lyros went to join the line of Stewards, and Aunt Lyta looked upon them with pride.
This was the first time Cassia had seen Nike in regalia and speires since the long-lost First Master Steward had rejoined the Stand. She stood with her Trial brother. Rudhira wore no princely finery, only a short red battle robe and sandals, his long red braid tied with his own speires.
The warriors of Orthros were ready to make the opening argument for why Solia belonged in their family. Petite, powerful Aunt Lyta made the introductions with all the ceremony of announcing contestants at the arena.
Rudhira gave Solia a royal nod. “Welcome to Orthros, Princess.”
“Blood-Red Prince.” She gave him a deep nod as well. Her gaze went from him to Nike to Apollon, the three surviving members of the most notorious errant circle in Hesperine history. “I have competed against the best mortal warriors in Akanthia, yet never stood in the presence of the Blood Errant. It is an honor.”
“You must join us at the arena, Victor of Souls.” Nike offered Solia a salute to the victor.
“With pleasure, Victory Star.” Solia returned the salute, then made one of her studied pauses. “I am deeply aware of my bond of gratitude to you, Alkaios, and Nephalea.”
“It is remarkable to meet you in the flesh at last.” Alkaios ran a hand over the stubble of his light-brown hair, which was slowly growing back after a near-fatal battle with fire mages.
Solia bowed her head. “We must discuss how I can honor what you did for Cassia and Iris.”
Nephalea’s smile was gentle, although her slender frame was honed by the Hesperine battle arts. “It is reward enough to see you two here together.”
The night that had shattered Cassia’s world had, all these years later, brought her and her sister and these three Hesperines together again. Iris had not made it to Sanctuary, but Cassia and Solia were living in the world she had shaped, the reality her sacrifice had made possible. Just when Cassia needed a reminder that she was not dreaming, Lio gave her hand a squeeze.
“Before we continue into Orthros,” Aunt Lyta said, gesturing to a row of empty weapon racks, “I’m afraid everyone must disarm. This is the Armory of Akofo, named in honor of a great warrior of the Owia—Kassandra’s husband, father of Prometheus. We ask all our Imperial guests to entrust their weapons to the Stewards’ care here.”
Mak held out both hands to Solia. “We will show your blade the same respect we give the Blood Errant’s own armaments.”
