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The faction called upon me to expand my dominion as empress not only over Myntra but over all of Eskira.

I refused—but offered a compromise. As Empress of Myntra and temporary Queen of Pendrath, I would form a council of kingdoms made up of representatives from all over both of our continents. The council would be equal parts fae and human and would include, of course, a Bearkin delegate. Should other intelligent races be discovered, they would be invited to join us as well.

In the meantime, over my fifteen years of temporary rule, I saw an opportunity. An opportunity to quietly and carefully suffocate the faction of these ardent supporters so that when it came time for Kaye’s ascent, he would face no issues from that quarter.

Aercanum did not need the greater coalescence of power in one woman’s hands.

I was not the world’s savior, despite what many had convinced themselves based on the stories being told of my friends and my deeds. The people of Aercanum would have to learn how to save themselves. Without my father’s baleful presence, they had every chance of doing so. Now was the time for a long and lasting peace.

Of course, a cross-continental council—which King Mark quickly labeled the Empress’s Parliament—would have been an impossibility in Arthur’s time, considering the complications of travel alone. But with the new arches that Crescent and Draven had been overseeing construction of, the issue of travel between kingdoms and even continents melted away. In a heartbeat, Lady Marjolijn of Lyonesse or King Mark of Tintagel could step over and be in the Rose Court for a meeting or even a festival. Or a funeral.

State funerals for Gawain, Odessa, and Rychel took place as soon as we returned, all in Myntra. We had brought back Gawain’s ashes for Crescent.

But in Medra’s case, there was no body to bury or to burn. She had no resting place, even in Rheged. And there were few who had known her.

Even fewer who had truly loved her.

So, Draven and I grieved in private, torn with indecision on how best to honor her memory.

Until one day, Crescent had come to our suite.

He’d been withdrawn since we’d returned. We’d put it down to the loss of his husband and sister. But in private, Sir Ector had told us there was more to it than that. He’d tried to explain the dynamic between Crescent and Medra. And suddenly, so many small things seemed clear. The way Crescent looked at us—not with resentment but with guilt. Because he believed he’d failed her.

Now he stood before us, his hands behind his back, his eyes downcast.

“I’d like to show you something,” he said quietly. “If you have a moment?”

We were staying in the Rose Court then, preparing for a meeting to discuss the refugees from Rheged.

Draven and I left our notes and maps behind and followed Crescent through the castle until we reached the western wing and stopped on the outskirts of a small room.

Before Crescent pushed the door open, he paused. “We haven’t spoken of Medra a great deal since you returned,” he said, his voice tight. “But I wanted you to know that she has never left my thoughts. Not once. We may not have gotten along as I once dreamed we would. I failed her...”

With a quick glance at me, Draven started to protest weakly but Crescent held up a hand. “No, it’s true. I failed her, Draven. And in failing her, I failed you both. I failed your trust.” He shook his head miserably. “She was like no other child I’d ever known. She was difficult. Willful. Rebellious.”

I could feel Draven tense up. “A typical teenager then?” he said, his tone light but full of implication.

Crescent forced a smile. “In part. She certainly was more like you or Gawain. Perhaps one of you would have been better suited to deal with her. I was a quiet child. Too gentle, my father always said. I wasn’t who she needed.”

“But you brought her Odessa,” I reminded him. “And from the sounds of it, Odessa was exactly who Medra needed.”

But in doing so, he had lost her. His only sister. The words didn’t need to be said. They hung in the air all around us.

“You and Medra may not have gotten along,” Draven said carefully. “But I’m sure she knew you cared about her. Why would you have brought Odessa to her otherwise?”

“You’re right about one thing. Odessa loved her. That much I know for certain.” Crescent looked at us almost pleadingly. “I loved her, too. I don’t think I ever succeeded in convincing Medra of it, but I did.” He licked his lips. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t also misjudge her. Wrong her.”

I got the sense there was more to the story. Perhaps some day, he would tell it.

Crescent turned to the double doors behind him and began to push them open. “I had this room set up for you. I thought perhaps... Well, a place you could go. To remember her.”

We stepped inside the little room, and I gasped.

Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

The little room had been turned into a gallery.

A gallery of Medra.