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Ryon softly presses his lips into her hair, breathing deeply. “We’ve won, girl.”

Neither Dawsyn nor Ryon know what needs doing next, likely a great many things. Instead, they stay on the step, two unlikely creatures of the same mountain, carved precisely to fit each other. Ryon seems thoughtful, his mind likely turning to the Colony and the undoing of all its wrongs.

But Dawsyn’s thoughts are on the Ledge, in her den of girls. They are with the people she will soon free.

* * *

Too short a time passes, and Adrik, Tasheem, and the other councilmen come before them, all flushed and stained with the labors of battle.

“Are you well?” Tasheem asks, her hand reaching for Dawsyn’s elbow.

“Yes.” She smiles. She is scratched and bruised and immeasurably changed. But she is well.

“Vasteel is gone, Ryon,” one of the councilmen says suddenly. “As well as some of his noblemen. We’ve searched high and low, and they do not remain in the palace. We will search the village, but it is a wasted task. It seems they have escaped.”

“We should not attempt to search the skies now,” Ryon says, his hand sliding to the small of Dawsyn’s back. “We have many who are wounded and weary. Let the Izgoi rest. Celebrate. Vasteel will eventually crawl from the depths of his corner. And we will wait.”

They nod, agreeable.

“Only eight brutes remain,” Tasheem says, her smirk unhidden. “Phineas included.”

Ryon turns sharply, wincing as the tears in his shoulder pull. He does not respond to the news of his once-friend-turned-betrayer remaining alive. He only stares for a long moment.

Dawsyn, on the other hand, quietly seethes.

“How many of the Izgoi were lost?” Ryon asks instead.

“Very few,” Tasheem says. “Only a handful in the village, another in the palace. The injured are already being seen to. They now have the finest beds in which to rest.”

“It is a victory the likes of which we never dreamed, Mesrich!” Adrik calls, his gruff voice filled with an ancient satisfaction. He turns to the Izgoi, raises his arms, and shouts, “GLACIA IS OURS!”

The thunder of the mixed-bloods rains throughout the hall. An entire kingdom now freed of tyranny. Free to move upon the mountain where they please. Free to live without fear.

“Damn lucky we are,” Adrik says, turning back to Ryon, “that your theory proved true. It is amazing. The pool’s magic resides in you now.”

His eyes lower to Ryon’s hands. There is wonderment in his gaze, and Dawsyn can hardly blame him. Ryon, however, narrows his eyes. “It helped us to take the palace, and it seems to have… other properties, too,” he says, eyes shifting to Dawsyn’s marked throat. “But that is all it will do. The pool must be guarded. As soon as we learn how to destroy it, we will do so, as planned.”

“And if we cannot, then we will seal it in stone and ensure it remains secure,” Tasheem agrees. “That fucking pond has spread enough of its filth.”

Ryon nods once, his expression solemn.

“There is much to be done,” Adrik says, his hands wringing in barely contained joy. “But today, we will sleep and eat and fuck in the palace to our heart’s content, and there is not a single white brute left to tell me I cannot.”

Tasheem hits him soundly in the stomach, and Adrik laughs.

The council disperses after nodding their gratitude to Ryon.

Only Tasheem remembers Dawsyn, taking the human’s hands in hers and bending to kiss her cheek. “You blessed us, Dawsyn Sabar. You are indeed fit to be a queen.” She hugs Ryon and leaves them, her lithe form disappearing into the bedlam.

“Queen,” Ryon mutters, pulling Dawsyn closer once more. “It is not enough.”

Dawsyn smiles wanly, her thoughts elsewhere – in Terrsaw, with the Queens in their own palace.

“So much to be undone,” Dawsyn exhales, her shoulders squaring. “I do not know how to begin.”

Ryon lets her hand fall back to her side and takes the steps down to the lowered floor, stooping to retrieve something. He mounts the steps again, remaining several below so that his eyes are level with hers. He holds out her ax, offering it to her, the neck balancing in his palm.

“Wherever you like,” Ryon tells her, his fingers glancing hers as she takes the pine handle. “I would not dare tell you what to do.”