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Leaving them to their reunion, Wilder turned to the rest of the room. The furniture was all mismatched, as though it had been taken from all over the university and mashed together. Somehow, it suited the place. It was carpeted with thick rugs, with several lounges and armchairs framing the edges. Adrienne, Dratos and Anya sat with plates balanced on their laps, talking quietly among themselves, each of them giving him a nod or a wave of acknowledgement. He was glad Adrienne and Anya didn’t leap to their feet to make a fuss, though he saw the relief in both their eyes at the sight of him whole and unharmed.

Dratos’ cousin, Gus, was cross-legged on the floor with Ryland, who was stealing grapes from his plate with a gleeful laugh. A long table was pushed up against another wall, plates stacked on one end with a variety of steaming dishes waiting.

Drue approached, linking her arm through his. ‘Are you going to introduce me to your lady Warsword or what, Hawthorne?’

A chuckle escaped Wilder at that, and he led Drue over to where Thea was still talking with Malik.

‘Thea,’ he said. ‘I want you to meet Drue Emmerson, Talemir’s wife.’

Drue thrust a hand out to Thea, who shook it firmly.

‘That’s not my only claim to fame, I assure you,’ Drue said with a grin. ‘But thank you for keeping my husband in one piece. Though I’m yet to hear the story of how you won Hawthorne’s moody heart.’

‘He’s still as moody as ever,’ Dratos offered from nearby, flexing his wings.

Wilder rolled his eyes. ‘Always a pleasure, Dratos.’

But Drue was pushing him towards the table with the food. ‘Get a plate. You too, Thea,’ she called.

It wasn’t long before Wilder found himself in an armchair, a plate piled high with food on his knees and a tankard of ale at his feet as the chaos of family unfolded around him. Thea had pulled up a seat beside him and was fighting back tears of laughter as, against his parents’ protests, Ryland proceeded to strip off his pants and dart around the room wearing not a stitch of clothing but for the ugly knitted hat that kept falling over his eyes.

Talemir sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘It’s a phase he’s going through,’ he said. ‘Hates wearing clothes. Wants to be naked all the time…’

‘I remember you going through a similar phase,’ Drue retorted.

‘Oh, that wasn’t a phase, Wildfire,’ Talemir replied with a wink.

Dratos made a noise of disgust. ‘Will you two cut it out? Some of us are trying to eat.’

A tiny hand reached for his food.

‘Put some pants on, you terror,’ Dratos barked, but Ryland only laughed and snagged a chicken leg from his plate.

Drue shook her head and took a long drink from her tankard. ‘It’s a lost cause.’

Wilder watched it all unfold, realising his cheeks were aching from smiling as Talemir scooped up Ryland and tried to wrangle him back into his clothes. Talemir’s joy was contagious, and for the first time in years, Wilder understood. He saw it for himself: even amid the pending war and the encroaching darkness, Talemir was more than whole, more than happy. Wilder hadn’t robbed him of anything.

‘Definitely your son,’ Drue called, her voice light with amusement as Ryland kicked and squealed against his father’s efforts.

Wilder’s throat bobbed as he tried to swallow the lump forming there. He caught Thea watching him in his peripheral vision.

‘You’re alright?’ she asked, quietly enough that only he could hear.

He covered her hand with his and stroked the scar-littered skin there with his thumb. ‘Yes,’ he told her, and for the first time since leaving that tower, he meant it.

Drue hit her fork against the side of her tankard, commanding their attention.

‘I had planned on a grand welcome speech,’ she said after clearing her throat. ‘But truth be told, I just wanted us to have a meal, have a moment together, before…’

Drue trailed off. She didn’t need to finish her sentence. They all knew what she meant: before the war. Before everything changed. For they all knew it was coming, knew there was no stopping it now.

‘Tomorrow, we start planning. The training begins, the strategising starts in earnest, but today… today, we eat.’

Wilder raised his own tankard, gratitude swelling in his chest. ‘To good food,’ he toasted.

‘And even better company,’ Dratos drawled, tipping his own tankard back and draining it.

‘And —’