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The hands that bled with tricks and secrets would be on our shores due to the bargains Tolek and I had made with Lancaster. The ruler who slaughtered humans, who despised warriors due to our domain of magical land. My mind spun, already slipping away from the tentative peace I’d held with Tol moments ago.

But I did not let the dismay break my facade.

“We’ll be waiting,” I confirmed.

“Until we meet again,” Tolek said, a mock friendliness in his voice.

Lancaster and Mora left, and it wasn’t until their shadows had faded to specks in the distance that I looked at Tol.

Despite the distress cascading through my body at the new turn of the bargain, the warmth in his eyes assured me it would be okay. That we’d faced curses and queens and war before and we would continue to do so, fighting for that safety only we provided for one another.

“I never wanted my bargain to threaten you,” I said. “It was supposed to save you, not force a tether between us.”

“I was already infinitely yours, Alabath. We’ll survive it together.” There was such a hardened steel in his voice—a guarantee that he would do anything to protect me—that I wanted to believe it.

But I couldn’t ward off the apprehension.

Tolek pulled me into his arms and tucked me beneath his chin until our breathing synchronized. As I fought my racing heart, I promised myself we would not only face whatever the future held—we could overcome it.

And if a bargain claimed our lives, then we would conquer the Spirit Realm together.

The glimpses of Sapphire and the khrysaor soaring high above the clouds in the distance eased my worries further. I could not help but smile, knowing instinctively how free they felt and wanting to grasp that feeling again.

As I looked out over my mountains, I thought of the legends of this fabled, bloody queen sailing toward our shores and the bargains she spun. I remembered the stories shared of pegasuses claiming the skies and recounted the tales of Angels I’d always thought were nothing more than lore exaggerated through the centuries.

And for the first time, I considered: perhaps all the myths were alive.

Epilogue

Damien

Bant’s body flared as that outline of living power merged with the shallow husk of his body. As the spirit he had long ago shed returned and fate—so torn by the Angel’s path—rioted through his frame. He writhed as senseless decisions took their toll, fluttering along eternal bone after empty centuries.

But our master watched the shattered Angelglass. One burning image lingered.

A spiral of stars ripped from the sky, their wings flaring. They fell among the land and breathed life to legends and things long dead. A twisted fate not even he had predicted. An army ready to rise on the backs of two young myth-born girls.

“It has been millennia.”

And he smiled.