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D eath hurt a lot more than Mareleau had expected.

It was louder too. So loud.

She tried to ignore the sounds, waited for the pain to end. Soon she’d find herself in the otherlife, whatever that meant. Would she find a field of flowers? A tranquil ocean? An eternal banquet with an endless supply of chocolate? How long would she have to wait for everyone else she loved to join her? Hopefully a good long while.

She tried to envision what kinds of chocolate the otherlife might provide, but even as she pictured the most decadent truffles and a cake with ten tiers, that nagging sound interrupted her. It was…a word. No…a chirp? A screech? Why was death so godsdamned loud? Surely her heroic final act had earned her peace and not one of the seven hells instead. Well, if the latter was the case, she’d have to hunt down Darius and plague him in death. She wasn’t above becoming a devil if that was her best option.

But no, she wanted chocolate cake, not?—

There was that sound again. Why was there sound? Why was it so sharp and loud when she just wanted to sleep?

Sleep.

“Just let me sleep.”

“She’s alive. Gods, she’s alive.” The voice was even louder now, but it no longer grated on her nerves. It was familiar to her. Treasured. Why would she ever choose chocolate cake over that ? Only now did she realize what the sound had been. Her name. Over and over. The word left Larylis’ lips yet again, like a chant meant to tether her to the plane of the living.

Another sound shattered the haze in her mind. A sweet small cry.

Her heart pulsed in response, warming, spreading. She jolted, and pain shot through every inch of her.

Oh, right. Death was painful.

No, not death.

Life.

Life was…gods, it was agonizing.

Again that tiny cry reached her ears, and she opened her eyes. Smoke clouded her vision, but she blinked it away. Two faces stared down at her, one bronze, the other…

“Lare.” Her voice came out a tired rasp. His cheeks were wet with tears and soot.

She tried to sit but every part of her revolted at the motion.

“Don’t try to move,” Larylis said. “You’re hurt.”

“But she’s healing.” Garot stared down at her with wide eyes. That was when she noticed him bouncing a still-crying Noah in his arms. Noah was no longer wrapped in his lavender swaddling, but the lighter linen layer he’d worn underneath. She’d turned her son’s protection over to Garot before her confrontation with Darius. Now all she wanted was to hold her baby.

If only her arms would let her. They remained limp and aching at her sides. “What happened? Why aren’t I dead?”

Larylis’ eyes bulged. “You intended to die with that gambit?”

“Well, I hoped I wouldn’t, but…” She winced, the corners of her lips cracking and stinging.

“You warded yourself today, didn’t you?” Garot asked.

“Yes,” she said, recalling how she’d cast the wardweaving before her bedroom mirror earlier. Even though she’d hoped the ward had worked, she hadn’t been certain. Nor could she have known it would stop dragon flame.

Her magic had felt stronger than ever when she’d faced Darius, but she hadn’t been focusing on protective wards. Every ounce of her attention had been reserved for her glamour. She’d been willing to do what needed to be done regardless of the result, even if it ended in death. Her intention hadn’t been to undervalue herself to protect others like she had before. Instead, she’d performed her bold act because she knew without a shred of doubt that she’d succeed. That she was strong enough, clever enough, devious enough. Her death or survival simply hadn’t factored into her plans.

“What about Darius?” she asked.

“He didn’t fare nearly as well as you,” Larylis said.

She needed to see for herself. Clenching her jaw, she tried to sit again, and this time she managed to lift herself on her forearms. Larylis braced her back and raised her to sitting. Several feet away, she found a charred husk that must be Darius. A sword lay between his shoulders and severed head.

“For good measure,” Larylis explained.

Not far from the body, the soldier who’d held Larylis captive had also been relegated to a corpse, his sword stolen. She hadn’t had to feign her terror at seeing Larylis with a sword at his throat. They hadn’t anticipated him getting captured. They’d only discussed him holding back just enough to give Mareleau an opportunity to pretend to surrender. It could have gone wrong a thousand different ways, yet Larylis had played his role and she hers. She wasn’t the only one who’d risked their life.

Mareleau shifted her attention from the dead to the living—herself. She stared down at her arms, finding them red and raw. Her robe’s hem had been fully burned away and what little remained was charred. Every inch of flesh she could see was as red as her arms. Yet just like Garot had said, there were signs of healing too. She frowned. She didn’t have fae blood, so she shouldn’t be armed with rapid healing. Her glamour and protective wardweaving couldn’t be responsible for the feat either.

In that case…

She turned her attention inward and felt the same tingle of magic she’d sensed after Ailan’s death. It was stronger now, pulsing between her and Noah, who’d finally ceased crying in Garot’s arms. “The mora ,” she said. “It’s stronger now, isn’t it?”

Garot nodded. “Even without using my pathweaving, I can feel my abilities have been fortified.”

“Did the wardweavers make it to the tear?” Larylis asked. “Did they seal it?”

Garot had no answer. None of them could know for sure, not until Etrix returned. But Mareleau didn’t want to wait. With a pained groan, she attempted to stand. Larylis aided her efforts, though his expression told her he’d rather she kept still. Someone else helped her rise—a solid force that nudged her other side, as if to help her keep her balance while she clung to Larylis.

Brow furrowed, Mareleau glanced beside her. An enormous head of white feathers and scales braced her ribcage. She bit back a yelp but managed to keep from flinching away.

Ferrah, however, seemed to sense her reaction. She pulled back slightly, her throat vibrating with a high-pitched chirp as she stared at Mareleau with slitted purple eyes. Wait…that chirping. Was it one of the sounds that had awoken her? It made more sense that she would have been perturbed by the strange hum of chirps than her husband’s voice.

“She’s been like that ever since she cut off her flame,” Garot said.

“You mean, you didn’t enjoy trying to burn me to a crisp?” Mareleau muttered. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

Ferrah flicked her tongue and nudged Mareleau’s shoulder, bumping her tender flesh with far more force than necessary. She made to push the creature away, but Ferrah nuzzled her palm, eyes closed, her humming chirps softening to a slightly more melodic tune.

“Oh,” Garot said, pulling his head back. He blinked a few times. “Ooooh. Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Mareleau wasn’t sure whether to try to push the dragon away again or if she should hold still lest Ferrah chomp her wrist.

“She’s bonded to you.”

“Bonded,” Mareleau and Larylis echoed in unison.

Mareleau reassessed the dragon, who continued to nuzzle her hand, with new eyes. “You mean…nearly killing me endeared me to you?”

Sorry . The word entered her awareness. Not through sound but knowing . Mareleau sucked in a sharp breath, not daring to believe that word had come from Ferrah. You insult me. You think I wanted to burn you? I trusted you to cast a better wardweaving. I didn’t think you’d get hurt .

With every word, the voice grew clearer in her mind, taking on a feminine lilt with an unmistakable edge of chagrin.

Ferrah finally pulled away and removed her face from Mareleau’s palm. I expect better of my mistress and her magic in the future . With that, Ferrah slithered down the cave and out of sight.

Mareleau stared after her, dumbstruck. After a few bewildered moments, she recalled why she’d wanted to stand in the first place. “We should get to the tear at once and confirm that it’s been sealed. Garot, will you weave us?—”

“Not us ,” Garot said. He passed Noah to Larylis, who in turn cradled his son against his chest with the tenderest care. “I will go myself. You’re regent now, and I’ll not have you making such a poor spectacle of yourself until you’ve healed, washed, changed, and…and done something about your hair.”

Her pulse quickened at the last part. She reached for her shoulders, then her neck. It wasn’t until she touched her nape that she felt even a hint of singed tresses. Her throat tightened, and she wasn’t ashamed of the sorrow that filled her. Maybe it was vain to mourn her long pale locks, but she was only a hero, not a saint. And she wasn’t even a real hero. Real heroes wouldn’t relish watching their enemy burn.

“Fine,” she said, voice quavering. “Please see that the wardweavers have succeeded and report back at once.”

Garot gave her a tired smile, looking almost like his carefree self again. “You didn’t waste any time settling into your new position, did you?”

She gave him a haughty shrug, ignoring the scream of her muscles. She didn’t exactly delight in her role as regent, for it had come at the cost of many lives. Most of all, Ailan’s. And many more goodbyes would soon follow. But Mareleau was born to be queen. Born to rule. Born to scheme and lie and deceive. She’d convince this world she was the best regent, the best Edel Morkara’Elle, they’d ever know. She’d make a life for herself, her husband, and her son. Not just any life. A happy one. A fulfilling one.

She wouldn’t settle for anything less.

Cora didn’t know how much time had passed. She sank into a trance as she, Teryn, and Valorre continued to urge the mora back. At first, Cora could tell there was something wrong. She pushed and pushed and pushed, but there was no relief. Nothing to aid her efforts at their destination. The strongest vein of mora that led to and from the tear remained as strong as ever.

The wardweavers…

They were gone.

Her magic nearly faltered then, but she refused to crumple under the realization. She had to trust her allies. They would come through. They would do their part.

So she pushed. On and on, she fought the flow of mora , resisted the temptation to harness it. She shared the burden with her companions, leaned on them more when her strength began to wane, then took back control when she recovered. At times, the cycle seemed endless. Like decades had passed. Centuries. She was convinced she’d become one with the rock and no longer held a purpose or identity. When this happened, Teryn always seemed to know. He’d hold her tighter, speak her name, and call her back to reality, just like she’d done for him all those months ago when he’d fought death.

Just when she thought she might be at the end of her reserves, relief came to her. It was small at first, just a stitch in a gaping chasm, but little by little her efforts were aided. She could almost feel the closing of the tear as it slowly lightened her load.

Her mind sharpened.

She opened her eyes for what might have been the first time in hours. Dawn was on the horizon, just barely touching the tops of the hills around the valley. Her palms remained pressed to the rock, Valorre’s soft muzzle beneath her chin, Teryn’s arms wrapped around her middle, his face pressed to her shoulder. He whispered encouraging words as she pushed harder, keeping the magic at bay while the tear grew smaller and smaller. Now that her mind was beginning to clear, the process felt achingly slow. Whatever time was passing in El’Ara, it was crawling here. One minute there was several here.

Yet she’d hold out.

They were so close.

And then…

The mora cut off.

She sagged as the resistance disappeared. The magic no longer hummed beneath her hands, no longer called to her with tempting visions. Body stiff, she sat back on numb legs. Teryn rolled onto his back, his forearm thrown over his eyes. Valorre settled at the base of the rock, looking dazed.

Cora felt…empty.

She’d only commanded that well of magic for a brief time, but in its wake was a hollow lightness. Glorious relief. She turned herself over to it, closed her eyes, and let sleep take her.

Teryn woke to birdsong and midday sun blazing on the other side of his eyelids. Then a peck on his cheek. He pried his eyes open and found Berol’s face backlit by the warm sunlight. His arm felt limp and heavy as he lifted it to scritch her feathers. She chirped and nipped his cheek again.

“I’m all right,” he said. He was glad to see she was too. She’d fulfilled her mission at the tear, alerting the Elvyn of Darius’ arrival. He wasn’t sure if her presence meant the battle had ended or if she’d flown here immediately after. She may have been here the entire time he’d held onto Cora.

He rose to sitting, and there wasn’t a part of his body that didn’t ache from the movement. Berol immediately rose into the air to land on his shoulder—his uninjured one, thankfully. Her weight wasn’t exactly welcome, what with the gash he’d sustained on the other side, not to mention his myriad of other wounds, but he didn’t have the heart to brush her off.

He shifted to glance where Cora had last been on the rock. His heart stuttered to find her no longer beside him, but as he cast his gaze to the base of the rock, he found Valorre sleeping there, Cora curled up with him, her head propped on his belly.

He calmed at the sight. Their duties weren’t exactly over. There were still the wraiths to set free, the aftermath of battle to deal with, both at Ridine and on the human side of the tear, and a final trip to El’Ara—a first trip for Teryn—to say goodbye to those they’d never see again.

Even though he was anxious to set everything to rights, he figured he’d let Cora and Valorre sleep a while longer. Instead, he focused on the one thing he could do alone.

Stepping away from Centerpointe Rock, he unsheathed his dagger and reopened the wound on his palm. Berol let out a string of anxious chirps. The lesion was already red and angry and certainly didn’t like being opened again, but he needed fresh blood to call the wraiths to him. As soon as a crimson well filled his palm, he let it drip onto the grass. “Come. It’s time to go home.”

Silently, the field fell under a misty fog. The haze soon materialized into figures. The wraiths’ forms undulated, their eyes empty and unseeing.

“You did well,” Teryn whispered. “You helped thwart the man who once ordered you to fight and die for nothing. Instead, you fought for the future of the land you were left to wander in. As promised, I have not abandoned you. As promised, I offer you an end.”

He held out his hand but didn’t move. He wouldn’t hunt the spirits down and force oblivion upon them. He’d let them crave it. Let them come to him for their final rest.

One of the nearest wraiths swept toward him and paused a few feet away.

Teryn kept his hand open, his arm relaxed.

The wraith’s form rippled, as if deliberating. Then it closed the final distance, placed his hazy, wavering hand over Teryn’s…

The wraith disappeared.

Hunger and yearning filled some of the next closest specters, as if the end they’d witnessed had filled them with craving. One by one, more came forward. One by one, Teryn set them free. One by one, as midday crept on and the sun moved toward the horizon, Teryn fulfilled his oath.

He was practically delirious yet again by the time the final wraith approached. But as his gaze took in the spirit before him, his mind sharpened.

It wasn’t one of the warrior wraiths. It was Emylia.

She gave him a sad smile. “Did I do enough to deserve peace?”

He met her eyes with a solemn yet earnest look. “You don’t have to do anything to earn your rest, Emylia. You never did. You chose to wander. You can choose to go home.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “I don’t feel like I did enough. All I did was cause trouble in my life, and in my death…I didn’t trust you. I tried to stop you from summoning the wraiths, but you set them free. You didn’t succumb to the allure of dark magic.”

“Not yet.” He let a corner of his mouth lift.

She sighed. “You won’t. I know it now. You’ve become something new. A human with a type of magic I’ve never seen before. A reaper of souls. I was so afraid when I first realized what you were.”

“And now?”

“I’m not afraid anymore, just…ashamed.”

“You don’t have to be ashamed,” Teryn said. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he knew what his touch would do. Just like with the wraiths, he wouldn’t force peace on her.

“Tell her I forgive her.”

Teryn startled at the sound of Cora’s voice. He turned and found her sitting on the rock, caressing Valorre’s neck. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been awake. Had she been watching him while he’d sent the wraiths home? She’d at least been present long enough to hear him say Emylia’s name, and the rest of Teryn’s side of their conversation.

Cora spoke again, tone gentle. “Tell her she has nothing left to atone for. She never did.”

He faced Emylia once more. The spirit sagged, either with relief or sorrow. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Tell her that. Tell her I’m so sorry for what my words led Morkai to do.”

“She knows,” Teryn said, but he conveyed her message anyway.

Emylia spoke again, and this time her voice took on a fierce edge. “And tell her…tell her she’s stronger than she knows. She’s stronger than anyone who has ever underestimated her. She’s stronger than everything that could ever seek to tie her, trap her, or smother her. She’s stronger than any shadow, any darkness, any curse. Tell her that.”

A chill ran down Teryn’s spine. What did Emylia mean by that? That Cora was stronger than any curse? Was it merely wishful thinking, a desire to make things right, or was it a sign of Emylia’s magic? She’d been a seer when she’d been alive. Had she seen an end to the curse Morkai had placed upon Cora?

He shook the questions from his mind. Her words sparked a beautiful hope, but that hope was theirs regardless of the outcome. For it mattered not whether they had children of their own bloodline or chose heirs from another. Whether they ruled like their predecessors or started a revolution. He and Cora would forge their own future together. Royal politics and outdated traditions could go to the seven hells. A witch and a reaper were Lela’s queen and king. They were already breaking rules and starting anew.

Still, he conveyed Emylia’s words to Cora.

Emylia heaved another sigh, and her form sharpened slightly. Then, with a nod, she stepped closer to Teryn and held out her hand.

“I’m ready to go home,” she said, voice quavering.

Teryn’s chest tightened. He and Emylia hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but she’d helped him through one of the greatest challenges he’d faced. Taught him how to fight Morkai and reclaim his body.

She’d died for love. Fought for love. Grieved for love.

She deserved so much better.

He didn’t know a damn thing about the otherlife. Who could truly claim to know? But he hoped it would treat her well. Hoped she’d find the rest her soul so deeply deserved.

He reached for her hand. “Thank you, friend.”

She grasped his palm in a handshake he couldn’t feel.

Her soul disappeared.