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EPILOGUE

Renwick

A Few Weeks Later

The dawn was quiet.

Mist rolled across the green grass of Infernis, at the edge of the forest surrounding the western edge of the kingdom before the Cyvon Sea. Within the forest was tree my mother had torn herself from after millennia stuck within the in-between. A few days after the battle, when all had settled and Oralia and I were content to leave our marriage bed, Asteria told me the story.

She had cut her wrists in the in-between and bled upon the tree. Her blood had opened a space within the trunk, and she had traveled through unfathomable darkness to reach the other side. It was a darkness I understood, a darkness both Oralia and I could easily recall.

I am sorry, my son, that I did not try sooner , Asteria had apologized again and again.

But there was nothing to forgive.

I’d asked her if, in the darkness, she’d seen another place—perhaps a scarred god with mismatched eyes. But she’d said it had merely been the blackness of oblivion and then the sliver of light from Infernis, the mist slipping through the crack in the tree beckoning her out along with Morana and Samarah.

Neither Oralia nor I knew how to get back to Mycelna and Talron, though I worried about him often—the scarred god who always stood vigil with me during my resurrections. Who had so often knelt beside me as I cried out in anger, or horror, or grief and offered me reassurance in whispers of the triumph that comes through pain.

I could only hope when the time came for the fates of his world to guide him to his mate, she would accept him with an open heart.

Oralia’s palm slipped against my own, fingers tangling together. Her throat clicked with a swallow, and when I looked at her, it was to find her eyes brimming with tears, cheeks ruddy with the effort to hold them back. Her mouth worked as she fought the sob in her throat, the grief heavy in our bond.

Josette stood within the circle of souls ready for ascension, a look of heartbreaking hope on her face. At the news of Aelestor’s passing, she had been inconsolable, begging once more to drink from the Athal to rid herself of the unending pain. She had screamed her pleas to anyone who would hear until she had accepted her fate and resolved to ascend, to join Aelestor in the beyond to begin again.

I could not imagine what pain it must have been—to remember after centuries the god you loved only to have him ripped from you once more. My lifetime spanned past time itself, yet I was not sure I had ever experienced such an agony and hoped I never would.

She did not cry, not anymore. Josette merely stood with her arms hanging loosely at her sides, gazing up at the mist above as if Aelestor was already waiting for her in the beyond. Who knew? Perhaps he was. But such things were beyond me and the realm we ruled.

I did not know what lay beyond death.

Magic hummed in the air, and my power rushed to the surface of my skin. Through the bond, I sensed Oralia’s power reacting similarly. There was no need for words. This ritual needed no guidance, no pomp or ceremony. No, it merely needed a witness, and I was the one who must shoulder the burden.

But not alone. Oralia’s shoulder pressed against mine, and everything within my body sighed. We were not alone, no matter how often in the night she woke screaming for me, her hands outstretched or clawing at the sheets.

Time was the only bandage I could offer, though it did not feel like enough.

Her moon and star crown glimmered at the first soul ascending, their magic shooting bright white into the sky. Another, and another, until it was tempting to shield my eyes against the glare, but we did not. We stood witness for those who would begin again.

And when all had given their magic back to the world and the light had dimmed, Oralia and I stood vigil for a few minutes longer, breathing in the crisp morning air.

“What do you want to do now?” she asked in a quiet voice, turning to me with a smile on her lips.

I cradled her face in my hand and pressed a kiss to her brow.

“Live.”