خاتمه

Epilogue: Mare

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back and see it?”

I stare at Kilorn like he’s just grown a second head. The suggestion is so absurd, I almost don’t answer. But he looks at me, expectant, innocent as a child. Or at least as innocent as he can be. Kilorn was never particularly innocent, even when we were children.

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his Montfort uniform, waiting for my response.

“See what?” I scoff, shrugging my shoulders as we walk across the Archeon airfield. Clouds hang low on the horizon, obscuring the setting sun, as well as the smoke still trailing from parts of the city. It’s been a week, and they’re still putting out fires. “A house on rickety sticks? It’s probably ransacked, if someone else isn’t living there,” I mutter, thinking of my old home in the Stilts. I haven’t been back and I have little desire to ever return. I wouldn’t be surprised if the stilt house were no longer standing. I can easily imagine Maven destroying it out of spite. When he was alive. I don’t care to find out either way.

“Why, do you want to go back to the Stilts?”

Kilorn shakes his head, almost bouncing in his steps. “Nope. Anything I cared about isn’t there anymore.” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” I reply. He seems oddly eager to return to Montfort. “What about Cameron?” I add, careful to keep my voice low. Currently, Cameron and her parents are helping everyone else coordinate with the tech towns. Obviously, they know the former slums best, and how to repurpose them.

“What about her?” Kilorn smirks down at me, offering a shrug of his own. He’s trying to throw me off. A hint of a flush dusts his cheeks with color. “She’ll be coming out to Montfort in a month or so, with the Red Nortan contingent and some newbloods. Once things are a bit more settled.” “To train?”

His blush spreads. “Sure.”

I can’t help but grin. Must remember to tease him later, I think, as Farley approaches with a few Command generals in tow. Swan nods in greeting, bowing her head.

I extend a hand to her, nodding. “Thank you, General Swan.”

“Call me Addison,” she replies. The older woman matches my smile. “I think we might be able to do away with code names for a while.” Farley just glances between us, pretending to be annoyed.

“If only this jet were powered by hot air. We’d never have to charge up between the two of you,” she says sharply, her eyes betraying one of her rare good moods.

Smiling, I take her arm. She leans into the embrace. Hardly like her at all. “You act like I can’t actually charge a jet, Farley.” She only rolls her eyes. Like Kilorn and me, she’s ready to go back to Montfort. I can only imagine how excited she must be to leave Norta behind, and return to her daughter. Clara is growing bigger in leaps and bounds, happy and safe. With no memory of what came before her.

Not even her father.

The thought of Shade always darkens even the brightest of days, and now is no different. But the pain is less somehow. Still an ache, still bone-deep, but not so sharp. It doesn’t take my breath away anymore.

“Come on,” Farley urges, forcing me to match her quicker pace. “The faster we board, the faster we’re airborne.” “Is that how it works?” I can’t help but retort.

A cluster of people stands by the jet idling on the runway, waiting for us and the rest of the group departing for Montfort today. Davidson is already gone, having returned to his nation a few days ago. Some of his officials have been left behind to coordinate, and I spot Tahir among them. He’s probably relaying all this to his brothers right now, allowing the Montfort premier to track the rebuilding process in real time.

Julian stands out from the pack, wearing new clothes for what is possibly the first time in his life. They gleam, golden like his house colors once were, flashing brightly in the late afternoon sun. Sara waits at his side, as does Anabel. The old woman looks incomplete without her crown, and she regards me with naked disinterest.

“Make it quick, Barrow,” Farley says, gesturing for Kilorn to follow her onto the jet. The pair of them nod at the Silvers as they pass, giving me the space I need for my own farewells.

I don’t see Cal with his uncle or grandmother, but I don’t expect him to stand in line. He waits farther down the jetway, separated from the rest of them.

Julian extends his arms to me and I embrace him tightly, inhaling the warm scent of old paper that still seems to cling to him through everything.

After a long minute, he pushes me back gently. “Oh, come on, I’ll see you in a month or so.” Like Cameron, Julian is scheduled to visit Montfort in a few weeks. Officially, he’s an envoy of the Nortan Silvers. But I expect he’ll spend more time combing through whatever archives Davidson puts at his disposal, utilizing the time to investigate the emergence of newbloods.

I grin up at my old teacher, patting him on the shoulder. “I doubt you’ll be able to tear yourself out of the Montfort vaults long enough to say hello.” At his side, Sara raises her head. “I’ll make sure he does,” she says quietly, taking Julian’s arm.

Anabel is not so understanding. She glares at me one last time before scoffing aloud, disgusted by my presence, and walking off at a brisk pace. I don’t blame her. After all, in her eyes, I’m still the reason her grandson denied a dynasty, cast away a crown for something as stupid as the love of a Red girl.

She hates me for that. Even if it isn’t true.

“Anabel Lerolan may not see reason, but she does see logic. You’ve opened a door that can’t be closed,” Julian says quietly, watching the old queen clamber into a waiting transport. “She couldn’t put Cal back on the throne now, even if he wanted it.” “What about the Rift? The Lakelands? Piedmont?”

Julian cuts me off with a gentle shake of his head. “I think you’ve earned the right to not worry about such things for a while.” He pats my hand kindly. “There’s rioting; there’s movement, Reds crossing our borders by the thousands. Know the stone is truly rolling, my dear.” For a second, I feel overcome. Equal parts happy and afraid. This can’t last, I think again, knowing the words to be true. Sighing, I let go of them. This isn’t over, but it is for me. For now.

I have to hug Julian one more time. “Thank you,” I whisper.

Again he pushes me back, his eyes shiny. “Yes, well—enough of that. My ego’s already bigger than it should be,” he stammers out. “You’ve wasted enough time with me,” he adds, giving me another push. In the direction of his nephew. “Go on.” I don’t need any more prodding than that, in spite of the nerves currently wreaking havoc on me. Gulping a little, I pass the rest of the dignitaries from our reforged alliance, smiling as I go. No one stops me, allowing me to approach the former king unimpeded.

Cal feels me coming. “Let’s walk,” he says, already moving. I follow him under one of the wings of our jet, stepping into shadow. Farther down the runway, an engine roars to life, close enough to shield us from anyone who might bother to eavesdrop.

“I’d come with you if I could,” he says suddenly, turning around to watch me with burning eyes of bronze.

“I’m not asking you to do that,” I reply. The words are familiar. We’ve had the same discussion about a dozen times by now. “You have to be here, to pick up the pieces. And there’s work to be done in the west. Ciron, Tiraxes—if we can do something . . .” I trail off, imagining those far-off countries, vast and strange. “It’s better this way, I think.” “Better?” Cal snaps, and the air warms around him. Gently, I put a hand on his wrist. “You think walking away is better? Why? I’m not a king anymore. I’m not even royal. I’m—” “Don’t say ‘nothing,’ Cal. You’re not nothing.”

I see accusation in his eyes, his skin hot beneath my fingers. It hurts to look at him, to see the pain I’m causing.

“I’m what you want me to be,” he forces out, his voice a little strangled.

I’m seized by the realization that I don’t know when I’ll see him again. But I can’t look back up. It will just make this more difficult.

“Don’t pretend like you gave all this up because I asked you to. We both know that isn’t what happened.” For your mother, for what is right. For yourself. “And I’m glad for it,” I mutter, still staring at his hand in mine.

He tries to pull me closer, but I stand my ground.

“I need time, Cal. So do you.”

His voice drops so low he could be growling. It makes me shiver. “I decide what I want and need.” “Then give me the same courtesy.” Without thinking, I look back up sharply, surprising him. Even though I feel anything but strong, I play the part well. “Let me figure out who I am now.” Not Mareena, not the lightning girl. Not even Mare Barrow. But whoever came out on the other side of all this. He needs space too, whether he can admit it or not. We need to heal. Rebuild. Just like this country, and the rest that might follow.

Worst of all, best of all—we have to do it without each other.

There’s still a gap between us, a rift. Even in death, Maven is good at keeping us apart. Cal will never admit it, but I saw the resentment in his eyes that day. The sorrow and accusation. I killed his brother, and that weighs on him still. I know it weighs on me.

Cal searches my eyes, his own flashing as the sunlight above us turns red. His eyes could be made of flame.

Whatever he’s looking for, a weakness, a crack in my resolve—he doesn’t find it.

One blazing hand trails up my neck, until it stills at the side of my jaw, fingers resting behind my ear. His skin isn’t hot enough to burn, not like Maven’s, which marked me forever. Cal wouldn’t do that, even if I asked him to.

“How long?” he whispers.

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, easy to admit. I have no idea how long it will take to feel like myself again, or whoever I am now. But I am only eighteen. I have time.

The next part is far more difficult, and my breath hitches. “I won’t ask you to wait for me.” When his lips brush mine, the touch is fleeting, a farewell.

For however long it takes.

The Paradise Valley is well named. It stretches for miles, a rolling plain in the bowl of the mountains. The rivers and lakes are pristine and strange, unlike any place I’ve ever seen before. Not to mention the wildlife. No wonder Davidson sent us here for a little peace and quiet. It seems untouched, removed from the rest of the world.

We walk the path at dawn, careful to keep away from the red-hot geyser fields running the length of the clearing. Most of the watery pools are still and flat, but they spiral in a rainbow of colors. Beautiful but deadly, able to cook a person in a matter of seconds. Or so I’ve been told. In the distance, one of them spits boiling water and clouds of steam high into the hazy purple sky. The stars fade one by one. It’s cold, and I pull the heavy wool shawl tighter around my shoulders. Our footsteps echo against the wooden walkway beneath us, built up and over the rust-colored basin floor.

I glance at Gisa sidelong, watching her keep stride. She’s more willowy these days, and her dark red hair hangs in a long braid. The breakfast basket dangles in her hand, swinging idly. She wanted to watch the sun rise over the big spring, and who am I to deny my little sister anything?

“Look at the colors,” she murmurs as we reach our destination. Indeed, the big hot spring looks like something out of a dream. Ringed in red, then yellow, then bright green, and finally the deepest, purest blue, it doesn’t seem real.

We were well warned, and in spite of the urge, neither of us dips a finger in the waters below. I don’t fancy boiling the skin off my bones. Instead Gisa sits down on the walkway, her legs folded beneath herself. She pulls out a tiny notebook and starts to sketch, occasionally scribbling notes.

I wonder what this place might inspire in her.

I’m more inclined to eat, and I fish through the basket, pulling out a pair of still-warm breakfast rolls. Mom made sure we were well provisioned before we set off for the morning.

“Do you miss him?” she says suddenly, not looking up.

The question catches me off guard, especially the vagueness. She could be talking about anybody. “Kilorn is fine. He’s back in Ascendant, and Cameron will be there in a few days.” Gisa doesn’t mind the thought of someone else with Kilorn. She cares more for the pretty shopgirl back in the city, these days.

“I don’t mean Kilorn,” she says pointedly, annoyed with my dodging.

“Oh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow dramatically.

She doesn’t seem amused.

“Of course I miss him.”

I mean Cal. I mean Shade. I mean Maven, even in the smallest of pieces.

Gisa doesn’t press me further.

The silence feeds me as much as the breakfast. It’s easy to forget out here. To feel lost in another time. I relish the detachment, even with the usual worries clinging to the corners of my mind. What happens now? I still haven’t figured that out.

And, for a little while, I don’t have to.

“Bison,” Gisa says softly, raising a hand to point across the geyser basin.

I tense up, ready to spring. If one of those beasts gets too close, it’ll be my responsibility to get Gisa out of here safely. My lightning prickles beneath my skin, ready to unleash. It feels almost unfamiliar these days. I haven’t been training or sparring, not since we returned to Montfort. I keep telling myself I need the rest. Bree and Tramy keep telling me I’m lazy.

The bison are far off, fifty yards at least, and lumbering slowly in the opposite direction. The herd is small but impressive, a dozen at least, all shaggy and dark brown, moving with surprising grace for things so big and heavy. I remember my last encounter with a bison. It wasn’t exactly peaceful.

Gisa returns to her sketch, thoughtful. “Davidson’s guide told me something interesting.” The premier was good enough to send an escort with us into the valley.

“Oh, what’s that?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the herd. If they bolt, I’ll be ready.

My sister continues to chatter, oblivious to the possible threat currently picking its way across the basin. I’m quietly happy that she doesn’t know enough to be afraid. “She said that once, the bison were almost gone. Thousands upon thousands hunted and killed, maybe millions, until only a few were left on the entire continent.” “That’s impossible,” I scoff. “They’re all over Paradise, and the plains.” “Well, that’s what the guide said,” Gisa replies, sounding annoyed by my dismissal. “And it’s her job to know what goes on up here.” “Fine,” I sigh. “So what happened?”

“They came back. Slowly, but they came back.”

My brow furrows, confused by the simplicity of her answer. “How?” “People,” she says bluntly.

“I thought the people killed them—”

“They did, but something changed,” she replied, her voice sharpening. Now I think she despairs of my comprehension. “Something big enough to . . . change course.” I don’t know why, but I’m reminded of something Julian taught me once, long ago.

We destroy. It’s the constant of our kind.

I’ve seen that firsthand. In Archeon, in Harbor Bay, on every battlefield. In the way Reds were treated and are still treated across the continent.

But that world is changing.

We destroy, but we also rebuild.

The bison move off, slowly disappearing into the trees on the horizon. Seeking new grasslands, oblivious to two small girls sitting at the edge of the water.

They returned from slaughter. So will we.

As we make our way back to the cabin, now sweating beneath the heat of the rising sun, Gisa chatters on about everything she’s learned in the past week. She likes the guide, and I think Bree does too, in more ways than one.

My mind wanders, as it usually does in these small moments. Drifting back through memory, and forward too. We’ll return to the Montfort capital in a few weeks. I wonder how different the world will be by then. It was already unrecognizable when we left. Evangeline Samos, of all people, was living in Ascendant, last I heard, as an honored guest of the premier. Part of me still hates her, and her family, for all they took from us. But I’m learning to live with the anger, to keep it close without letting it eat me alive.

Slowly, I touch the stones pierced along my ear, naming each one in turn. They ground me. Pink, red, purple, green. Bree, Tramy, Shade, Kilorn.

I couldn’t stay, I think again, for the thousandth time. I still don’t know if he’ll wait for me.

But maybe, when I go back . . .

My fingers brush the last earring, the newest. It’s another red gem, red as fire, red as my blood.

I will go back.