Gwen nodded, understanding. Ahead of them, soldiers of various races and lineages cleared a path, dragging bodies—barbarians and human and Orian—off to each side. Then they filed in behind them, forming a procession.
When they finally reached the place where Bane had killed the Horde leader, they laid Roan’s body on the ground. Bane stood nearby, watching. From one of the pockets of his cloak he extracted something shiny.
A coin.
He approached, extending his hand. The golden coin caught a ray of moonlight and shimmered. Bane flipped it over where the opposite side was dark. “Roan taught me so much,” he said. “About myself. About the world.”
Gareth nodded. “I think he would say the same about you.”
“I—” Bane shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t know. The thing is: I don’t know how to go on without him.”
“Are you done killing rulers?”
Bane nodded, and Gareth could see a change in the boy. He looked younger, more innocent. There was a lightness in him that had never been there before. “The prophecy is fulfilled. I have no purpose.”
“Wrong,” Gareth said. “Your purpose is just beginning. All of ours is. Roan would want us to carry on, keep the peace, forge alliances once believed to be broken forever.”
Bane said, “Thank you.” He reached forward and rested the coin on Roan’s chest, right above where his lifemark lay hidden beneath his shirt.
“No,” Gareth said, forcing a smile to his lips. “Thank you. For not killing me when you had the chance.”
Bane stepped back, fell to the earth, and began to dig with his hands. Soon he was joined by others, the first of which was Ennis Loren, his hair dangling over his eyes as he worked.
Gwen’s eyes met Gareth’s. “Ennis,” she said.
The man didn’t react, clawing at the dirt, scraping away layer after layer.
“Ennis Loren,” she said more loudly. This time Gareth saw him flinch, though he didn’t stop digging. “Look at me!” Gwen snapped.
Finally, he stopped, using dirt-stained fingers to comb the hair away from his face. His eyes roamed up until they locked on Gwen. “This all might’ve gone differently if not for you.”
“I was weak. B’oken.” His voice was a rasp.
“At first perhaps,” Gwen said. “But not in the end. In the end, you conquered.”
His lips tightened, trembling slightly. But then he relaxed and he nodded, before going back to digging.
Gwen and Gareth didn’t dig, holding hands across the man they had both loved to his final breath. They didn’t say anything more, because they didn’t need to. Their tears said it all, falling like rain.
When the others had finished their task, they lifted Roan once more, careful not to disturb the coin on his chest, lowering him slowly into the pit. They stood beside each other, each clasping a handful of dirt.
“I don’t think I can do it,” Gareth said. The thought of watching Roan disappear made his stomach heave.
“We’ll do it together,” Gwen said. So they did, releasing the dirt at the same moment. They stepped back and allowed others to come forward, men and women, Orians and humans. Two of the wood nymphs even stepped up, though they were missing their other sister, killed during the battle. Instead of dirt, they dropped three green leafs attached to a single stem. The lifemark symbol.
Gareth nodded to them and they nodded back.
Those who had fought further to the south arrived. Lisbeth Lorne and Sir Dietrich and Grey Arris. And then Rhea, holding Noura. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she added her own handful of dirt. “I wish I could’ve gotten to know you better,” was all she said, sobbing as she turned away.
When the grave was completely filled in, Gwen glanced at Gareth. “You say something,” she said.
“Me?”
“Why not?”
Gareth was no orator, but he knew Roan. Wherever he was, he deserved words spoken for him.
“Roan was…everything to me,” he said. From there, the words flowed like mead at a Ferrian celebration. They were full of laughter and sorrow, a myriad of emotions that left none untouched. But most of all, they were full of life, as Roan would’ve wanted.
One-Hundred-and-Five
The Southern Empire, Phanea
Falcon Hoza
One week later
Falcon Hoza could scarcely believe it was over. From time to time he pinched himself to make certain it was real and not one of his dreams borne from the fiction he usually escaped into.
During the battle, his armies—both the Phanecians and Terans—had been decimated, but some had survived because of the lifemarked’s final sacrifice. His own injuries had been mostly healed too, though he was left with several nasty scars to remind him of a day he would never forget. His leg was on the mend, but he could still get around on crutches.
But that was all in the past now, and he had another challenge: Shanti Parthena Laude. The strongest woman he had ever known, the only woman he had ever loved, needed him, and he would not turn his back on her even if she could never share the same level of affection with him.
The first step would be getting her through the tribunal.
He took a deep breath, marched into the dimly lit corridor and unlocked the cell. She was curled in a ball in the corner, ignoring the motheaten mattress she’d been provided with.
Falcon bit his lip and refocused on the task at hand. “Shanti,” he said. Twice he’d come to her since returning to Phanea, and twice she’d refused to look or talk to him, though he’d seen her stiffen when he told her the news about their victory over the Horde. He hadn’t told her about how many they’d lost in the process.
Too many, he thought now.
“Shanti,” he said again, louder. “It’s time.”
She moved, pushing to her feet, using the wall to steady herself. She refused to make eye contact with him. He longed to go to her, to pull her into him, to cradle her head against his chest, to protect her from the world and herself, but he knew she wouldn’t allow it. And anyway, he could not protect her from her own mind. That was up to her.
Instead, he turned away and led her along the corridor. There were guards, of course, but he’d commanded them not to intervene unless she tried to run, which he knew she wouldn’t. She simply wasn’t that kind of woman.
When they emerged in the brightness of the canyons at noonday, he turned back to look at her. She was bathed in sunlight, shielding her eyes with her hands while they adjusted to the change. “May I guide you?” he asked. He expected a refusal, but she surprised him with a nod.
His fingers closed around her elbow softly, tugging her in the correct direction. Her skin was cool from the dungeons. So smooth. Despite the heat of the day, a shiver ran through him. He led her through the canyon, and he was glad she was still blind because of the light—crowds of Phanecians and Terans alike had thronged the streets to witness the fate of the woman who had almost destroyed their city and murdered thousands.
Their stares were dark and cold, like the dungeons had been.
Falcon wished he could stop this, could whisk her away to a faraway place where they could start over. I cannot. And anyway, she would never let him. The one she loved had been justicemarked, and she would do this for him if for no other reason.
The tribunal was comprised of three Terans and three Phanecians. Falcon would normally take on the role of the seventh member, but he’d recused himself because of his bias. Sonika Vaid had also been considered for the seventh spot, but had also refused due to her long friendship with the accused. She stood nearby, watching with dark eyes.
Instead, the seventh judge was one of the Phanecians whose family had lived on the very cliff that had nearly been destroyed by the explosives set by Shanti. If it came down to his vote, Falcon already knew the outcome. I am the emperor. I can stop this.
His father had abused his power for years. Both as emperor and as the slavemarked. Falcon had hated him for it, and he knew he would not us
e his power for his own selfish desires now, even if it meant saving Shanti. If this world—this empire—was going to heal, things had to change starting with him.
He left Shanti standing alone before the tribunal, whispering only, “Be brave,” into her ear before pulling away. The moment his hand released her skin he felt a pang of loss, though she was still there.
The formalities were conducted first, a recap of the crimes she was accused of, as well as a background on who she was and her role as a rebel member of the Black Tears. The latter was unnecessary, as the dark markings etched on her cheeks told much of her story already. Falcon gritted his teeth and dug his fingernails into his palms as the announcer spoke. When he finished, he looked at Shanti, who was no longer blind, her eyes trained straight ahead, and said, “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”
She licked her lips, her gaze roaming across the audience, settling momentarily on Sonika before moving on. Her eyes crossed the canyon to the opposite side, making her way back up to the tribunal, finding Falcon. Please, he willed her. Please speak. Please give them a reason to be merciful. He nodded. Go on.
Thank you, she mouthed, and he released a deep breath of relief.
She turned back to the tribunal and said, “I am guilty. I have nothing else to say.”
Falcon choked on a sob.
One-Hundred-and-Six
The Southern Empire, Phanea
Sonika Vaid
The tribunal was over. When the decision was announced, Falcon Hoza had fallen to his knees. Sonika had never seen a man look so lost and confused as he did then.
The sun had set beyond the cliffs many hours earlier. Under the soft glow of two lanterns, Sonika stirred her supper. She remembered watching her mother do the same, all those years ago, on what would become a life-changing night.
Back then, she’d lost both her parents in one fell swoop, but she hadn’t been alone. Back then, she’d had her brother, Gat. He’d been her rock. Now she was her own rock, a thought that drew a small smile of satisfaction to her lips.
She tasted the porridge, adding additional spice because of how watered down it was. The next bite was better, warm as it slid down her throat. She started to serve it into three bowls, but nearly knocked them all from the stone bench when she whirled around upon hearing a noise at the cave entrance.
She dropped her spoon, the sound echoing through the small space. “Gat?” she said, and her voice felt so small, spoken from years ago, when she was a young girl with an older brother who was her best friend and hero.
He stood at the entrance with his arms at his sides, just breathing. “Am I welcome here?” he asked, the question chipping off a piece of Sonika’s heart.
If asked to recall the experience later, Sonika wouldn’t be able to remember her feet touching the ground as she flew across the space, crashing into her brother, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re always welcome,” she said into his hair. “No matter what stupid things you do. Now I’d like you to meet two of my friends. Let me wake them up—they’ve had a long day.”
She turned away, glancing back once to be certain he wouldn’t disappear. She went to one bed, then to the other, gently nudging each of the sleeping forms. She’d brought them back to her place after the tribunal, so they could rest and recover from the ordeal, which had lasted hours as hundreds of witnesses had come forward to testify. Many of them had once been slaves, freed by Shanti and the other Black Tears.
Thus, the majority had testified for the release of the prisoner, their way of repaying Shanti for all she had done for them. Swayed by public opinon, the judges had agreed, voting six to one. Phanecian justice had always been fickle and unpredictable, but in this case Sonika was glad.
On either side of her, Sonika’s two closest friends rubbed sleep from their eyes. “Gat,” Sonika said. “Meet Emperor Falcon Hoza and Shanti Parthena Laude.”
One-Hundred-and-Seven
The Hinterlands
Lisbeth Lorne
Accompanying Zur and the surviving Garzi back to the Hinterlands was the least Lisbeth could do. And having Sir Dietrich around made the trip a rather pleasant affair.
Every step seemed to lighten her soul, which had felt as heavy as if it was carrying a mountain when they first began the trip. She knew the cause—all the lost souls slipping away, one by one—but she preferred not to think about it.
She watched Zur and his warriors. There was a lightness about them too. They joked and shoved each other. When she’d asked Zur how they could so quickly forget all those they’d lost in the battle, he’d said, “We don’t forget. We honor them with our laughter. I would want them to do the same for me.”
The simple declaration made more sense to Lisbeth than anything else she’d ever heard. Zur had also agreed to open a line of trade with those south of the Frozen Lake, beginning with the northern kingdom. Lisbeth would be the ambassador, at least until everyone grew comfortable with the situation.
And then what? Lisbeth wondered. From the moment she’d arrived in these lands, she’d been trying to figure out—and later, escape—her destiny, which she’d believed was to usher in the Fall of All Things. As it turned out, her role was much the opposite. She’d helped stop the Great Fall. But now…she had no purpose. Each day, she felt the stars calling to her with their blazing souls.
“Your eye is glowing,” Dietrich said.
Lisbeth touched her forehead, surprised. She hadn’t even felt the warmth of her marking on her skin. She willed it to cool.
“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s beautiful,” Dietrich said, clasping her hand. His fingers were warm, despite how cool the weather had grown the further north they’d traveled. “But I feel your soul every waking second of every day. Sometimes I feel it in my dreams too. I don’t want you to leave. You don’t have to leave.”
Lisbeth was taken aback by his honesty, but was even more surprised that he knew her mind so well. “Because you love me?”
“No,” he said, and if Lisbeth couldn’t see his soul she might’ve been offended. As it was, she could see his love in the way his turquoise soul was always reaching for hers, even when they weren’t close. Now, it brushed against hers, a light, gentle touch. Much like a caress. He did love her. He was only saying that his love wasn’t the reason she should stay.
“Then why?” she asked, stopping as their souls entwined much like their fingers had.
“Because we need you. All of us.”
The simple truth was enough to overshadow the brightness of the moons and stars and sun, because her soul echoed another simple truth in response.
You need them too.
One-Hundred-and-Eight
The Western Kingdom, Knight’s End
Rhea Loren
Knight’s End would never be the same again. It wasn’t just the physical changes—the crumbling walls, the burnt structures, the bloodstained streets—but the way it felt.
This is my home, Rhea reminded herself. She glanced at Leo, who had made the journey with her. He didn’t look half as nervous as she felt coming back here. He already saw the horrors, she thought. He already knows what to expect. Past Leo, Ennis walked with a back that was far straighter than it had been back in Phanes. After Helmuth’s death, a weight seemed to be lifted from his shoulders. The shadows had left his eyes, especially when he’d been reunited with Leo, who had given him an even bigger hug than Rhea. All said, her cousin looked much like his old self, the loyal-to-a-fault man who’d counselled her when she was queen. No, that’s not true, she thought. He looked like even more than that man. Truth be told, he looked kingly, his once-stringy hair close-cropped, his nest of a beard well-trimmed. Put him in a fine doublet and he could pass for royalty.
Still, she was surprised her cousin had accepted her invitation to accompany her to the west.
Ennis led them through the city, taking backroads to avoid the worst of it. Rhea wasn’t afraid to look upon what had transpired here, but she didn’t want Leo to witnes
s it again. If he had a shred of innocence left, she was determined to protect it.
In total, their party numbered only a couple hundred, those westerners who had survived the barbarians bloody march across the kingdom. They were a quiet, solemn bunch, which Rhea appreciated in her current state of mind. She was still mourning Roan and would be for a while.
Grey held her hand, squeezing as they approached the castle gate from the east. He held Noura in his other arm, which was fitted with a soft stump with makeshift cloth fingers wrapped around an iron core. Rhea knew he still had his blade hand, but it was tucked away somewhere in his satchel. Hopefully he wouldn’t need it for a long while, or ever again.
Noura was crying and Grey shushed her, ever patient. Ever since the final battle, she’d become fussier, less stoic. Though Rhea had gotten less sleep these past few days, she relished every cry from her daughter. Signs of life, she thought. Blessings.
Leo joined Ennis. Up ahead, bodies were piled in front of the gate. The fighting had been fiercest here, Sai likely ordering his guards to defend the castle at all costs. It had not been nearly enough.
Rhea covered her mouth with her sleeve, overcome by the stench. Removing and burying all the bodies would take a monumental effort, but she was willing to help. They all would.
Ennis flapped his arms and rushed forward, shouting. A flock of crows burst from the pile of the dead, cawing as they flew skyward. A spray of dark feathers floated to the ground.
There were bodies in front of one of the smaller, side doors too, but Ennis and several other men dragged them away. Grey released Rhea’s hand and everyone waited for her to walk through first.
The courtyard was littered with more bodies, and Rhea immediately remembered the night her father had been killed by Bane. It felt like a lifetime ago.
It all comes full circle, she thought. This place was full of memories. Happy times, awful times. Things she did or didn’t do. Regrets. Accomplishments. Failures. Victories. She had been the best-worst queen the west had ever seen.