“Of you becoming a delegate and moving here to Bron’s court.” That self-assured look in his eye glints his amusement even as I swear his tone sounds nervous.
“Is that where we are?” I ask, craning to see past him to row upon row of shimmery buildings on the horizon.
“Not yet. That’s Bron’s outer coast on the left. And that over there”—he points to our right—“is the famous fault line.”
“Separating your people from Drust and Draewulf.”
“Silly Storm Girl. Draewulf’s gone.” And before I can argue he leans in close, flashing me that unfair smile. To which I chuckle and present him with a kiss.
He raises a suggestive brow, causing me to laugh, and in that laugh, to inhale a world of beauty. Every smile, every friendship, every bit of goodness I’ve seen. Every bit of goodness I’ve hoped existed within me. And just like the ship I am fluttering, dipping, soaring . . .
“Nym?”
I jolt awake. Rub my eyelids. And open them to find myself in the window seat of my newly designated bedroom up at the Castle, which doesn’t look that different from my room at Adora’s. Except for the fact that Princess Rasha is staring up at me from her stomach on my room floor, in what has, apparently, become her preferred spot in the Castle these past few days.
“I think they’re starting.” She kicks her legs up behind her and toys with a set of throwing knives.
I smile my thanks and scoot my leg over. “Do you want to watch?”
King Sedric strides out onto his white stone balcony in direct line of sight. The crowd’s roar surges through the enormous Castle courtyard—a thousand voices of energy, lifting on the late-evening breeze, in rowdy waves of emotion.
Joy. Pride.
Relief.
Mixed with a few hints of bitter anger at what Bron has done and distrust over what a truce could still bring.
Princess Rasha shakes her dark head. “I often prefer to listen rather than see. Otherwise I sense too much and my head gets full.” She shifts the knives in front of her in order from smallest to biggest. “You were dreaming the future again, you know,” she adds in her airy, matter-of-fact way that is, in fact, confusing.
I freeze. Swallow. I want to ask what she knows of the future, just like I’ve wondered how she knew I needed a friend. But any reply I have stalls when King Sedric is joined by a familiar face that sends my insides blushing before searching for composure beneath my gaudy, pearl-white dress. Neither Rasha nor I have seen him since the Keep because, according to the knights and maids-in-waiting, “He’s been busy.”
Her girlish laugh is as oddly comforting as she is. “You should’ve just seen your eyes light up. Guess I’ll take that to mean Eogan appeared.” She pushes herself up and plants a quick pat on my hand. “While you enjoy that—alas, I have to trot off to get ready. See you at the banquet.”
I nod and, with the door closing behind her, turn back to the court. The evening wind is rustling Eogan’s sharp hair. He’s finished bowing to our king and has turned to the Faelen people, soliciting another cheer as his eyes scan the assembly.
King Ezeoha.
The lost prince back from the dead.
The brave prince who shunned his own family rather than take Bron to war against Faelen.
The prince who is now king of Bron.
In less than a week’s time, the minstrels have written fifty different songs extolling his noble virtues.
I smirk as Faelen’s citizens tip their ridiculous puffed hats to both men. They explode in more applause when, together, the kings hold up the newly signed peace treaty that swears an end to the hundred-year war and ushers in an era of peace and rebuilding for all people of all nations and all abilities. Even Elementals. Breaking the old agreement signed with Draewulf.
Draewulf.
Five, ten, fifteen times I’ve mentioned his name since the fight at the fortress. But “Draewulf is gone,” the knights keep telling me. As is his daughter, Isobel, with her betrayal and rumored Dark Army.
Then why, when you say it, does something whisper back that you’re wrong? I want to ask them.
I haven’t even brought up Lord Myles. Did he survive the bolcranes? Do they know of his treachery? They’re all too busy questioning Adora in her prison cell and making good with Bron to ask.
I shift in my seat as the crowd quiets and King Sedric’s voice rings out over the open court. “We are so thankful for this day. A day we’ve long sought and prayed for, a day we’ve fought hard for. A day of peace. Of new allies and united kingdoms, of conquered fears and forgotten wrongs. Of freeing all Uathúils. A day marking a turn in Faelen and Bron history, where we no longer see each other as enemies, but step into the future together as friends.”
The erupting cheer shakes the jar of mugplant on the floor beside me. I reach out to steady it. The future together as friends. I stare at one of the knives lined up, waiting to be used for new memorials. My skin itches for it. One for Colin. One for Breck.