I was glad; it was a little soon to be talking about expanding our family. Cheeks hot, I shook my head. I’d been busy with Momma Oaks, making the place cozy. “A lot?”
Fade watched me with silent admiration. In a moment or two, it would ripen into desire, and we had every right to wander into the back room. Nobody would interrupt or summon us to other business. That was … astonishing.
“Enough for the whole winter, I expect.”
“We’ve earned a few months of leisure,” I told him.
“What will you do, come spring?” He reached for me then.
I sank onto his lap. Fade nuzzled my neck, and I put my hand to his jaw. “Be with you.”
And I kept my promise. Always.
Epilogue
On Evergreen Isle lies the town of Rosemere, and within the bounds of that village, there’s a white stone cottage where an elderly couple lives. Pink roses twine around a whitewashed lattice out front, and ivy climbs the garden walls in back. It’s a peaceful place, all sunlight and dappled green. There’s a cherry tree in the yard, and when he’s asked, “Why cherries?” the man who planted it years ago smiles and says, “Because she loves them.”
Inside the cottage, a frame on the wall holds an old scrap of paper and a playing card, the deuce of spades. Above the hearth, there’s a shelf, where two books sit between wooden statues. One is very old, produced by the world before, and its spine is imprinted with the title The Day Boy and the Night Girl. The other is written on parchment in a fine hand, illustrated in colorful inks, and hand bound in leather. The first page reads, The Razorland Saga by James Morrow. Though they have a library full of books to choose from, village children often ask for this story, for they’re enchanted by Tegan of the Staff, Stalker the Wolf, Deuce the Huntress, and He Whose Colors Will Not Fade. They’re comforted by these familiar legends and the account of how the world came to hold its current shape.
When he’s not reading to children who have stolen away from their chores, the man spends his days making armor for young people determined to seek their fortunes and see the world. Until recently, his wife taught those adventurers how to fight, preparing them for the journey. But now that his hair has gone white and hers silver, she prefers to tend her garden. They have children, this pair—long since grown and gone away, exploring through a legacy of maps. Sometimes they, too, visit with stories; they ask the boatman to bring them home, and their parents are always pleased, welcoming them with the same gladness they learned long ago from people who loved them too much to make them stay when the world was calling.
Tales abound regarding the role these two played in the War of the River, before the Gulgur rose from down below, before the Uroch signed the peace treaties, but as time wears on, their neighbors can hardly credit that this sweet couple is as dangerous as the legends claim. Therefore, folks suspect their friend, Morrow the Storyteller, must have exaggerated the accounts. Sometimes, a cloaked figure is spotted slipping in and out of the house, but nobody can say who it might be. This aged pair enjoys their small intrigues even yet.
Most locals would dismiss the folklore entirely, except that once a year—on the Day of Peace—the pilgrimages commence. People travel from as far away as Gaspard, from Winterville, Otterburn, Lorraine, and Soldier’s Pond, all over the free territories—and they bring gifts. For three days and nights, they camp outside the cottage in Rosemere, hoping to meet the Huntress and He Whose Colors Will Not Fade. Once a year, these two tell the tale in their own words, not Morrow’s, to those who care to listen.
Because these two believed their actions mattered, because the Huntress chose peace, forgave her enemy, and laid down her knives, the territories changed forever. That is the lesson of ultimate courage, taught by Tegan of the Staff, who devotes her life to learning in honor of a sacrifice made so very long ago. This is the story written in the bones, and that homage will continue as long as the world turns, until it loses its ragged edge, and new heroes arise.
But those are other stories.