“Children!”
Daylily looked up, hoping—desperately hoping—to see the children of the South Land, well and whole. Instead, she saw so many tiny, falling stars, flickering lights descending from the sky. Hundreds upon hundreds of them, of every color known to mortals and more colors besides that Daylily could not see and, therefore, perceived only as brilliant white. They fell from the heavens, streaking toward Nidawi, who put out her hands to them. And the Faerie queen herself grew up into the tall, stately, enormously comforting form of the most beautiful mother in the world. Tears streamed down her face as she reached for the lights, which whirled around her in such a glitter and swirl that she was all but obscured from Daylily’s vision.
And Nidawi called out names through her tears: “Wema! Taigu! Minjae! Erila!”
Many more names fell from her lips, as though each one of the thousands of lights was known to her and beloved by her. And though they made no sound, their flickering beauty seemed to speak back to her, saying over and over, Mother! Mother! Mother!
Daylily watched this reunion silently, her breath coming slow and steady.
“Touching scene, yes? Nothing quite like a mother reunited with her little ones. Even if those little ones are scarcely better than ghosts.”
Daylily looked at the cat by her elbow and was not surprised to hear a man’s voice fall from his lips.
“I always like this bit at the end of an adventure,” said Eanrin, giving one of his blistered paws another lick. “There’ll be broken shards aplenty to pick up soon enough. But for the moment, all is hugs and kisses and happy reunions.” He looked down at Foxbrush, and his whiskers drooped. All brightness fled his voice when he asked, “Is he . . . alive?”
Daylily nodded. She realized there were tears on her cheeks. “Only just, I think,” she said. “Only just.”
“Well, we’ll see about that!” Suddenly the cat was gone, and in his place sat a man clad in red. Eanrin took Foxbrush’s ruined hands from Daylily, tugging a little when she proved reluctant to relinquish them. “I can help. I can’t fix it, but I can help,” he said.
Daylily looked at him, then nodded and released her hold. Eanrin, wincing at the pain in his own hands, pulled Foxbrush from her lap and laid him out flat upon the ground. Starflowers, clustering fast, put out eager vines to touch Foxbrush’s face, but Eanrin impatiently shooed them away. He took Foxbrush’s hands in his and, closing his eyes, sang in a rich, mellifluous voice.
“Beyond the Final Water falling,
The Songs of Spheres recalling,
A promise given of a hero and a crown,
Won’t you return to me?”
Daylily watched, her arms wrapped around her middle as though to somehow hold her spirit at bay. For she could feel the wolf straining, struggling . . . weeping.
What was this frightening feeling she had so long suppressed? In the time since she’d allowed herself to care for Lionheart and watched her heart break into a thousand pieces, she’d nearly forgotten this sensation.
But it wasn’t the same. Not really. What she had felt for Lionheart had been fiery, desperate, dangerous, and even—she knew this to the very depths of her soul—destructive. It had left her ravening inside, ready to tear apart even her loved ones for the pain of it.
This was different. This was quieter, gentler—easy to mistake for something else, even. And yet, as she looked at those mangled hands—so twisted and raw, the blackened flesh creeping away from bare bones—she knew in her heart. She didn’t know what to call it exactly, or perhaps she was simply afraid to name it.
One thing alone she knew for utter truth. This feeling was similar to her feelings for Lionheart in one aspect only: hopelessness.
Eanrin, his eyes still closed, his brow puckered with concentration, continued to sing. A faint wish that the power of that song might possibly mend all that was broken passed fleetingly through Daylily’s mind. But it was not to be. Wounds closed up, skin knitted at tremendous speed as only magic can cause. But it knitted over two hands distorted beyond all use.
At last, Eanrin sat back with a sigh. He wiped his brow and looked up at Daylily, and there was no trace of merriment in his face. “You gave your own two hands and saved your ancient lands,” he said.
Daylily blinked. “Pardon?”
“Nothing.” Eanrin shook his head. “I’ve done all I can. He’s fallen into a deep trance, and I cannot wake him.”
“Will he live?”