And where would she go once she died, soulless as she was? She had no real concept of an afterlife, but having a soul seemed to be a requirement for such a thing.
Red pressed harder into Eammon’s side. She’d shared those fears with him, too, all her truths pouring out like they always seemed to do with her Wolf. And he’d caressed her hair and kissed her gently. “Wherever you go,” he murmured, “I’ll find you.”
She maneuvered herself between Eammon’s chest and the railing, still facing the ocean so her back pressed against his abdomen, and drained the rest of her wine. “I don’t think I’ll ever use magic again,” she said quietly. “Even though I can feel it. Do you think Lyra will?”
“I think Lyra feels it too strongly to completely ignore, even if she wanted to.” His muscles moved behind her as he shrugged. “But if anyone is worthy of magic, it’s her. And Fife will help.”
Fife felt the magic in the air, too, though he tried mostly to ignore it. The two of them were off traveling, Lyra finally towing Fife along as she explored the places they’d been left out of for so long.
All of them scattered, trying to make sense of the world they’d made. In Valleyda, Raffe and Kayu were embroiled in the intricacies of succession, the official story being that Neve had died of disease. And there was Arick, still without his memories, building a whole new life. One where he’d never been wrecked by Solmir and Kiri and the Kings, one where he’d never loved her and been ruined for it.
So much uncertainty, so much change. But the Wolf behind her was her constant.
She sighed, laid her head back against Eammon’s shoulder. “Come down to the water with me.”
He gave a long-suffering sigh—he’d made it extremely clear on the trip to Floriane in a hired coach that this journey was solely for Red, and he was still no great friend to the ocean—but followed her down the winding steps from the porch to the sand.
The water was warm. Sunset played along its edges, painting them in pink and gold. Red pulled off the shirt of his that she’d stolen, ran into the shallows, splashing at Eammon and teasing him when he sputtered. He followed her in, lifting her up, threatening to dunk her.
They settled, both breathing hard, her legs wrapped around his hips, his chin resting on her head as they floated in the warm salt of the sea. “It’s been strange,” Red murmured into the space between their slicked skin. “But I wouldn’t change it.”
“Not one thing,” Eammon agreed, and pressed his mouth to hers.
Neve
One year later
She was surprised to discover how much she liked taverns.
There hadn’t been many opportunities for her to spend time in them before. As the First Daughter, she’d been always guarded; as the Queen, she’d been too busy, too recognizable. Now that she was neither of those things—just Neve, wholly human Neve—she had plenty of opportunities to sneak in for a pint.
Another surprise—she vastly preferred ale to wine. Wine gave her a headache, ale just made her mind pleasantly fuzzy. This ale, in particular, was extremely good. The Alperans knew their way around a beer barrel.
The pretty woman behind the counter filled her cup again and tossed her an inviting wink. Neve just gave her a wan smile back, uninterested.
In her first months of wandering, she’d allowed herself occasional companions. Fleeting people to keep her warm, nothing lasting. All she saw when she closed her eyes was Solmir, anyway. But now she’d taken to keeping herself alone. She liked being alone, another surprising discovery about herself. In her former life, she’d had so few opportunities for solitude.
Neve smiled slightly, took a sip of her ale. Slowly, methodically, she was finding out who she was. Every day, the empty ache left by her absent soul lessened, and some days she really had to try to feel it at all.
Souls are mostly a nuisance, she told herself. Again.
Every time she heard it in her head, it was in his voice. Neve didn’t want to think she was traveling only to try to find Solmir, but it would be foolish to pretend that wasn’t part of it. She didn’t know what they could have—if they could have anything—but she wanted to see him. To know he was as well as he could be.
She twisted the silver ring around her thumb.
“Did you hear about Freia?”
The man sitting next to her addressed a newly arrived companion, knocking snow from his boots as he took a place at the bar. He shook his head, cheeks reddened by wind. “Other than that her youngest was sick, no. He hasn’t taken a turn for the worse, I hope?”
The first speaker smiled. “The opposite. He’s better. Woke up this morning like he’d never been ill at all.” He leaned closer to his friend. “But to hear Freia tell it, his healing wasn’t just a turn of luck. She says she… did something.”
“Did something?”
A nod. “Magic.” He drained his beer. “I went by to visit, and she looked like she’d seen a ghost. Just sitting there, staring at her hands as if she’d never seen them before. Said last night she put her palm on the boy’s forehead, wishing for a miracle, and saw all this gold around her fingers. Felt something happen.” He shrugged. “Could be she was dreaming, but the boy woke up good as new today. She’s convinced it was magic, like long ago. Slinking around in the air and waiting to be used.”
“That was centuries ago.”
The first man shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
Didn’t Neve know it. She quirked a tiny grin into her own tankard. The world had magic again, and sooner or later, someone would make up a story as to why. She wondered how close the myth would get to the truth. She wondered if someday, someone would tie the disappearance of the Wilderwood and the last Second Daughter to the rebirth of magic.
She wondered if she’d be part of the story at all. Neve couldn’t decide whether she wanted to be or not. It seemed exhausting, being a myth.
A shiver worked through her shoulders as the door opened again. Alpera was just as cold as Valleyda, especially up here on the northern end, right before you crossed into the Wastes—wide expanses of nothing but rock and ice. But inside the tavern, the light was warm and the air warmer, heated by the dancers enthusiastically twirling to the sounds of a string band at the back of the main room. Neve didn’t understand the language they sang in, but the lilts of it reminded her of Solmir. She tapped her foot in spite of herself.
“A dance, sweet one?”
The asker was a big man, with shoulders half as wide as Neve was tall and a ruddy, good-natured face. A refusal was poised on her tongue, but his eyes were kind and his smile genuine and he didn’t strike her as the kind who might pressure for more if she gave in to a dance. She’d grown skilled at ferreting those out.