“So what happens if you change the future?” he asked. “How can you possibly undo the destruction Ina’s reign has already caused?”
“What if I create a feedback loop to sustain the magic of the kingdom?” I asked.
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Hal said.
“It would be similar to how Ina’s manifest works. She’s tied to the land. So the land would be tied to the people, and as the people die, their energy would go back to the land. It becomes self-sustaining. The Tamers would probably like it because it would make it difficult for Zumordans to do any damage to their land without suffering for it. Many more people would probably end up with affinities for certain types of magic like Ina has for fire, but as long as the affinities don’t get out of control . . .” I muttered a long list of probable outcomes.
“If this future means I can go to sleep now knowing you’ll still be next to me when I wake up in the morning, then it sounds good to me,” Hal said. “And if I could have the chance to reconcile more fully with my sister someday . . . I’d like that, too.”
“I think I can do this,” I said, springing out of bed with a fresh wave of energy.
“Don’t stay up too late,” he said, sleepy contentment in his voice.
I rolled out of bed and tucked in the blankets around him, envious of how quickly his breathing grew deep and even as he drifted off to sleep.
I sat down at the little desk in the corner of the room and put on my shadow cloak. It enveloped me like an embrace, and I thought of my mother and her own mantle of darkness, wishing that she and I could have had a different story, too. She should have trusted me to grow up close to death in all its incarnations. Perhaps if I had grown up knowing it, I would not have dealt so much of it by mistake.
From my belt pouch, I took out an eagle feather stolen from one of Nismae’s brethren and a sprig of midnight thistle I’d gathered along the side of the road on the way out of Corovja. I took the Fatestone from its place around my neck and slipped it over my finger.
I pinned the feather to the table with my wrist, then sharpened the feather with my silver knife until the quill was fine and true. My left hand bore too many scars to count, but this one would be the last. I pricked my finger with the silver knife and let my blood drip into a small bowl bearing the thistles, and then I stirred, remembering Ina.
What I knew now was that the love I had for Ina had not been love at all. I had been chasing her before we left Amalska, from the first day we met, from the time I noticed that the blue of her eyes matched all my favorite flowers on the mountain. In all that time running after her, I’d raced on the ground, but she’d had wings long before she took the dragon as her manifest.
I dipped my quill into the ink.
Magic had always held our kingdom together, and it still needed to do that. The people themselves could be the key. The magic could be tied to the people instead of the monarch and the gods—rather like what Nismae and Ina had hoped for the future. Perhaps given the right set of circumstances, Ina wouldn’t be a bad monarch. Her ambition might serve her well in the end.
I put my quill to the paper, carefully scribing the first words of a new story for Zumorda—not of the past, but the future. The magic poured out of me and into the words as I wove our kingdom back together. I dictated that the people, land, and power of Zumorda would be bound in a way that would sustain them all. The ability to wield magic would be given to the people with aptitudes and affinities for it, those who felt something extra when they built a fire, plucked a flower, or stood outside in the rain—those who loved the land and the kingdom.
Instead of manifests being tied to a god, they would be tied to the elements that often went with those gods—a simpler, more primitive magic. Each person with even the barest hint of ability would have an affinity connected to the god who had once blessed their manifest, like Ina’s for fire, Hal’s for wind, or mine for blood and shadows. The people would use their powers to defend their kingdom instead of relying on the divine.
Ina was the only person I wrote of by name—that she would strive to be a good ruler. That she would respect those she ruled. And one day, she would face one of Iman’s descendants, who would help her learn the true nature of love.
When I finished writing, it was strange to put down the quill and not feel pain. After I sanded the pages, it was time for the last thing I needed to do. I murmured an apology to Veric and then unraveled the magic of the Fatestone itself. The blood channel through it slowly stopped moving, then turned black.
Now it was nothing but an ordinary ring.
Perhaps my days would be lived here in Fairlough with Hal, Iman, Nera, and Zallie, or one day Hal and I would take to traveling again, this time without missions of blood and vengeance following us. Either way, I wanted to spend my life with the people who had finally given me a home and a community. No one needed to know of my gifts—I didn’t intend to use them again. I would only be known as the town herbalist, someone people could come to in need.
I crossed the room and slipped back into bed with Hal. Our future would be shaped as we willed it. Together.
Because love was a heart filled with kindness, eyes a deep brown that warmed me from the inside out, and a hand I could count on to hold through the next adventure. Love was the way he made me laugh when I least thought it possible, and the way our voices came together to sing a tavern song inappropriate for most company. Love was the way he kissed me until I knew without doubt that anywhere he was would be home. And love was the way Iman looked when he smiled, filling me with contentment that lasted long after I’d put him down to sleep.
Love was what would last through this winter—and many more to come.
When our story began, I thought I knew love.
In the end, I finally did.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have no idea how I survived writing my second book except that it had everything to do with the people supporting me.
Alexandra Machinist, thanks a billion for making such a wonderful match by selling my books to Balzer + Bray. You are a superstar and I’m glad to have you on my side. Thanks are also due to Hillary Jacobsen, who is now a fantastic agent in her own right. Not once during the creation of this book did I ever have to worry about things being handled on the back end thanks to the diligent work of Alexandra and her team at ICM. You all rock!