The battle is over, but it wasn’t without costs. Drogoth gave in to the whole fury to save eleven children from a schoolhouse full of undead.
Twenty people sat around a bonfire in the courtyard of Kestrelmont, eating dinner outside—a thing unusual this late in the year, but manageable given Christine’s bonfire, which had proved its effectiveness on more than one occasion.
Her parents were still guests of the Wentworths. They would go home the next day to see what had become of Wyndmere, although given that Christine had obliterated so many undead in the courtyard, it was probably intact.
Isabelle Marlow and her parents were there, as they had been since the third day of the battle. Isabelle now sat close to Charles, her head on his shoulder, and Charles loved it. She had mostly returned to her former self following the Usurper’s control—though she now bore internal scars, nightmares that seized her from time to time. But she was, otherwise, the social butterfly who had dressed exactly that way at the masquerade, which had caused Charles to go to his desk at least once each day to look at the ring he had made for her the prior season.
The remaining eight exhausted knights were there along with the Duke and Duchess, and Scarlet’s cousins Travis, Bertrand, and Marcus.
It was the Duke who began the memorial. He stood, tapped his goblet with his spoon, and proposed a toast. “To Sir Drogoth,” he said. “Who burned with the fury of the sun to save the children.”
They drank together.
Amira stood next. “Those of you who only ever saw him spinning a blade of fire really missed out on who he was. He was gentle.”
Chenguer said, “He was thoughtful and educated.”
Scarlet spoke up. “He was kind and calm.”
They drank between each toast.
Aldric stood. “He was also funny. He could tell a wry yarn with the best of them.”
This brought some laughter, and a few tears.
Philip made a brief toast. “He did what Epherion asked of him.”
They were quiet for a long time, each person lost in their own thoughts as food and drink were passed around by servants who knew better than to disrupt the quiet.
Christine’s father, Richard LaPointe, spoke after a while. “We’ve lost our queen and her entire line. We’ve lost three thousand of our fellow citizens.”
“It would have been many more without the knights,” Caspian said.
“Quite right,” Richard said. He raised his glass. “To the Knights Celestial.”
“What’s going to happen to Bravia?” Isabelle asked quietly. “What’s going to happen to Stormrest?”
Richard turned to his daughter. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “Tomorrow the House of Lords—what remains of us—will come together to select a new royal house.”
Elise spoke up for the first time. “I get the impression that many of the Aelvani and Urukesh, and even some of the Oroquai that came for the pilgrimage are eyeing Stormrest as a place to settle.”
“I’ve heard that too,” Scarlet said. “Some have said that directly to me.”
“Then Stormrest might become more like Falconholdt? We might no longer be exclusively a human city,” Isabelle said.
“It’s only been that way for a couple of generations,” Charles said from next to her. “Years ago there were both Aelvani and Urukesh who lived here. I’ve heard there are even some homes in the weavers’ district that are sized down for Aelfs. Personally, I think it would be great if we were a more diverse city.”
No one disagreed with his premise.
When the House of Lords finished their business the next day, Scarlet was no longer a duchess-in-waiting. Given the Wentworth immunity to whatever power the Unfinished had, the Lords had selected the Wentworth family as the new royal line to replace the deceased Arctoix in a vote that was seventy percent in favor of the Wentworths.
Caspian Wentworth would be crowned king and his wife Elise would be crowned queen. This made Charles a prince and Scarlet a princess nearly overnight.
The difficulty was that Scarlet was now faced with a choice about what her role should be. Princess and heir-apparent or a member of the Knights Celestial. If she were to stay, she would be awarded Kestrelmont and the Wentworth lands, while her parents took over the former Arctoix lands and Castle Winterhaven. If she were to go with the Knights Celestial, she would need to give all of that up, leaving it to her brother, Charles.
She had the argument with herself a dozen times before it came to a head with Sir Philip Beckwith. They were alone in the Kestrelmont drawing room.
“Chenguer has said that the Usurper has headed south,” Philip said. “Possibly to Thyl or even Corvaire.”
She said nothing.
“Esme?”
“I’ve been debating that for a few days now.”
“I understand,” he said.
“My parents, of course, want me to stay.”
“Of course.” He looked at the floor. “It’s safest,” he said.
“But part of me knows I need to fulfill this calling.”
He raised his eyes to hers.
“On the other hand, I’ve spent my whole life to achieve what is immediately within my grasp. Should I let it go now?”
“I can’t answer that for you,” he said.
“It would be a heck of a lot easier if you just told me what to do,” she said, a half smile playing on her face.
“When did you ever take the easy road?”
She nodded and chuckled. Just a little.
“I don’t know if this helps you or not,” he said. “But your father has given permission to me to ask you to be my wife.”
“He did?” Her eyes went wide.
“And I mean to ask you—” he said.
“I sense a hesitation.”
“I mean to ask you when I return.”
And there it was. He was going to go. He was going to ride south out of her life while she had so much new to deal with. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to ask now and for things to be simple. For them to live a simple life. Happy and together and beautiful and romantic.
But he was leaving.
It gutted her.
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“For what? To find a way to destroy a four-thousand-year-old immortal?”
He said nothing.
“It’s not a weekend trip, Edmund,” she said.
“No.” He shook his head.
They sat in silence for a moment, both of them struggling with the meaning of it, both of them wanting it to be something else—anything else. And they both knew that was exactly what the other was thinking.
“I have committed to you already, Edmund. In nearly every way a wife can. But I need to stay for my family,” she said.
He nodded. “I know. But the thing is that I want us to be that family. You and me.”
“We will be,” she said. “When the time is right. We will be.”
Christine and Chenguer were married two weeks later in a beautiful ceremony at Wyndmere, marred only by the scorch marks on the stonework that the servants had been unable to remove.
Scarlet was the maid of honor. Philip was the best man.
But they hardly paid attention to the ceremony. The question about timing had hung over them since that day in the drawing room. Maybe they should have done this before Philip’s departure. Maybe they should have made their private commitment public like this.
Maybe they could have had time together as a husband and wife before his departure.
What if he didn’t come back? What if it never happened?
Scarlet thought that Christine and Chenguer had been smarter about this—to at least have that time together before the departure.
She wouldn’t have that with Philip. Not in the same way. Not waking up in his arms with the sheets a mess. Not sharing breakfast in bed. Not spending a whole day locked away alone together.
Perhaps it never would happen.
At the reception, the seven knights—excluding Chenguer, who was busy with the festivities—gathered around a banquet table. Scarlet and Philip held hands. So did Senna and Aldric. Amira rubbed her left hand with her right thumb and thought about Drogoth.
“I’m going to retire,” Wardyn said.
“Retire?” Scarlet asked.
He looked at each of them in turn.
“I’m tired,” he said. “I’m the kind of life tired that you can’t fix with enchanted swords. It hit me after my run in with the Usurper.”
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.
“So,” he said. “This will be my last night with you. I will return to Helios and the Sun Citadel, and there give up my armor and sword and reclaim Haddagan. I’ve done what I can and I hope it was enough.”
“It was enough,” Amira said.
“There’s a woman in my lands who I wronged years ago. I don’t know her situation now. But watching this today, I’ve decided that I must go apologize and beg her forgiveness. I doubt she will, but I have to ask. I feel like I am closing in on the last years. And if there is any chance, I need to go now.”
Philip clapped him on the back. “We were lucky to have known you, and we understand.”
“Thank you for everything you did,” Scarlet said. “You have become one of my best friends, and I will miss you.”
“Hey,” he said. “Maybe some day I will come visit you. I hope with someone on my arm. I’ve seen so much love among the humans that I find myself longing for it.”
“We would love to have you come visit any time,” Scarlet said.
Wardyn Holt—the Uruk who had been Krang Haddagan—rose from the table, waved to the happy couple, and departed into the night.
Scarlet turned back to the fire. Philip squeezed her hand.
“Mama,” Scarlet said as they sat in the drawing room at Kestrelmont. “I don’t know what I should do.”
Elise nodded, not looking up from her needlepoint. “You mean about Philip?”
“Yes.”
“He wants you to go with him?”
“He hasn’t said that. I know he wants to be together, but he’s leaving. He wants us to be together when he returns.”
Elise set her needlepoint on her lap and picked up her tea.
“And part of me wants to go,” Scarlet said.
“You have responsibilities here,” Elise said.
“I know,” Scarlet said, frowning. “But I love him. I want to be with him.”
“You want him to stay.”
“Well, yes. Of course.”
“But he’s being called to go.”
Scarlet simply nodded.
“I don’t see how this can work out for you two,” Elise said. “It’s sweet that you love him and you want him. It’s sweet that it is reciprocated. But I’m not sure it’s enough.”
“I don’t know what else there is beyond that,” Scarlet said.
“Think about it,” Elise said. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“Mama, I’m asking for your advice. What should I do?”
“It’s not what a heart wants. It’s what a heart needs.”
“I don’t understand,” Scarlet said. “I feel like I need him.”
Elise smiled, but said nothing more.
On a Fireday morning two weeks later, with Frostfall having come and the road already covered in snow, the Knights Celestial, bundled for winter but heading south, gathered at Winterhaven to take the blessing from the new king and queen.
Only six remained. Drogoth had passed on, Wardyn had returned to his old life as Haddagan, and Scarlet was staying behind.
There were no grand pronouncements. It had never been their style, but there were embraces and well wishes, with admonishments to be safe and return hastily.
Nobody knew how long they would be gone or even, really, what the mission was, other than to stop the Usurper from rising again somewhere to the south. Scarlet knew that was a life’s work for Philip, not a short stay.
“I’m afraid I’ll never see you again,” she said during their final embrace.
“I will return,” he said. “I promise.”
“In how long, though? It could be many seasons. Might be many years.”
“It will be as Epherion wills it,” Philip said. “And if he can call me on the road to pursue the Usurper, he can call me back home just as easily.”
“I know,” she said. “But time goes by faster than you think.”
“Wait for me, Esme,” he pleaded.
“I will always wait for you, Edmund,” she said.
She kissed him as if it would be her very last time.
Then he was gone.
She stood at the entrance to Winterhaven and watched the column until it rounded the hill and the last of it disappeared. Twenty minutes, perhaps, before the road was empty and the snow was falling again and there was nothing left to watch.
She stood there a moment longer with the cold finding its way through her coat, the courtyard behind her, the empty road ahead.
Then she turned and walked back into Winterhaven to do paperwork.
Stephen B. Anthony is the author of Transmigrant, an epic science fiction thriller, available on both Amazon and Audible.
Ah! That was intense!